Page 12 of The Scarlet Spy (Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies #3)

Chapter Twelve

H er nerves winding tighter with every turn of the carriage wheels, Sofia watched the glitter of the Mayfair streets fade to a more haphazard swirl of light and shadow. Would tonight bring her one step closer to the grim truth? It was, perhaps, waxing overly melodramatic, but given what she had learned over the past few days, she couldn’t help but feel that this evening’s party at Lord Concord’s retreat would mark a turning point in her search—she was sure of it.

The last few days had passed quietly, for other than several routine morning calls and an appearance at the Theatre Royal, she had cried off from her other social engagements. Laying low had allowed her to sift through the file of notes that had suddenly arrived from the marquess.

Following up on her request, Lynsley’s agents had uncovered a number of interesting leads on De Winton’s source of income and Roxbury’s ties to Sforza’s shipping company in Venice. That all three men—along with a prominent government official in Bombay—were partners in a private banking account was the most intriguing information. Marco had spent the last two nights poking around the East India docks at Blackwall, east of Isle of Dogs. He would be there this evening as well, instead of joining her here. They had decided his talents were better put to use in picking locks than in serving as her escort.

As she stepped down from the unmarked carriage and moved up the slate walkway, Sofia reminded herself to relax. She must appear a lady interested in a taste of illicit pleasures, nothing more.

Lord Concord himself answered her knock. ”Welcome, contessa. I thought you would prefer to make a discreet entrance, rather than be greeted by strangers.” He pressed a kiss to her hand. “A lady can’t be too careful of her reputation.”

De Winton, who was standing at his friend’s shoulder, was quick to offer his own effusive greeting. “Indeed,indeed. Be assured that there are just a few trusted servants around to serve our needs. So your naughty secret is quite safe here.”

“Thank you, Adam.” She allowed him to take her cloak before adding, “Have I been naughty?”

“Simply by virtue of joining this gathering, you would stir a bit of scandal among the sticklers of the ton .” His gaze lingered on the satin trim of her bodice, which cut a deep ‘V’ between her breasts. “As for anything else, I suppose that is up to you.”

De Winton’s look made it clear he expected to bed her. The idea was not appealing, but if duty demanded it . . .

“Allow me to show you to the drawing room.” Concord stepped forward and took her arm. “I believe you are acquainted with some of the other guests, but there are new faces as well.”

Perhaps having the two men vie for her favors could be turned to her advantage. “I always look forward to new experiences, including making new friends,” replied Sofia. “It makes life so much more interesting than staying within the same old circle.”

“I couldn’t agree more, milady,” said Concord.

Accepting a glass of champagne from the servant stationed by the door, she took a long sip in order to survey the room. She recognized Andover and Roxbury, along withSforza and Lord Neville, another of the Scarlet Knights. They were by the hearth conversing with a trio of females who, despite their costly silks and jewels, appeared to be. . . not quite ladies.

Cyprians , guessed Sofia. Curious at her first glimpse of the demimonde , she allowed her gaze to linger a moment longer before moving on to the sofa and settee, where Lady Serena Sommers was presiding over a group of gentlemen that included Roxbury and Familligi. Osborne had not yet arrived.

Or perhaps he had chosen to stay away.

“Champagne seems such a tame choice for a lady of adventurous tastes.” De Winton sidled close. His glass was filled with a liquid nearly as red as his waistcoat. “The punch is a mix of pomegranate juice, brandy and grappa.

“I am merely whetting my palate,” she replied.

“Speaking of treats, Sofia, did you bring your poppy-crested gold key?” The overbright glitter in his eyes looked to be lit by more than the spirits. “Or were you merely pretending to know about the secret language of flowers.”

Thrust and parry. Sofia couldn’t afford the slightest slip in this verbal duel. “I will let you be the judge,” she countered. Moving into the shadows cast by a japanned screen, she plucked the sliver of gold from a hidden pocket sewn into her sash.

He studied it for a long moment before asking, “Did you get it from Della Croce in Venice?

Not wanting to fall into a trap, Sofia batted her lashes. “What do you think, cara ?”

“Beauty and blunt—Vittorio has a weakness for both.” De Winton laughed. “No wonder he was willing to share in his part of the business.” He fingered the silk of his waistcoat. “Like Venice, there is a special place here in London. You put the key in the lock and it opens the door to pleasure. And, of course, profit.

Sofia hid her excitement beneath a sly smile. “So I have been told. Just how?—”

“How delightful to see you again, contessa.” Roxbury’s greeting interrupted her question. “I was hoping you would be among the invited guests.”

“I wasn’t aware that the two of you had met,” said De Winton.

