schoolgirls gossiping late into the night. “We can’t do anything about the color of eyes we were born with,” she said in a voice that was far lighter and sweeter than her natural tone, “but there are a few tricks with kohl that you can use to make your eyes stand out. Observe.”
She picked up the thin, kohl pencil at her place and demonstrated for Maria how to outline her eyes so that they were arresting, even from a distance. As she did, she preened and posed and made faces that would convince any outside observer that she was nothing more than a vain and silly actress who enjoyed flirting with herself in the mirror.
Nothing about her outward appearance would let on that she was so much more than an ornament to be enjoyed by an appreciative audience. She’d been biding her time in Rome for more than a year, sending information about The Jackal and his criminal band back to London by whatever secret means she could. Her mission up until that point had been intelligence gathering. It wasn’t the most exhilarating work a spy could do, but it had given her an excuse to leave the difficult and depressing life of a minor gentleman’s daughter, confined to the country by societal rules that she hated, for an exotic life on stage in Rome.
“I just can’t seem to get the same effect as you have,” Maria sighed, lowering her arms from her clumsy attempt to outline her eyes.
“Here. Let me.” Violetta twisted to her, taking Maria’s kohl pencil and going to work.
If her mother could see the life she was living now, she would take to her bed and never recover. As far as her mother knew, she was in Rome as a companion for an elderly widow. The letters she sent back once a month were filled with made-up stories of sitting with the old woman as she napped and looking out over educational ancient ruins. The stories kept her mother happy, so she continued to write them.
Although her reality wasn’t much different, aside from her stint on the stage. She spent a lot of time looking at ruins and waiting for something to happen.
Of course, something had happened just the night before. Lord Landry had waltzed into her life.
She smiled and leaned away from Maria. “There,” she said. “What do you think?”
Maria turned to blink at herself in the mirror. “Oh, it looks perfect.” She clapped her hands together with a giggle. “And to think, you’re playing my servant in the play and I’m La Signora.” She giggled again.
Violetta imitated the woman, intent on using that sort of silliness in her disguise. Though the last thing she wanted to do, now that she’d met Lord Landry, was behave like a ninny.
Lord Beverly had informed her one of the McGoverns would be meeting her at the hotel. He’d given Lord Landry’s name, listed a short history of who the man was, and explained in detail how she should assist the man in searching for his brother. She knew Lord Addlebury by reputation, though she had never met him before. The prospect of searching for a man as important as Lord Addlebury and rescuing him had thrilled her to the tips of her toes. Finally, her mission in Rome would involve something more than writing reports.
And then she’d laid eyes on Lord Landry. Her whole body thrummed at the memory of him—disheveled from travel, clearly exhausted, and still as delicious as a maritozzo. And just like the sugary pastry, she wanted to devour him in one bite. Her mother would expire on the spot if she knew how carnal her youngest daughter’s thoughts had turned. Living as a spy in Rome had other advantages. She’d received quite an education in seduction, all of it necessary for someone who needed to pry information from men. Not that she didn’t enjoy the prying. She half wished that Lord Landry were a target instead of an ally in the cause. Seducing him would be a joy. Though who was to say that she couldn’t seduce him anyhow?
“Signorina, you look as though you are contemplating mischief,” another of her fellow actors, Antonio, said, sweeping up to her side. He wore a lascivious grin and stared straight down the front of her costume as he stood over her in his Arlecchino costume.
The wary, impatient feeling Antonio always gave her knotted her stomach. “Thank you, Antonio,” she said, smiling up at him as though she