The Scarlet Spy (35 page)

“Bella!”
Marco’s voice rose above the cacophony.

She turned to see him shoving his way through the crowd that had gathered to gawk. His claret evening coat was torn in several places, his cravat was missing, and his trousers were covered with mud.
“Grazie a Dio,”
he cried, clasping her to his chest. “You had me worried for a moment.”

“Things were a little warm,” she replied. “But thanks to Osborne—”

“Si! Prego, prego, amico!”
Marco turned and gave Osborne a fierce hug as well. “Sorry,” he added, seeing Osborne’s expression. “I tend to forget my English manners when I get overwrought.”

“No apologies necessary,” said Osborne. “Indeed, I owe you one for thinking the worst of you.”

Marco waved off the words with a cocky grin.
“Si,
I can be an insufferable prick, eh? But it was all for a good cause.”

“Yes, it was.” The look Osborne gave her sent a prickle of heat down her spine.

Don’t be a fool, she chided herself. It was likely the residue of the drugs that had her imagining a spark of emotion in his eyes. A hallucination. Or simply the fleeting reflection of the burning building.

Deverill Osborne had acted out of duty, not devotion. He was a man of honor, of courage. A steadfast comrade, a gentle lover. He shared his strength with his friends. But as for his heart, she feared that it was wholly his own.

“Dev! Lady Sofia!”

Sofia looked up to see Harkness join them. “Damn, I’m glad to find both of you alive.” English restraint prevented him from repeating Marco’s exuberant display of emotion, but his clap to Osborne’s shoulder held fast for an extra moment or two.

“Thank you, Nick. With your help and a little luck, we managed to dodge the devil.”

“Not without getting a few scrapes,” said Harkness, observing Osborne’s lacerated cheek and bloodied shirt. “What in the name of Lucifer happened to you?”

Lynsley cut off the conversation with a brusque cough. “Sorry, gentlemen. Though I share your sentiments, I must cut short this touching scene in order to finish my official duties. Government questions must take precedence over personal ones.” Looking to Sofia and Osborne, he indicated the gate across the carriage way. “Please follow me. The house next door has been commandeered in order to direct the firefighting efforts. My assistant has arranged private rooms for us in the back wing.”

“What about De Winton and the others?” asked Sofia once they had gained the privacy of the garden.

“He and Sforza will stand trial for the murder of Lord Robert Woolsey,” answered the marquess. “Marco convinced Familligi to testify against them in order to save his own neck. With your evidence, they will go to the gallows. Andover, Concord, and Roxbury will be spending a number of years in prison on embezzlement charges.”

That she had helped root out the poisonous poppy conspiracy brought Sofia a measure of professional satisfaction. Their scarlet sins would soon be only a faded memory. As for her own performance, had she earned a passing grade? The marquess would have to be the judge of that, once he heard the full story. Mistakes had been made, and despite the hellfire heroics of the evening, there was still much left to be resolved.

“A messy business.” Lynsley closed the door to his temporary war room. “But, thankfully, it is finally at an end.” He sighed. “Well done. Both of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” began Sofia.

“Actually, it’s not over,” interrupted Osborne.

“Please, not just now, Deverill,” she said, fearing she knew what he was about to say.

Ignoring her warning, he went on. “A complication has arisen, Lynsley. One that can’t simply be swept under the rug, like the others.”

The marquess arched a brow. “Yes?”

“Shall I tell him, Sofia? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

She bit her lip, uncertain about … about everything. But perhaps Osborne was right—it was best to get it over with.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I seem to be, er, that is, it may be possible …”

“Bloody hell, you don’t have to apologize for who you are, Sofia.” All of a sudden, Osborne seemed to explode in anger. Eyes ablaze, he turned on Lynsley, his tone taking on an edge of sharp sarcasm. “Congratulations on a successful mission. But perhaps you ought to do a bit more checking up on the backgrounds of the urchins you pluck from the streets and thrust into harm’s way to do your dirty work.”

The marquess’s face darkened in a rare show of uncontrolled emotion. “You think me remiss in my duties? Do you imagine that I enjoy sending the Merlins into danger?” His voice rose to a pitch she had never heard before. “You have been quite vocal in your criticisms, Osborne. Now, damn it, I expect you to explain your scurrilous accusation—”

“Gentlemen.” Sofia spoke softly, yet they both fell silent, looking a trifle embarrassed. “Really, there is no need to shout at each other.”

