Page 18 of The Scarlet Spy (Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies #3)

Chapter Eighteen

T he Duke of Sterling was at home, and in response to Osborne’s calling card he sent a servant to escort him to the library.

“Thank you giving me reason to set aside my steward’s report.” Sterling removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I trust him to make the decision about sowing wheat or rye, but the fellow’s feelings are hurt if I don’t read over his reasonings.”

“Duty is often tedious,” murmured Osborne politely.

The duke sighed. “Yes. I confess that I find much more pleasure in translating Cicero than the current technical data on farming. But I’m sure you did not come here for a lecture on ancient Rome.”

“Actually I did.” Osborne was quick to smile. “I was wondering if I might see the display of Roman coins in your South Gallery. Lady Hentman asked me for some ideas for a decorative frieze in her morning room, and I was thinking of suggesting a motif of classical portraits.”

“I am always delighted to show my collection to someone who appreciates art.” Sterling rose. “Come this way.”

As Osborne remembered, the glass case was filled with burnished bronzes and gleaming golds. He took his time over the display, pretending to study the nuances of the different faces. “Magnificent,” he finally murmured. “Would you mind if I made a few quick sketches?”

“Why, not at all, not at all,” replied the duke.

“The thing is, I seem to have forgotten my copybook.” Osborne gave an apologetic smile. “Might I trouble you for pencil and paper?”

As he had hoped, Sterling waved off the problem. “It’s no trouble. There are writing supplies in the desk next door. I shall just be a moment.”

As soon as the duke was out of view, Osborne hurried over to the wall of family portraits. Stopping before the gilt-framed canvas of the duke’s daughter, he drew out the locket and thumbed the case open. Just as he suspected, the miniature was an exact copy of the painting.

His breath caught in his throat. Seeing the larger image, Osborne was struck by the subtle resemblances to Sofia. The same winged brows, the same slant of the cheekbones, the same determined set of the mouth. Rather than shed any light on the subject, the painting only deepened the mystery surrounding her and Lynsley’s strange request.

If Sofia was the duke’s granddaughter, why was there a secrecy surrounding the family connection? And even more puzzling, what was she doing stealing valuables from the ton ?

The more he thought about it, the more it made no sense at all. And he doubted that the marquess would answer any questions . . .

“Good God, where did you get that?”For a large man, Sterling was surprisingly light on his feet.

Osborne made no effort to prevent the duke from snatching up the locket. “I am very sorry, Your Grace. But at the moment, I am not at liberty to say.”

Sterling fingered the worn case, then traced the delicate brushstrokes with a trembling hand. “I had this made as a keepsake for Elizabeth on her eighteenth birthday.” A tear rolled down his cheek.

“I thought I recognized the face,” said Osborne softly. “And so I borrowed it from the owner to see if my hunch was correct.”

“Please tell your acquaintance that I will pay any price to have it, especially if I can learn how it was obtained. ” Sterling wiped at his cheek. “I was estranged from my daughter, you know. On account of her eloping with a man I considered beneath her. How I paid for my pride and my prejudice! It took months for me to learn of her death. His voice turned ragged. “It was an epidemic of influenza, which also struck down her husband and newborn child. By the time I journeyed to their village, all mementos of her had disappeared from the cottage where they lived.”

So, the duke didn’t know about Sofia?

“The current owner is not offering it for sale, Your Grace,” replied Osborne. “I’m afraid I must take it back. But now that I know its provenance for sure, I promise to see what I can do to reunite you with your lost. . . heirloom.”

Sterling let the filigree chain slide slowly through his fingers. “You have always struck me as an honorable man, Osborne. I will trust you to keep your word.”

Sofia untied the strings of her bonnet and tossed it on the entrance table, Shopping was more tiring than fencing drills, but at least the appointment in Bond Street had allowed her to cut short her ride with De Winton.

Things had gone well enough with the Scarlet Knight, she decided, though his touch now made her skin crawl. Compared to Osborne . . .

No, she would not allow her thoughts to go there. Thankfully, De Winton had made no effort to offer his escort to the mantua maker. Out of sight, out of mind.

Shrugging off her shawl, Sofia entered the side parlor. She had been neglecting her study on ancient Rome, and if she was to keep up appearances for the duke, she ought to finish reading?—

She stopped short on seeing Osborne sitting by the window. Legs outstretched, cravat loosened, he was perusing the book on Roman antiquities. But the tension in his shoulders belied the casual pose.

