Free The Scarlet Spy by Andrea Pickens Page A

“Forgive me, gentlemen, but I am afraid I must claim the lady for the next dance.”
    The announcement elicited a chorus of sighs.
    “Be a good fellow and introduce me,” asked Lord Westford in a low voice as he stepped aside. “We all know you have no interest in donning a legshackle, but the contessa’s beauty might tempt me to make an offer.”
    “Not to speak of her wealth.” Osborne paused for a fraction. “It’s well known you need to marry for money, Fitz. But don’t get your hopes up. The marquess will be sure to warn the widow away from fortune hunters.”
    And if Lynsley didn’t, he would.
The lady, for all her faults, deserved better than a dissolute drunk like the Earl of Westford.
    Taking Lady Sofia’s hand, he drew her onto the dance floor. “Are you enjoying your first foray into London Society?”
    “Very much, thank you.”
    “By the look of it, you will have no trouble fitting in.”
    “Everyone has been very kind.” Her eyes kept moving around the ballroom. “Perhaps I shall not have to impose on your hospitality for too much longer.”
    His mouth curled in irony at the suggestion. “Don’t worry, Lady Sofia. You won’t have to endure my obnoxious presence for more than another week or so.”
    “Th-that is not precisely what I meant, sir,” she stammered. “My English—”
    “Your English is perfectly clear,” he said lightly. “No need to blush. We are out of earshot from Lord Lynsley. However, as the marquess has asked me to be responsible for seeing you set within the right circles, we shall have to spin along together for a little longer.”
    The silence between them stretched on for several twirls before she spoke. “You take your responsibilities seriously?”
    “Yes,” he replied, more sharply than he intended. “I do.”
    On that note, it was time to turn their steps for the supper room.
    After filling their plates from the sumptuous array of delicacies, Osborne found them seats in a corner by the mullioned windows.
    “I could not help but notice, sir”—Lady Sofia took a tiny nibble of a lobster patty, then set it aside—“there are several gentlemen wearing waistcoats of a similar shade of bright red. Is there any significance to their dress?”
    “Yes. But I won’t disturb you with the details.”
    Her jaw tightened. “Dear me, are you one of those men who feel that talk of the weather and the latest fashions are the only subjects fit for a lady’s virginal ears?” For an instant, it looked like her knife was poised to spear his liver rather than the morsel of sautéed foie gras. “Be advised that I am not a virgin. Nor am I a child.”
    “No one would ever mistake you for a child, Contessa,” he drawled, hoping that humor might help dispel the tension between them.
    The set of her mouth relaxed.
A twitch of amusement?
Or merely a flicker of candlelight? “No comment on the other assertion?”
    “None that a gentleman would dream of making.”
    This time there was no mistaking her chuckle. It was lush and liquid, like cool water running over smooth stones. “I wonder, sir, why it is that you seem to go out of your way to appear—”
    “Frivolous?” he finished. “Ah, well, I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
    “You clearly have a sharp intelligence lurking beneath your frivolous flirtations.”
    She seemed to be challenging him. “I wonder, madam, why it is you seem to go out of your way to appear cold and condescending,” he replied calmly. “For you clearly have a sly sense of humor lurking beneath your imperious scowl.”
    “Touché.”
    “I didn’t realize we were at daggers drawn.”
    She sliced off a small piece of roast beef. “About the red waistcoats, Lord Osborne.”
    Damn.
He had hoped to steer the conversation away from De Winton and his friends. The Scarlet Knights were likely not the sort of men Lynsley had in mind for Lady Sofia. If there was any truth to the rumors he had been hearing lately, their exploits