“Lady della Silveri and her Italian friend happened to stop by for a look around Andover’s shop while I was there,” replied Roxbury. “Did anything catch your eye?”

“A great many things. He has quite a unique selection of treasures.” Sofia held up her hand. “But for the moment, my only purchase was this charming little ring.”

“Charming, indeed.” But his gaze was on the key. “Andover does not keep those out on display.”

“I came by mine in Venice,” she murmured.

“Ah.” Andover joined them, leaving the three Cyprians to Lord Neville. “Might I have a look at the workmanship?”

Sofia could think of no reason to refuse.

The gallery owner studied the enameling from several angles, then handled it back. “Verchiotto’s work is unmistakable,”he murmured, with a tiny nod at De Winton.

“Welcome to our circle, contessa, ” said Roxbury, before the other men could speak.

“You possess a key, too, Mr. Roxbury?” she asked.

“Indeed, like De Winton and Andover, I am one of the Select Six here in London. I act as quartermaster, coordinating the lists of suppliers, and the logistics?—”

Andover nudged him to silence. “Really, Roxbury, you know better than discuss the details of our business outside the monthly meetings.”

“But we are among friends,” he said rather sulkily.

Much as she wished to hear more about any lists, Sofia was quick to agree with Andover. “ Si. We are equally careful in Venice.”

“Castillo is said to run a tight ship,” said De Winton.

She played it coy, avoiding a direct answer“Of course, we don’t mention names either.”

Andover nodded. “Of course.”

So far, so good. None of the others called her bluff

Still smiling, the gallery owner drew De Winton aside. “Adam, do let me show you one of Concord’s Chinese porcelains. I have a similar one you might be interested in purchasing . . .”

The two men moved away, leaving her alone with Roxbury. The opportunity was enticing—given the man’s vanity, she had no doubt she could tease further indiscretions out of him. But she dared not seem too curious about the workings of the group.

Not yet.

“Come, you must introduce me to the man who just joined Lord Neville,” she said. “And to their female companions.”

Roxbury looked loath to agree, but after several florid flatteries earned him no reprieve, he reluctantly led the way to join the others. As the conversation began anew, Sofia smiled and managed to appear attentive, although in truth her thoughts were engaged on what she had heard earlier.

De Winton, Roxbury, Andover —they each possessed a key. And according to Roxbury’s slip of the tongue, there were three more. Concord? Given his role as host, he was certainly a prime suspect. As for the other two, it was a pity that Marco had not succeeded in having a look inside Andover’s storeroom. The hint of incriminating lists had her fingers itching to put her lock-picking skills to work.

A late night foray to Bond Street? Too risky without a proper surveillance of the premises.

Sofia made another surreptitious look around. De Winton and Andover were still engaged in a private talk by the curio cabinet, while Serena was keeping the Italian and several other men amused—including Osborne, who had lost no time in joining the ranks of her admirers. The laughter from that end of the room was growing more animated, and to augment the array of champagne bottles, a servant appeared with a tray of jade pipes.

Improvise. The echo of her fencing master’s exhortations drowned out the chatter of the Cyprians. Bond Street was out of bounds, but Concord’s private study was just a short stroll away, down a deserted corridor.

No one would give it a second thought if she excused herself to find the withdrawing room.

Osborne sipped his brandy, trying to ignore the sight of Sofia flirting with Lord Neville and a man from the ministry whose name he had forgotten. She looked incredibly seductive in the smoky light. The deep green velvet bodice was cut low and spangled with gold. As if the lush curves of her breasts needed any enhancement.

He told himself to concentrate his attention on the other Lady S. The fair-haired widow was far more accessible.

Sensing his sidelong glance, Serena turned and offered him a Turkish confection of dates and nuts. “Would you care for a sweetmeat, Deverill?”

He gave a halfhearted chuckle. “Am I looking sour-faced?”

“Your expression is black as a storm cloud—as opposed to your usual sunny humor.”She rose, drawing him up along with her. “Come take a turn with me around the display of Indian bronzes. I wish to hear your opinion on their artistic merit.”

Osborne followed along. “I’m afraid my knowledge of Eastern art is woefully lacking,” he murmured, as they approached the teakwood table.

“So is mine,” she replied with a light laugh. “However, you looked as if you needed a respite from the crowd.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Running a finger over the elephant profile of a Hindu deity, Serena continued on with a few pithy comments on the stylistic details before adroitly changing the subject. “Speaking of long faces . . . you are so popular with the ton , I would assume you know everyone, even so gruff a man as George Hartwick.”

“Yes, reasonably well, in fact.” Osborne was puzzled as to why she would have any interest in the curmudgeonly head of a family that controlled most of the cotton plantations along the coast of the Carolinas. Aside from cotton, Hartwick’s other passion was landscape painting, and they had met a number of times at art exhibits. “Is there a reason you ask?”