Masking her surprise with a curt nod, Sofia asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

In answer, he held up the locket.

Sofia felt the color drain from her face. Taking a quick stride toward him, she tried to snatch it away.

He yanked it back out of reach. “Another gold bauble you have stolen?” he said sarcastically, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“No!” she said shrilly. “Damn you, Osborne. You have no right to riffle through my personal things.”

“Where did you get it?” he demanded.

“None of your bloody business,” she cried.

“Not mine, perhaps. But isn’t the Duke of Sterling entitled to know that his granddaughter is masquerading as an Italian contessa?”

Sofia tried to speak, but found her lips refused to form any words.

“Or perhaps it is the other way around,” he added.

“ What ?” She didn’t have to feign her confusion. He already had her off balance. Somehow she must regain her equilibrium.

“I’ve been sitting here for some time, trying to work out just what it is that you’re are up to.” Osborne’s eyes were cold as ice. “I cannot quite see Lord Lynsley being part of a scheme to deceive Sterling. So perhaps you are just taking advantage of a resemblance to the duke’s daughter. Did you simply steal the locket? Or did you do away with Elizabeth Woolsey’s daughter so that you could take her place and claim a rich inheritance?”

Sofia couldn’t hold back a twitch of her lips. “And perhaps you are a long lost relative of Ann Radcliffe—your imagination certainly rivals hers when it comes to the plot of a horrid novel.”

“Have I got the story wrong?” he retorted. “Is the real motif theft? Given your skills at stealing, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear you were planning to rob the duke of his priceless antiquities.”

Her quirk of humor quickly faded. “In all seriousness, Osborne, do you really think I am capable of murder and such duplicity for the sake of greed? Just a few days ago, you did not believe it so.”

He threw up his hands. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“It’s nothing like that,” she replied.

“Then for god’s sake, tell me what is going on! Why doesn’t the duke know he has a granddaughter?”

Turning away, she moved to the sideboard and poured herself a sherry. Her hands were trembling badly. “There is no proof that I am of the duke’s flesh and blood,” she whispered.

Osborne drew a deep breath. “I’ve seen the original portrait, Sofia. The family resemblance is unmistakable.”

She shook her head. “I happen to have black hair and green eyes. So do any number of orphans in St. Giles.” As soon the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had made a tactical blunder.

“Orphan?” Osborne narrowed his eyes. “Is this another one of your absurd lies? Lynsley himself told me that he had arranged for your riding master.” His fist smacked against his palm. “Bloody hell, stop playing me for a fool, Sofia.”

She sighed. “Would that I could.”

His expression softened. “Trust me.”

“This isn’t about you, Deverill, or me. It’s about . . .”

“ What ?”

As Osborne’s demand echoed in her ears, it was joined by the whisper of Lynsley’s earlier words. I would prefer to keep this a secret.

Torn between her heart and her sense of duty, she tried to put him off. “I—I can’t tell you that either.”

His hand was suddenly on her shoulder. If he had shouted, or shaken her, she could have fought back. But instead he simply stroked the ridge of her collarbone, then touched the pulse point at her throat. His fingertips thrummed with warmth and she could feel the beat of his heart—strong, steady—in harmony with hers.

“I am so very sorry that you cannot bring yourself to share your secrets with me,” he said. “I’ve tried to show myself worthy of your trust. But if heart is not enough, there’s naught more I can do. I will leave you to your task.”

A fleeting caress to her cheek and he stepped away. “The duke is an old man. He doesn’t know the truth and deserves to. I hope you will have the compassion to tell him at some point.”

“Wait!” she cried.

Osborne turned, a crooked smile on his face. His hair was windblown, and fell in gilded curls around his collar.

“I will tell you what I can?—”

He stopped her with a small shake of his head. “No more half-truths, Sofia. No more conundrums andinnuendos. You either trust me wholeheartedly or not at all.”

She hesitated.

He waited a fraction longer, then let himself out of the room.

Out of her life.

“Osborne.” It was more of a murmur than a shout. Did she dare add force to it? Once the step was taken, there was no going back.

“Osborne!”

The silence seemed a mocking echo of her hesitation. He was gone for good, and who could blame him for turning a deaf ear to her call.

Then, as if by magic, the door reopened.

“Yes?”

She released a pent up sigh, suddenly sure she was making the right decision. “It’s true—Lynsley did arrange for my riding master. In fact, he arranged for all my schooling. There is an academy outside of London for. . . girls like me.”

