A light knock sounded at the door, disrupting his inner rebuke.
“Come,” Mary called.
The door opened to reveal a timid, softly rounded maid of medium height and dull auburn hair hidden beneath a mobcap. She quietly shuffled in, curtsied, and held her hands nervously in front of her abdomen.
Mary, obviously sensing the maid’s distress beckoned the girl to her. “Thank you for coming…”
“Eleanor Mable, Miss. You can call me Eleanor.” The maid curtsied, sending a shy sideways glance toward Gabe, then quickly averting her gaze.
“Eleanor. Thank you.” Mary motioned toward the wardrobe. “Would you be so kind as to help me into the tyrian purple morning gown?”
With another uneasy glance at Gabe, the maid did as she was bid and turned to look in the wardrobe.
Gabe wished he could put the girl at ease and let her know that unlike the other male guests at the house party, he had no interest in taking advantage of the female staff. Poor gel likely got harassed more often than not in her position. She was a handsome female with an attractive face and shy, if not fearful disposition. Just the sort to attract the wrong sort of man.
But Gabe was in character. He was Anthony Spencer; a carefree rake who did not spare a second thought forthehelpor their thoughts, needs, or feelings. They were there only to serve.
So, Gabe settled in, propped his back with the bed’s pillows and watched as his mistress and the lady’s maid covered up Mary’s sinfully alluring curves, all the while trying to rein in the inconvenient lust that rode him nigh to the brink of madness.
* * *
Gabriel wasveryadept at playing his role of lover for the sake of public opinion. He sat, unmoving and fairly brimming with arousing predatory covetousness, as he brooded from the bed.
Mary wished she knew what he was thinking. Probably lamenting ever having agreed to this scheme and wondering how quickly he could extricate himself from her presence.
The thought made her frown at her reflection in the mirror.
“Is it not to your liking, miss?” the sweetly dispositioned maid asked, a troubled expression marring her handsome features.
Mary forced a smile. “Oh no, dear, I was simply lost in thought. My hair is perfectly suitable.”
“I could try somethin’ different. Maybe looped braids?”
“I am very happy with the way you are doing it.” Mary’s smile deepened. “I am partial to curls.”
Eleanor’s face brightened as she turned back to her work.
As though by habit, her gaze slid sideways—to nothing. She blinked and returned her attention to the mirror. She’d never even noticed the habitual motion before, but now that she didn’t have her conch shell to look at—which sat on her chest of drawers at home—the habit was rather more apparent. Odd as it was, the shell brought her comfort and a sense of calm; it reminded her of a time when she was truly happy with Gabriel.
The devil himself shifted in her bed, and Mary willed her gaze to remain on her own reflection, as Eleanor’s hands worked magic with her untamed hair. And decidedly off of Gabe’s muscled chest.Lord what a chest. How was it even possible for a man to have a chest such as his? How did a man’s body even get so…so…powerful? She had seen many a man’s nude body in her position, but never had she seen a man with as many muscled hills and dips as Gabe possessed. He had not an ounce of fat or droopy skin anywhere on his person, she was certain.
One—obviously depraved—part of her wanted nothing more than to run her hands, lips, and tongue over every muscled mound of his torso until every square inch had been explored and tasted. While the other—clearly more sensible—part of her told her wicked half toshut it, forget about Gabriel and his stunningly, arousingly beautiful body, and turn her attention back to her assignment, because she knew that there was absolutely no chance that Gabe would return any sort of positive sentiment, let alone wish to bed her.
The moment that thought entered her mind, she regretted it.
Bedding Gabriel.
If the feelings he brought out in her were any indication, it would indeed be pleasurable. She was attracted to the blasted man, but if she possessed any amount of good sense, she should flee from him as fast as she could go. Their assignment notwithstanding, something compelled Mary to torture herself by staying close to him.
Focus, Mary. Spies abound.
She turned her open, trusting gaze up to Eleanor as the maid put the finishing touches on her chignon. “How did you come to be a lady’s maid, Eleanor?”
“Oh, I’m not, miss. I’m a downstairs maid, but since there’s so many ladies needin’ their hair done and gowns mended, I was sent up to ‘elp.”
Mary nodded in understanding. “I’ve toyed with the idea of giving up the theatre and becoming a maid,” she lied. “How do you find the work?”
Eleanor’s fingers froze as her gaze turned down and a telling blush stained her cheeks. Poor girl.
