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countess lowered her voice, though to Sofia it still sounded like a stentorian shout. “Caro Culverton has been trying for
years
to wheedle her way to such lofty heights. But Osborne is known for never sharing the seat of that particular vehicle. You must tell me what hold you have over the man.”
    “None at all, I’m afraid.” Sofia matched the other lady’s light laugh. “Lord Osborne was simply being exceedingly kind, in response to Lord Lynsley asking a favor of him.”
    Lady Jersey arched a brow at the marquess. “I didn’t realize the two of you were friends. It’s true he shows great loyalty to his friends. He stood by Lord Kirtland, despite all the ugly rumors swirling around the earl’s name.”
    “Osborne is a gentleman of great integrity,” agreed Lynsley. “I am fortunate he is free to escort Lady Sofia around Town until she is settled into Society.”
    “How very kind of you, Thomas.” The countess tapped his sleeve with her fan and winked. “Not many gentlemen would be so gracious as to cede that task to someone else.”
    “Alas, I have little choice in the matter. Work is a harder mistress than any female.”
    Lady Jersey gave a snort of laughter.
    “Besides, Lady Sofia will have a much gayer time with someone who is not old enough to be her father.”
    The countess made a show of examining the marquess through her quizzing glass.
    Sofia, too, ventured a surreptitious look, aware she was seeing him in a whole new light. A whole new world. The glittering Mayfair ballroom, aswirl in silks, champagne, and crystal-edged laughter, was so utterly unlike the simple, spartan Academy classrooms.
    Though Lynsley’s neatly trimmed hair was showing a touch of silver at the temples, it was still thick and a rich, burnished brown. His face, while not precisely handsome, was austerely aristocratic. Lines crinkled the corners of his ice-blue eyes, but age had not softened the strength of his chiseled features. And though his somber dress—devoid of any color or ornament that might draw the eye—seemed deliberately designed to blend in with the crowd, there was a subtle air of authority about him.
    Sofia blinked. Anyone who looked carefully would see he was a very attractive man.
    Lady Jersey seemed to agree. “You don’t appear to be doddering into your dotage quite yet. I’ve several ladies I would like you to meet—”
    “Perhaps later.” Lynsley smoothly lifted the lady’s hand to his lips. “But for now, we ought to let you get back to greeting your other guests. I already feel the daggered looks at my back.”
    “Not on account of me.” The countess shot a speaking look at Sofia. “Very well, I’ll let the two of you go.” A last waggle of her fingers shooed them off. “But be warned—I shall catch up with you later, Thomas.”
    “Now you know why Lady Jersey is known as ‘Silence’—she does like to talk,” murmured Lynsley as he took two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman.
    Sofia sipped slowly, already feeling a bit light-headed from the effervescence of the crowd. The first notes of a waltz struck up, and the couples on the polished parquet began to spin through the elegant figures of the dance.
    Focus,
she told herself. Amidst the blur of sound and color, she must concentrate on picking out the members of the Scarlet Knights. She had memorized the names from the files passed on by Lynsley. It shouldn’t be hard to spot the telltale blaze of red—
    “Ah, here is Osborne,” observed the marquess.
    Biting back a sigh of frustration, she schooled her expression to a polite smile. He was
not
the gentleman she wished to see at the moment, but she must go through the motions of greeting him.
    “Lady Sofia, you look like a Botticelli painting come to life.” Osborne bent low over her hand.
    Recalling her resolve to appear more friendly, she replied with a coy smile. “Thank you for not saying Rubens. I should have been forced to give up my favorite