“I suppose that was an unfair blow, Lynsley. Accept my apology.” Osborne ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Espionage is a nasty, dangerous business. However, Sofia has nothing but praise for your methods and motives.”

The marquess nodded stiffly.

“Besides,” he added with a wry grimace, “gentlemen ought not raise their voices in the presence of a lady.”

Lynsley’s brow pinched in question.

“Let us not make a Gothic tale of it,” blurted Sofia. “What Osborne means to say is that during the course of my investigation, I discovered that I may well be the Duke of Sterling’s granddaughter.”

“Sofia has a locket. Inside is a portrait of her mother—or so she was led to believe by the prostitute who raised her,” added Osborne. “It is an exact copy of the painting in Sterling’s private study.”

“Good Lord.” Lynsley’s expression mirrored her own initial shock. However, his surprise quickly turned into a rueful smile. “I confess, I try to plan for every contingency, but I never quite imagined this one. Though in truth, perhaps I should have expected that such a revelation might happen one day.”

Forcing a nonchalant drawl, she replied, “Why ever would you think that one of your ugly ducklings might turn into a swan?”

“So, it seems that our charade had a grain of truth to it, milady.” Lynsley pursed his lips. “Does Sterling know?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I only just stumbled upon the possibility a few days ago. And to be fair, there is no real proof.”

“You are living proof, Sofia,” insisted Osborne. “The likeness is undeniable. Why fight it?”

Because the thought was more daunting than any danger she had faced. All of her training had stressed the importance of keeping an emotional distance between herself and everyone around her. She couldn’t quite picture being part of a real family.

“A painting seems an awfully tenuous connection by which to claim a connection to a noble title.” Sofia shot an appealing look at the marquess. “Don’t you agree, sir?”

“I think that is something only you and the duke can decide,” said Lynsley softly.

“But I am so used to being alone,” she whispered. “Our worlds are so different. I fear I’ll never quite fit in.”

“You will find your own place, Sofia. Of that I am very sure.” The marquess clasped his hands behind his back. “However, before you turn in your spurs for satin slippers, I will need to have a final report on the mission.”

Osborne, who had stepped back into the shadows during the last exchange, suddenly turned and cleared his throat. “Before you two march off, might I have a private word with Sofia?”

“This is rather important, Osborne,” said Lynsley dryly.

“I promised the minister a report within the hour. Can’t it wait until morning?”

“So is this.” Osborne stood his ground. “And, no, it cannot.”

“Very well.” The marquess hesitated, fixing Sofia with a fatherly smile. “It seems as if I’ll be losing another of my best agents. Your roommates have found family by marriage, but you …”

Osborne coughed. “Sir.”

“Ten minutes, Osborne.” It might have been merely a quirk of the candlelight, but Sofia thought she saw him wink. “On second thought, I’ll allow you fifteen.”

“That doesn’t leave me much time.” Osborne winced as he tried to smile.

How his lip had come to be cut was not something he remembered. By now there were precious few parts of his anatomy that weren’t covered with scrapes or bruises. He ached all over. But the sharpest stab was in his heart, as he recalled how close he had come to losing Sofia.

“First of all, I want to thank you for saving my skin,” he said.

She didn’t meet his gaze. “I was simply returning the favor.”

Her tone—so cool, so casual—sent a shiver down his spine. Did she mean to say she was merely doing her job? This wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t sure he had the courage to make himself so vulnerable.

Coward.
It was Sofia who possessed the indomitable spirit of a true warrior … not to speak of the sensual body of a woman. Brains and beauty—it was an irresistible combination. He had lost his heart and soul to her. He must somehow summon the strength to tell her how much he had come to admire her conviction, her courage.

How he had come to love her.

Love.
It wasn’t a word he had much practice in saying aloud. Most other phrases tripped so easily from his tongue. Be it art, poetry, politics, fashion, there wasn’t a subject on which the
ton
did not seek his informed opinion. The charming, witty Deverill Osborne could always be counted on for a clever quip. A lighthearted laugh. But now he wished to be deadly serious. For so long he had wondered who he really was, what he really wanted. Suddenly the answer seemed right before his eyes.

