The Scarlet Spy by Andrea Pickens Page A

cold.
    “The expatriate community in Rome is quite large, though. No doubt some friends of your parents would be delighted to hear you are in London.”
    “My parents did not socialize much.”
    Clearing his throat, Osborne tried another topic of conversation. “Your English is impeccable, Contessa. Lynsley mentioned having recommended the school you attended—it appears you were subject to a rigorous training in the language.”
    “The Academy’s curriculum demanded that its students become proficient in a number of disciplines.”
    “It sounds awfully strict.” He smiled, hoping to encourage her to relax a little.
    “Yes, it was,” she replied with rigid correctness.
    “All work and no play? And here I thought Eton was tough on its charges.” He gave a light laugh. “What was the name of this institution of learning?”
    “I am sure you have never heard of it, Lord Osborne.” Her tone signaled an end to the subject.
    Leaving off his questions, Osborne maneuvered through the crush of carriages and turned homeward, using the stretch of silence to regroup his thoughts. He was rarely at a loss for words, especially with women, but the contessa was proving devilishly difficult to converse with. Clearly her past was an uncomfortable subject.
    It was strange, but he sensed a tenseness to her that seemed more than mere shyness. Her gaze was wary, watchful of everything around her.
    There was definitely more to all this than met the eye.
    His sidelong glance lingered for a moment on her profile. Not that he minded the view. Lynsley’s description had not done the lady justice. She was not merely lovely—she was absolutely stunning. Raven-dark hair, thick and lustrous as polished ebony, curled around her face. Unlike English ladies, she had allowed the sun to color her complexion to a light tan. Unfashionable perhaps, but the effect was entrancing. The green of her eyes seemed even more intense, and the kiss of bronze seemed to make all her features come gloriously alive. The angled slant of her cheekbones, the pert tilt of her nose, the lushness of her lips—everything about her was sculpted in strong relief.
    Maybe too strong by conventional standards.
Yet, next to Contessa Sofia Constanza Bigham della Silveri, the milk-and-water London beauties paled in comparison. Osborne felt his mouth quirk. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if tanned cheeks became all the rage for the coming season.
    Seeing that her eyes were intent on something up ahead, he reluctantly let his own gaze follow hers.
    “Are you interested in horses, Contessa?” he asked, noting that she was studying a sleek silver-gray stallion being put through his paces along the Serpentine. “Grafton’s mount is a splendid animal, is it not?”
    “Well-muscled, but there is a slight hitch to his gait.” She watched until horse and rider disappeared around the bend. “Are ladies allowed to ride in the park?”
    Ah, finally, a slight unbending of her spine.
“In a manner of speaking. You are permitted a sedate walk, but a gallop is frowned upon.”
    Sofia looked slightly disappointed. “London Society certainly has a great many rules governing what a female can and cannot do. Still, it will be pleasant to get a bit of fresh air and exercise.”
    “Have you arranged for a saddle horse while you are here? I should be happy to have a look at Tattersall’s for you. Unfortunately, it is yet another rule that ladies are not allowed to attend the auctions. However, I am accorded to be a good judge of horseflesh. You have only to tell me what qualities you are looking for and I’ll find you a prime animal.”
    “Thank you, sir.” She resumed her expression of formal politeness. “That won’t be necessary. Lord Lynsley has already taken care of the matter.”
    “Then perhaps you would allow me to show you the best bridle paths. Some parts of the park are a bit rough for a lady.”
    “I tend to ride quite early, sir. As for the paths, I’ve ridden