The Scarlet Spy (3 page)

Were Mrs. Merlin and the marquess having second thoughts about her rank?
Lord Lynsley’s oblique words might have been meant as a kindly warning. Though his austere face rarely revealed any emotion, his blue eyes always held a spark of warmth when regarding any of the students. He had chosen them all—skinny little urchins abandoned in the stews—and monitored their progress over the years. In some sense, he was like the father none of them had ever known.

Had she let him down?
Sofia couldn’t help but think that the recent emphasis on ladylike manners reflected badly on her martial skills. Her gaze slanted to the window, where the fencing grounds, the stables, the shooting ranges, and the training fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. A Merlin must be the match of any man when it came to weapons or hand-to-hand combat. Perhaps the headmistress and the marquess doubted her steel. Her flesh began to prickle. Perhaps they were about to strip her of her commission.

Sofia stilled her fidgets by fingering the necklace beneath her sweat-dampened shirt. The thin filigree chain was new, purchased on a field trip to the fancy shops on Bond Street, but the gold locket had been in her possession since … a long time ago.

The case had the well-worn patina of age. The faint outlines of an initial were unreadable, the engraving crisscrossed with nicks and scratches. She liked to think it was an
S
carved into the precious metal. But whatever the letter, the locket had served as a personal talisman in times of trouble.
A lucky charm.
It had kept her safe in the savage streets; it had seen her through the difficult adjustments to Academy life.

Drawing it out from her shirt, Sofia opened the worn case and peeked at the tiny portrait. The pigment had faded over the years, blurring the features, the smile, the curling strands of raven hair that framed the fine-boned face. But the image was indelibly etched in her memory. She knew every nuance by heart. When she was a child, she had fancied a resemblance between the young lady and herself.
And now?

Her own sea-green gaze looked away from the painted eyes. It was not wise to dwell on childish dreams. The Academy lessons all stressed that one had to be practical and pragmatic.
Dispassionate.
Emotion had no place in the line of duty. It didn’t matter who she was; it only mattered what she had become.

Strange, but her roommates had never given much thought to their heritage. It had not bothered them to know nothing of their past, their parents. Afraid of appearing too sentimental, Sofia had feigned the same devil-may-care attitude. But in private, the picture had seemed to whisper a tantalizing question.

Who am I?

“Sofia. Mrs. Merlin will see you now.”

Quickly, tucking the locket back inside the folds of linen, she stood and squared her shoulders. She would not show any sign of weakness. She was born to be a Merlin.

“Reporting for duty.” Sofia snapped off a salute as she came to a halt in front of the oak desk.

“At ease.” The headmistress regarded the martial stance and muddied boots for a long moment before setting aside her pen. The wrinkles on her brow appeared to deepen slightly. “I did not mean for you to march straight here from the stables, my dear.” Sofia saw her slant a quick glance at Lord Lynsley, who was standing half hidden by the marble hearth. “Why don’t you go back to your quarters and change—to the indigo blue silks, if you please. The marquess and I are in no rush.”

Sofia felt her throat constrict. She turned on her heel, then hesitated.
To hell with behaving like a lady.
If she was to be drummed out of the Merlins, she would not go meekly.

“I would rather stay dressed as I am.” Her chin took on a mutinous tilt. “With all due respect, I feel it unfair that my mastery of manners appears to have counted as a black mark against me. I may not wield a saber or stiletto quite as well as Siena or Shannon, but I’m a better shot and more skilled when it comes to stealth. It’s unfair to demote me to the ranks of a mere observer without giving me a chance to prove myself in a mission.”

“You think we are judging you unfit for active duty?” Mrs. Merlin set aside a plate of strawberry tarts and brushed a bit of sugar from her fingertips.

Sofia’s martial tone turned more tentative. “Why else would you wish for me to dress in satins and lace? I … I assumed you were going to assign me to some menial work, like serving as a lady’s maid to some foreign diplomat’s wife.”

“All of our students go on to do important work, whether as a tavernkeeper or a tweenie,” replied the headmistress with a hint of reproach.

Sofia colored. “I meant no disrespect to my fellow students. It’s just that I … I feared that …” She let her voice trail off, unsure of how to explain her misgivings.