“A school for charity cases?” he asked, after closing the door behind him.

“I suppose you could call it that,” she said.

Osborne frowned. “Why the marquess, and not your real family?”

“I had no idea who my mother was. Not until a few days ago. The only family I ever knew was an aging whore in a rundown bawdy house in St. Giles,” replied Sofia. “She told me that her sister appeared one night, weak with influenza and bearing a mysterious infant and the locket. But that was all she knew—her sibling died before dawn.”

Osborne’s expression softened, yet there was still suspicion in his eyes. “I don’t understand about Lynsley, and why he would involve himself with the schooling of orphans, given all his other duties.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would. He keeps it very hush-hush.”

“Why?” Exasperated, he threw up his hands. “Is it a state secret?”

A smile stole to her lips. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

Seeing he was on the verge of another explosive outburst, she went on quickly. “Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies is located outside of London. But it might as well be on the moon for all that the public knows of the place. You see, I was not joking about a school for spies.”

“Damn it, Sofia,” he began.

“Wait, hear me out.”

His jaw clenched. “Go on.”

“According to our headmistress, Lord Lynsley founded the Academy after reading a book on Hasan-I-Sabah, a Muslim caliph who raised a secret society of warriors at his mountain citadels. His men were known for their deadly skills and fanatic loyalty. The caliph used them only in times of dire danger to his rule. And legend has it they never failed on a mission. The very name Hashishim —or Assassins—was enough to strike terror in the heart of the Master’s enemy.”

“Assassins,” repeated Osborne. “You don’t mean to say you are trained to?—”

“Kill? But of course,” said Sofia calmly. “However we prefer to use bloodshed as a last resort.”

To his credit, he didn’t blink. It was, however, an uncomfortably long silence before he asked, “How does the marquess recruit you?”

“I was not lying about the orphans, either.”

His expression still hovered between doubt and trust.

She wished she could gloss over the details. But Deverill Osborne had earned the right to know everything about her. Even the parts of her life that she was not terribly proud of.

“Lord Lynsley handpicks the students from the legion of children running wild in the stews,” she went on. “I have been told he looks for courage and cleverness.” It was not easy to speak so dispassionately about her past, but Sofia forced herself to go on. “He saw me fighting off a pimp who was trying to take away one of my friends, a smaller girl who was not tough enough to stand up for herself. Evidently I was quick enough and good enough with a blade to catch his eye.”

Osborne was regarding her through the fringe of his lashes. Blurred by the sun-kissed flecks of gold, his expression was impossible to read.

“How old were you?”

Sofia lifted her shoulders. “Eleven or twelve—I cannot say for sure.”

“And then what?”

“When we first come to the Academy, Mrs. Merlin shows us the large, ornate globe that stands in her office and has us choose a name from the myriad of cities lettered on its surface. A new name for the new world we are about to enter.” Sofia paused for a moment, thinking about her little muddy finger running at random over the varnished surface. “From there, we enter a program of rigorous training—learning proper speech and etiquette, as well as traditional schoolroom subjects. And of course, the martial arts.”

“It sounds demanding,” said Osborne. “I would imagine that not everyone achieves a passing grade.”

“Competition for the Master Class is fierce. Those who don’t make it are trained for other useful purposes, such as maids, tavernkeepers or governesses. The marquess has eyes and ears in most every city from here to Peking.”

“And you?”

Her mouth curled up at the corners. “I suppose you could say that my fellow Merlins and I are England’s secret weapon.”

He began to pace, and the slanting shadows hid his face. “How many of these warrior women are there?”

“Our number varies,” answered Sofia. “Right now, the ranks of full-fledged Merlins are somewhat depleted, due to . . . circumstances beyond Lord Lynsley’s control.”

“Death?” he asked through gritted teeth

“That is always a possibility,” she said softly. “However in this case, I was referring to matrimony.”

“Good Lord.” He turned slowly. “Perchance is one of your comrades named Siena?”

Sofia countered with her own question. “W—what do you know of Siena?”

“Only that she recently married one of my closest friends.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It seems that . . . well, it’s rather a long story. And we have our own tale to sort out.”