“In fact, there is. I have a friend who is interested in doing a bit of business with him. Is it true that Hartwick is a stickler for following the rules?”

Osborne found himself frowning. “What do you mean?”

She gave an airy wave. “You know, some people will not take advantage of certain loopholes in the law, even when a clever business manager can find way to do it legally.”

There was something unsettling in her making light of the matter. But then, a lady would not be expected to understand all the nuances of business ethics. “Hartwick won’t seek any special favors,” he said firmly

“Not even if you were to speak to him?”

“Actually, I find his refusal to do so commendable” replied Osborne. “Given the war, one should not profit from loopholes simply to pocket personal gain.”

“Most men find that money is an irresistible lure,” murmured Serena

He leaned back against the window sill. “Not to me. I have enough.”

She laughed. “Does anyone ever have enough?” The question hung in the air for an instant, then she softened the cynicism with a brief smile “Obviously you have a noble heart, Deverill. How very admirable. Not many men possess your principles.”

Strange, but it was almost as if she was mocking him. He shrugged off the sensation and replied with the same teasing tone. “Trust me, I am far from perfect.”

“I am glad to hear it—for a moment I was worried about you.” A tilt of her chin set her face in flawless profile. “Perhaps you would care to come by my townhouse after the party, where we have a bit more privacy to discuss the subject of right and wrong.”

Spend the night with the lovely widow? Osborne knew he should be salivating at the offer. But suddenly, for some odd reason, the prospect of a torrid tumble in her bed held little appeal.

He feigned a grimace. “Alas, I promised Harkness I would meet him sometime after midnight inSouthwark. He has been anxious to show me a new gaming hell, and it would be shabby of me not to show.” He kept his response deliberately vague. “Perhaps another time.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed slightly, and between the glare of the glass and the flicker of the candles, it seemed that a blaze of anger flamed in her gaze.

However, it was gone in a flash and he felt a little foolish having imagined it, for when she spoke, it was with her usual calm.

“Of course, a gentleman cannot leave his friends in the lurch.”

“You are more understanding than I deserve.” He ran a hand through his hair, unable to explain his odd mood. “Forgive me. I seem to be poor company for anyone this evening.”

As she was about to answer, one of Concord’s servants approached and cleared his throat. “Your pardon, milady, but a message has come for you.”

“Please excuse me, Deverill.” She hurried off to confer with Concord, then returned after several minutes to retrieve her reticule. “I, too, find that I am obliged to attend to another matter this evening. I must take an early leave.”

“I trust it is nothing serious?”

“No, merely an ailing relative who needs my attention. There does not appear to be any immediate danger, but I ought not ignore the note.” Her tone was quite calm, but Osborne noted a ripple of emotion in her gaze. “You know how trifling things can take a turn for the worse if left unattended.”

Seeing her concern made him feel even more foolish for his unkind thoughts. “Your compassion is commendable,” he murmured. “I will call on you soon.”

“Yes, do.”

Osborne could hardly blame her for sounding a bit cool. If she had taken offense at his behavior, it was what he deserved. He ought to go home and brood alone over his brandy.

And yet, he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from straying to find the contessa.

Sofia edged along the corridor, keeping to the shadows. The door to Concord’s study was unlocked—no need yet for the steel pick hidden among her hairpins. Slipping inside, she hurried to the desk. The drapes were drawn, so she ventured to strike a light to the candle by the inkwell. She would give herself five minutes, no more, to make a search of the drawers. Though the gentlemen seemed engrossed in their pleasures, there was no point in taking chances.

A riffling through the top two revealed little more than bills from a wine merchant and gaming vowels. The bottom one was locked, but it proved no match for her steel. At first glance, she saw nothing of interest, but on probing under a sheaf of estate papers, her hand brushed up against something hard and smooth. Darwing it into the light, she saw it was a gold snuff box decorated with same enameled poppy as crowned her key.

Inside was a folded note . . .

The rattle of the latch gave her just enough warning. Shoving the box into her sash, Sofia quickly relocked the drawer and was just spinning away from the desk when a figure entered the room.

She thought fast, and tugged loose the silken ribbons of her bodice, allowing a tantalizing peek of her decolletage. Whoever it was, she trusted that the sight of rosy flesh would distract him from asking what she was doing alone, in her host’s private quarters.

“Looking for something to read, contessa?”

Sofia laughed as she caressed the leatherbound books. “The party is rather a bore, Osborne. I was seeking a distraction—and it seems you are of the same frame of mind.”

The flicker of candlelight did not quite reach his face.