“You feared that in comparison to your former roommates, you would be seen as somehow lacking?” It was Lord Lynsley who broke the awkward silence.

She nodded, not daring to meet his eye.

“As I said earlier, each Merlin is meant to have different skills. That is the strength of this school.” His lips twitched. “If all our students possessed Shannon’s explosive temper, the place would long since have gone up in smoke.”

“And Siena shrouded herself in an air of mystery that was unsuitable for many missions,” added Mrs. Merlin.

Shannon
did
have a tendency to set off sparks, thought Sofia. But her new husband, a raffish Russian spy by the name of Alexandr Orlov, seemed to have tempered her fire. Together they made a formidable team and at the moment were somewhere in Prussia, working to prevent Napoleon from marching any farther east.

As for Siena, she was also recently married—to an earl, no less—and on a clandestine assignment in Italy. Sofia gave an inward sigh. She had never met Lord Kirtland, but Shannon had said that Byron’s poetic heroes paled in comparison to the raven-haired earl …

“… So, I trust you will have no cause for complaint,” finished the headmistress.

“Sorry?” Roused from her momentary musings, Sofia snapped to attention.

“What Mrs. Merlin means is, you will find the situation no less challenging than those faced by your friends.” As Lynsley turned, the candlelight caught the deep lines of worry etched at the corners of his eyes. “And no less dangerous. Indeed, to be truthful, I am having second thoughts about asking anyone to undertake the assignment. It may be an impossible one, even for a Merlin.”

“Whatever it is, I should like to try, sir.” Seeing his brow furrow, Sofia quickly added, “What is there to lose?”

“Your life, to begin with.” Lynsley looked more serious than she had ever seen him. “As for the other ramifications, I wish I knew what they all might be. In this particular case, I cannot give you a name or a face of the enemy. I would have to toss you into the heart of London Society—a spider’s web, however silken—and expect you to unravel the lies and intrigue by yourself.”

“I’ve managed a number of sticky situations here at the Academy, sir.” Sofia tried to appear calm and collected, though her heart was pounding wildly against her ribs. “I am adept at using both my weapons and my wiles. Whatever is called for, I won’t let you down.”

“It is not myself that I am worried about,” replied the marquess softly. “I don’t send any Merlin into battle unless I feel she has a decent chance of achieving victory.”

Standing her ground, Sofia quickly countered. “We are trained to deal with adversity, are we not? The very reason we exist is to take on a task when the odds seem impossible.”

“She has a point, Thomas,” said Mrs. Merlin.

Lynsley sighed and allowed the smallest of smiles to appear on his lips. “I see you wield rhetoric as well as a rapier, Sofia. You are right about the Academy’s purpose, but that does not make it any easier to send you into mortal danger.” Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small packet sealed with a wafer of black wax. “You will need to read over these documents before you come to London.”

The feel of the paper set her palms to tingling.

“Unfortunately, I cannot stay to make the detailed explanations. I have a pressing engagement this evening in Town. Mrs. Merlin will go over the basics of the assignment and work with you on refining the skills you will need to masquerade as a lady of noble birth.”

“It was not for the sake of preserving my sofas from mud that I requested the change of clothing,” said Mrs. Merlin dryly. “Once you change from breeches to blue satin, we will be devoting every waking hour to perfecting your poise and your polish. Lord Lynsley wants you ready to leave for London on the day after tomorrow.”

“Unlike most other missions, this one will allow us the opportunity to meet socially,” continued the marquess. “You will, after all, be joining the
ton
at the height of the season, and as the widow of an Italian count, you will quickly be included on everyone’s guest list.”

“How—” began Sofia.

“I hope to have all the particulars worked out by the time you arrive in Town.” Lynsley was already reaching for his ebony walking stick and charcoal-gray gloves. “In the meantime, I trust you will pay close attention to all of Mrs. Merlin’s lessons.”

Sofia had a headful of questions she wished to ask, but she kept her reply short and simple. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for the excellent tea and tarts, Charlotte.” Lynsley tucked a large leather portfolio under his arm. “And for dispensing a liberal dose of wisdom to go along with them.”

“Nice legs … well-defined chest … good stamina and good wind, wouldn’t you say so?”