That was putting it mildly. However, before changing the subject, Sofia explained, “Siena was one of my roommates. I have not yet had a chance to meet the Earl of Kirtland. Neither Shannon nor I were able to attend the wedding ceremony, for Academy rules forbid any public appearances where someone might wonder about our identity.” The thought of her friends was another sharp reminder of how alone she was in the world. “I was not aware of your friendship with Lord Kirtland. But then, I suppose it is not surprising—you are friends with most everyone in Society.”

“Julian is special,” replied Osborne. “He and I have been through a lot together. On the field of battle, you quickly learn who are the comrades you would trust with your life.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

His face pinched to an odd expression. His voice was equally enigmatic. “Yes, I imagine you do.”

Was he shocked by her profession? Disgusted? The females of his world were all genteel, well-bred ladies, trained to excel in the social graces, rather than the sordid arts of war.

Despite the ache in her chest, Sofia gave a careless shrug. “No doubt you think me a hardscrabble hellion, unworthy to rub shoulders with the proper ladies of the ton . However, there are times when a female is best suited to root out the enemy, and I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

“I think . . .” As Osborne turned, the sunlight from the window suffused his features. “I think that you are, without question, the most admirable individual I have ever met. You make me ashamed of my own lily-white hands. We lords and ladies live in a world of pomp and splendor because you are willing to fight to defend our privileges.”

Her cheeks were suddenly hot as molten steel, and to her surprise, Sofia realized she was blushing. Damn . She was acting like a giddy schoolgirl rather than a trained soldier. “I fight to defend all of England, from the highborn patrician to the lowborn laborer.”

His step was hesitant, halting. Reaching out through the shadows, Osborne framed her face with his hands. Strong, sure. There was nothing of the pampered aristocrat in his touch.

“Which makes you even more noble.”

“Please, don’t make me out to be a saint, Deverill. I have all too many flaws.” She gave a rueful grimace. “Just ask Lord Lynsley. He’ll assure you I am far from perfect.”

“When next I speak to Lynsley, it will be on a different topic.” He drew in a long breath and let his hands fall away. “But to return to you, and your reasons for being in London, does this mean your interest in De Winton is purely professional?”

“Yes. The marquess sent me here to see if I could uncover evidence of government corruption. He had reason to suspect that a ring of conspirators was manipulating military contracts, and that the Duke of Sterling’s grandson suspected the illegal activities . . .”

Sofia went on to explain her mission as best she could, along with a brief summary of what she had learned so far. “There is much that is still conjecture. And the personal complication with the duke was, of course, completely unexpected. For the time being, it cannot interfere with my work.”

“Have you made progress?”

“I have some ideas,” she replied somewhat evasively. It was one thing to tell the truth, it was another to draw Osborne into danger. He had already risked enough on her account. “And some leads that are worth following up on.”

“How can I help?” he demanded.

It was not really meant as a question. She saw in his eyes that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Your contacts among the ton could be very useful,” she said slowly, careful not to give in too quickly.

“If I don’t know the person in question, I will likely be acquainted with a close friend. In any case, I can get access to most anyone, and I am rather good at establishing myself as a trusted confidante.”

“You could charm the scales off a snake,” agreed Sofia with a small smile. However she had no intention of letting him anywhere near the nest of vipers she had uncovered. “Though I would rather convince you to stay away from possible trouble?—”

“Not a chance.”

“I had a feeling you would say that.” She exaggerated a sigh. “Very well, if you really wish to help, I would be grateful if you could approach Lord Coxe and see what you can find out about how he acquires his antiquities.”

Osborne’s well-shaped brows quirked in question. “Coxe? The man is over seventy years old! Surely you don’t suspect him of being a criminal mastermind?”

“Not wittingly,” replied Sofia. “But I have reason to suspect that messages between the conspirators, as well as valuable contraband, are being passed along inside cargos of expensive art.” One of the lessons she had learned at the Academy was that the best lies always had a grain of truth to them. “If we knew what shipping firm handles their business, and who arranges the deliveries, it could help shed light on the whole operation.”

Coxe, a fellow member of her Roman society, was a noted collector who frequently received deliveries from all over Italy. That he was also a sweet old man, without an evil bone in his body, would ensure that Osborne would be off digging through harmless information.

His initial look of skepticism sharpened to a speculative stare. “I see what you mean. Clever of the bastards.”

“Quite,” she murmured.

Osborne pursed his lips. “Come to think of it, isn’t that fellow Sforza involved in shipping?”

Damn, he was quick . Too quick. “Don’t bother with Sforza or Familligi. Marco is already investigating their businesses.”

