Read Online The Scarlet Spy by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online Page B

strawberry tarts.”
    “Rubens is French, and we all know their cuisine calls for a surfeit of butter and cream.”
    To his credit, the man had a quick sense of humor.
    “We Italians have our vices as well.”
    “Whatever they are, be assured that they are far outweighed by the virtues of beauty and wit.” Osborne finished his bow with a graceful flourish, catching the pristine square of pasteboard dangling from her wrist. “I see you have saved the first waltz on your dance card for me.” He scribbled his initials on the blank line. Then, to her dismay, put them down for the supper dance as well.
    Damn.
The prospect of lobster patties and Russian caviar no longer seemed so appetizing.
    It was not that she disliked the man. Oddly enough, she was a little afraid of him. A tiny frown thinned her lips. Well, not precisely
afraid
—she was not intimidated by any man. It was more an apprehension, a worry stirred by the strange sensation that came over her when his lazy gaze met hers. Deverill Osborne was a … distraction.
    The mission was going to be difficult enough without anything drawing her attention from duty.
    Sofia was suddenly aware of his glove grazing lightly over her bare arm. A tingle of heat, a shiver of ice.
    “Shall we dance, Lady Sofia?”
     
    Just as Lynsley had promised, the contessa was a marvelous dancer, her slim body following his lead with an effortless grace. Her steps were light, lilting, like a love sonnet of Dante …
    A wry grimace pinched at Osborne’s mouth. Where had
that
thought come from? He wasn’t in a particularly poetic frame of mind. And love was certainly not the sentiment that came to mind in regard to Lady Sofia. She had responded with a light laugh to his banter, but her smile had not touched her eyes. There was still a coolness there, and despite her fluid movements, he sensed a stiffness in her spine.
    Like an angry cat, its back arched, its claws barely sheathed.
Or rather a panther.
Beneath her soft silks, he was aware of an intriguing hint of muscle.
    He wondered what he had done to draw her displeasure. Most ladies enjoyed a bit of flirtation. But from the start, she had made it clear she found his attentions annoying.
    Even now, with their bodies only inches apart, he sensed she was determined to keep her distance. Her thoughts certainly seemed elsewhere, and her gaze was riveted to a spot over his left shoulder.
    “Who is that gentleman?”
    He glanced around. “Adam De Winton. But Lord Lynsley would not want me to introduce you to him.”
    “Why not?”
    “He has a rather nasty reputation for wildness.”
    The dance drew them away from the balcony doors, yet as Osborne led her through a series of twirls, he was aware that Lady Sofia’s eyes kept drifting back to De Winton.
    Perhaps she simply preferred dark-haired men to blonds, he told himself. Or perhaps she was not quite as prim and proper as she wished to appear.
    Women were fascinated by sinners rather than saints. They seemed to find shadow and darkness more interesting than sweetness and light.
    Quickening his tempo to the cresecendoing music, he shrugged off such musings. Why the devil did he give a damn what sort of man Lady Sofia cared for? Whether she liked him or not was of no consequence. He was simply doing a personal favor for the marquess. After he discharged his duty, the cold contessa could go to hell.
    As the last strains of the violins died away, Osborne led her toward a knot of gentlemen who had gathered by the punch bowl.
Hillhouse, Whalley, York, Howe.
All were prominent peers, men of influence in Society.
    “Lady Sofia, allow me to introduce you to some of my friends.”
    There was a clinking of cut glass as the gentlemen hurriedly set aside their cups. The claret appeared untasted, for they had all been drinking in the sight of the lovely stranger.
    “Enchanted, Contessa.”
    “Italy has just lost one of its artistic treasures.”
    “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
    The fellows were