“A bit
too
good.” Osborne winced. “Lud, I daresay her shrieks could be heard all the way to Kew Gardens.”

“I am talking about the
horse,
Dev.” Lord Nicolas Harkness gave a low snort. “Damn it, do try to pay attention. This is an expensive proposition.”

“So was Collette,” he quipped. “Cost me an arm and leg to sever the relationship.”

“You’re lucky it didn’t cost you your prick in the bargain.” Harkness chuckled as he stepped away from the stallion and propped a boot on the fence rail. “From what you said, she was looking to sever more than her services.”

“Escaped by the skin of my … teeth.” He grinned, then winced again as the big bay let out a sharp whinny. His mouth felt dry as straw, and the cacophony of harried hooves and high-stakes haggling echoing through the yards was exacerbating the pounding in his head. Not to speak of the pungent smells. The auctions of prime horseflesh at Tattersall’s always drew a crowd of gentlemen looking to buy or sell.

Taking a seat on a bale of hay, Osborne began massaging at his temples. “Sorry to be such dull company, Nick. Give me a moment to collect my wits and I’ll take a better look at the animal.”

“It’s worth the wait. I trust your judgment.” Harkness lit up a cheroot. “Even when your brain is half pickled in brandy.”

In his present mood, he wasn’t quite so sanguine as his friend. His judgment had been sadly lacking of late. The scene with his mistress was just the latest in a series of embarrassing little incidents. At Lady Haverstick’s musicale, he had been a bit too vocal in voicing the limericks he had composed about a rotund peer of the realm. The rhymes
had
been clever, and people had laughed. But he had embarrassed an acquaintance and had woken the next morning feeling ashamed of himself.

“I’m not sure I’m in any shape to find flaws in your stallion, seeing as I’ve been acting like an ass recently.”

Harkness cocked a brow. “Is that a black cloud hanging over little Lord Sunshine’s head?”

Osborne swore, loud enough to startle an elderly gentleman who was examining a pair of matched carriage grays nearby. “Call me that again and you will be digging your teeth out of yon pile of horse droppings.” A number of ladies had given him the moniker on account of his fair hair and ebullient manner. He usually laughed off any teasing from other men, but at the moment it was not remotely amusing.

“A show of temper?”

Osborne muttered another oath.

“Any particular reason for the foul mood?” His friend blew out a smoke ring. “Aside from losing your place in La Colette’s bed.”

He merely shrugged, happy to encourage the idea that his malaise was on account of sex—or the impending lack of it.

“Not that you won’t have a host of ardent admirers willing to assuage your loss. I hear Lady Pierson arrived from Yorkshire yesterday, leaving the old earl to rusticate with his horses and hounds.”

“Luscious Lucinda?” Osborne gave a mock shudder. “I have no desire to jump from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. Her ample physical endowments are matched by a penchant for emotional excess.”

“Lady Wellton has always appeared to have her eye on you—you lucky dog.” Harkness coughed slightly. “But then, you may already be intimately aware of her interest.”

“If I was, I would not be so ungentlemanly as to talk about it.”

“Quite right, quite right.” His friend ground the butt of tobacco beneath his boot heel. “Perhaps a night away from female company would clear that black scowl from your brow. There are several new gaming hells in the stews that I’ve heard are worth a visit, and you always have the devil’s own luck at cards.” Harkness lowered his voice. “The place in Seven Dials is said to be quite unusual.”

Osborne shook his head. “Tempting. But I have promised to show my phiz at Lady Haverton’s ball. She is counting on me to keep Silliman and Morse from coming to blows.”

“Lud, are they still threatening to spill each other’s claret over the pattern of a waistcoat?”

“They both take matters of fashion very seriously. But I believe I’ve thought of a way to stitch together a truce.”

Harkness rolled his eyes. “Well, if anyone can mend frayed feelings, it’s you.”

Would that he could feel comfortable in his own skin.

“Now, about the horse, Dev.”

“Right. Let’s have a look …”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Light from the glittering chandeliers caught the curve of the lady’s smile as she twirled through the last figures of the waltz. “Without your help, those two might well have declared a duel right here on the dance floor. It would have ruined the evening.”