“Marco?” Osborne’s voice took on an odd edge. “You trusted him before me?”

“Marco is one of Lynsley’s operatives,” she murmured.

“So, the fellow is more than a braggart and a buffoon?”

“In fact, he was one of my instructors at the Academy.”

“Dear God,” growled Osborne. “I shudder to think what he teaches.”

“Fencing, among other things.” She grinned, hoping to further distract him from thoughts of the Scarlet Knights. “He is very good with a blade.”

The force of his oath surprised her. “He had better keep it sheathed around me—and you. Else he’ll be fishing his cods out of the Thames.”

Surely Osborne wasn’t. . . jealous? Though he was known for his even temperament and adroit avoidance of emotional entanglements, she knew that deep down he was a man who cared passionately about certain principles. Honor. Friendship.

She must not confuse his feelings for her as anything more than the concerns of a true gentleman.

“Marco is far too fond of his gioelli de famiglia to risk offending either of us, Deverill.” Her teasing softened Osborne’s scowl just a touch. “Besides, despite his braggadocio, he is a consummate professional. He won’t leave a stone unturned in seeking to uncover what his fellow countrymen are up to here in London.”

“Which is your way of tactfully telling me not to muck things up by getting in his way.” He made a wry face. “I can’t help but feel you have given me the easiest of all the assignments. I am to spend a comfortable evening, drinking brandy and discussing art, while you expose yourself to god knows what sort of dangers.”

“All of our roles are important,” she said softly. “As for my next move, right now I do not anticipate any real danger. Aside from engaging in a bit more flirtation with De Winton, I have no other immediate plans.”

Osborne didn’t look completely convinced. “Promise me you will not take any rash steps without telling me. I have been thinking . . . the alley attack might well have been a warning that someone suspects you are not what you seem.”

“Let us not imagine phantom dangers. We have enough real conundrums to contend with.” Sofia saw his jaw tighten and quickly went on. “The chances that someone has discovered my real mission are very slim. Lynsley and his operatives are very good at what they do. As am I.”

“Nonetheless . . .” His movements were like a quicksilver wink of sunlight. Before she quite realized what had happened, she was in his arms and the warmth of his lips grazed her cheek. “Promise me you will not take any untoward risks.”

“I—I will do my best, Deverill.”

“I suppose I must be satisfied with that.” His mouth was no longer so gentle as it took her in a hard, possessive kiss. There was an oddly vulnerable note of longing to his whisper that left her slightly weak in the knees. “For now, at least.”

A soft rap on the door interrupted his words. Reluctantly, he released his hold and allowed her to step back.

“Your pardon, milady.”

Sofia noted with wry amusement that her maid did not wait for any reply before entering the room.

“But if we do not begin dressing for the evening, you will be late for Countess of Wright’s card party.”

“Thank you, Rose,” she said. “Osborne was just taking his leave. I shall be up in a moment.”

“Very good, milady.” The maid’s basilisk gaze lingered for a moment on Osborne before she took her leave.

“My fears are put slightly to rest by knowing that such a woman is standing guard over you,” he murmured. “I, for one, would not care to risk her ire.”

“I can’t say that I blame you. I have reason to believe that Rose possesses a number of formidable skills, aside from her talents with hairpins and a crimping iron.

“Another of Lynsley’s agents?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“In that, at least, I have no quarrel with him.”He cleared his throat. “As to this evening?—”

“It is purely a social engagement. The countess has invited a group of her lady friends for a quiet evening of whist and supper. I am attending merely to keep up the appearance of seeking entrée into Society.”

“Then I shall start in on making myself agreeable to Lord Coxe,” said Osborne. “He often stops by at White’s for a cigar and brandy before retiring for the night.” A pause hovered between them, heavy with unspoken questions. But when he spoke again, it was simply to ask, “What about your plans for tomorrow?”

“I believe my schedule calls for a lecture at the Literary Ladies of Mayfair.”

“If things change, you will let me know?”

“Please don’t worry, Deverill.” Sofia sidestepped an outright lie as she moved for the doorway.

He wasn’t fooled by the maneuver. “Sofia?—”

“I had better go, before I incur Rose’s wrath.”

“Have a care, sweeting.”His voice was as soft as the rustle of her silks. “May Luck watch over you like a hawk.”

“And you, cara ,” she whispered as she hurried up the stairs.

But in truth, she sensed they would need more than luck to beat the Scarlet Knights at their own game.