“Perhaps we could make the night a bit more interesting,” she added coyly.

“Is that an invitation?” His voice was as inscrutable as his expression. “I was under the impression that my advances were not welcome.”

“A lady must sometimes play hard to get.” Hearing voices at the far end of the corridor, she took a step closer. “Most gentlemen are hunters at heart. They find the chase exhilarating.”

“And when the quarry is cornered?”

She reached out her hand and touched his jaw, smooth, strong, with just a faint hint of stubbling against her fingertips. “Then I expect the hunter will move in for the coup de grace .”

Osborne hesitated for a heartbeat, then caught her up in his arms. His kiss was searing, and sweet with the taste of brandy. She opened her mouth, allowing the heat to flood over her tongue.

The trail of his lips slid to the hollow of her throat, the ridge of her collarbone. A moment later his hands tugged the silk down across her skin, and he sucked in the tip of her breast. Fire tingling through her as he teased the sensitive flesh with his tongue.

And then with his teeth.

With a wordless moan, Sofia slid her hand inside his shirt, reveling in the smooth, slabbed muscle, the frizz of curls, fine as spun gold beneath her fingertips. A button popped loose as she pulled at the tails of his cravat. Stumbling, they fell against the desk.

Osborne lifted her, pushing away the pens and inkwell, and perched her derriere on the burled walnut.

Sofia pulled her skirts up around her thighs and opened her legs, drawing him into the froth of lace and satin. The voices outside were closer now. She could hear the scuff of leather against the parquet floor.

“Deverill!” Her knees clenched around his sword-slim hips.

As the door to the study swung open. De Winton and Concord stopped short, their surprise limned in the light of the hallway scones. After an instant it turned to leers.

“Oh dear!” Sofia made a half-hearted attempt to sit up. “ It looks as though we’ve been caught in the act, my dear Deverill. How very naughty of us.”

De Winton laughed.

Osborne looked around. “Do you gentlemen mind finding another spot to enjoy your brandy and cheroots?”

“But no other room offers quite such an interesting view,” drawled De Winton.

“Indeed.” Concord smacked his lips. “Can’t we watch?”

“Sorry,” said Osborne. “I don’t perform before an audience.”

“Lud, if I were mounted on such a prime filly, I’dbe happy to show off my skill in the saddle.”

De Winton added his own lewd remark. But the ribaldry did not quite veil the look of malice in his eyes. Had she made an enemy by appearing to favor Osborne over him? There had been no choice.

“Nonetheless, gentlemen, the lady and I would prefer a bit of privacy,” replied Osborne. “If you please.”

With a last snigger, they backed off and shut the door.

Sofia smiled, though her heart was pounding so furiously that she feared it might shatter a rib. “Now, where were we, cara ?”

Osborne was still looking at the doorway.

She tried kissing the corner of his mouth, hoping to arouse his passion again.

He didn’t bite. “They’re gone. What was that you slipped into your sash?”

“La, you are imagining things, Deverill,” she teased.

“I saw the flash of gold as you hid it away, contessa,” he insisted.

“Your eyes deceived you, Osborne.” She threaded her hands through his hair. “It was merely the glint of my rings.”

“Who the devil are you?”In the flickering shadows, his eyes were dark as a storm-tossed sea.

“What a strange question, sir.” She drew in a tiny gulp of air and tried to soften the shrillness of her voice with a light laugh. “Have you forgotten already which of your legion of admiring ladies you hold in your arms? “ She nibbled at his ear. “Here, allow me refresh your memory, Osborne. I am Sofia Constanza Bingham?—”

“I know what names you go by, Lady della Silveri,” interrupted Osborne. “The far more pressing question is what lurks beneath those silken lies.”

“You are calling me a liar, sir?” She tried to sound outraged.

“And a thief.” Without warning, his hand shot out and snagged the snuffbox from the sash of her gown.

Sofia tried to grab it back but he was too quick.

Stepping back, Osborne held it up to the candlelight. “A pretty enough bauble, but there are more valuable pieces in the curio cabinet. Perhaps what is inside it is what interests you.” He started to open the lid . . .

Damn. She had to make a split second decision.

Spin, step, lunge —in a blur of lashing limbs, she closed the short distance between them. A sharp blow to the jaw momentarily stunned him, allowing her hand to find his carotid artery. Her fingertips pressed against his pulse.

Without so much as a sound, Osborne slumped to the carpet.

“Sorry,” she muttered, straightening his unconscious form to a more comfortable position. Looking around, she quickly knocked a small bronze statue of a satyr from its marble plinth. When he came to, the evidence would indicate that he had suffered an accidental slip.

“Sweet dreams, sir,” she added before retrieving the fallen snuff box and hurrying from the room.