“Sofia. Please look at me,” he said.

Her face was a little lopsided, her lovely features streaked with soot and scratches. As Osborne leaned closer, a reflection in the silver epergne showed that he looked even worse. He couldn’t help it—he started to chuckle. “Lord, what a pair we make.”

That finally drew a ghost of a smile from her. “The
ton
would be horrified. We’ve broken every one of their rules on deportment and decorum. And then some, I suppose.”

“But we got the job done.”

“There is a difference,” whispered Sofia. “It was my duty, while you … I should never have allowed you to risk your life.” Her lip quivered as she spoke, the first sign she was not in complete command of her emotions.

The small sign gave him the heart to press on. “Should I not be allowed to choose for myself? You did. I may not have honed my skills to as sharp an edge as yours, but perhaps with a bit more practice …” Osborne paused for breath. “By the by, does every Merlin’s man have to pass through a trial by fire to win her hand?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard. Staring down at her muddied shoes, she mumbled a halting reply. “I … I am not sure. You would have to ask Lord Kirtland or Mr. Orlov.”

“I have a good deal to say to my friend Julian when next I see him,” he replied. “But right now, my most pressing question is for you, Sofia.”

The case clock in the corner continued to tick off the time. Lynsley would soon be knocking, and if he allowed her to slip through his fingers, he might never have a chance at this moment again.

Do or die.

“Will you marry me, Sofia? Proper etiquette dictates that I should have some flowery speech, some precious jewelry to accompany the proposal.” He took her face between his scraped palms and tilted it upward. “But at this moment, all I can offer is me and my heart.”

The candlelight caught the flutter of her lashes. And then the shimmering spill of a tear. “You are,” she whispered, “a gift beyond words.”

“I love you,” he murmured. “Or should I say,
ti amo.”

Her lips touched the corner of his mouth. “Love has a language all its own.”

“Does that mean …”

“That I love you too?” Sofia’s caress feathered against his flesh. “Of all my secrets, that was the hardest to hide, Deverill. I think I have loved you since that first glimmer of sunshine cut through the shadows of the drawing room.”

“You certainly had a strange way of showing it.”

“I will likely never behave like a real lady.” She drew back a touch. “Can you live with that?”

“Let me consider the question for a moment.” His hug tightened, joining their bodies as one. “I think the answer is yes.”

Osborne lost count of the time. All he knew was that the kiss ended far too soon. “What’s the hurry?” he murmured, keeping hold as she tried to slip out of his arms. “Lynsley can cool his heels for another few minutes.”

“I get demerits for dereliction of duty.” She smiled, but he saw a shadow of doubt cloud her eyes. “But before he returns, we still have something to resolve. Are you sure about marriage? I can’t promise to be a conventional wife. I doubt I shall ever be able to forget all the lessons I have learned at the Academy.” Her mouth quirked. “As you have seen, docility and obedience are not among them.”

“If I wanted a creature to obey my every command, I would get a dog.”

“I’m very fond of animals,” she murmured. “Could we consider a cat as well?”

“You may have a whole menagerie of beasts—dogs, cats, hawks, unicorns. Just so long as I am one of the creatures you care for.”

“You are the
only
creature I care for, Deverill. Now and forever.”

“Amen,” he murmured. “May I take that as a yes?”

“Yes.” There was a fraction of a pause. “But—”

He groaned. “Please, no buts.”

“But this is quite serious,” insisted Sofia. “Can you imagine what will happen if word gets out about who I really am? Society would be utterly scandalized by your making such a shocking match. A secret government operative—one who trained in a host of unladylike skills—is not at all the proper wife for one of London’s most popular lords. Not that anyone will know the full truth, but still, I would not wish to make you the butt of vicious gossip.”

“My love, if we can outwit a group of dangerous criminals, we can certainly deal with the
ton.
Trust me on this. You forget—you are already a contessa in their eyes. That you are also the Duke of Sterling’s long-lost granddaughter will be greeted as a wonderfully romantic tale.” He grinned. “I can already think of the beginning—It was a dark and stormy night …”