Andrea Kane by Gold Coin

more seriously if the introductions came from you.”
    “Consider it done.” Lord Sheldrake took her arm, arching a questioning brow at Breanna. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
    Breanna shook her head. “As I told you on the dance floor, I’d be thrilled to be relieved of the awkward duty. Approaching a dozen overbearing men is hardly my idea of an enjoyable evening.” She gestured gratefully at a cluster of young women who were chattering in the far corner of the room. “Besides, Margaret Warner has been trying to catch my eye for the past hour. She and her friends want to hear all about my long-lost cousin who’s finally returned from America.”
    Anastasia wrinkled up her nose. “Why would they want to know about me?”
    Breanna’s sigh was the essence of exasperation. “Because while you’re preoccupied with business, most women are not. My guess is that Lady Margaret and her chums want to assess their competition. You’re far too pretty to suit the unmarried ones.” A flash of recall flickered in her eyes and, without thinking, she muttered, “Don’t forget, I did experience one London Season. And I learned that although the men might be lechers, the women are lethal.”
    Laughter rumbled in Lord Sheldrake’s chest. “I’ll refrain from comment.”
    “Oh—” Breanna flushed, looking startled by her own uncharacteristic frankness. “I suppose that was incredibly rude.”
    “No, it was merely accurate.” Anastasia grinned. “I encountered similar types of women in Philadelphia. In my case, I avoided them. Otherwise, I shudder to think what trouble my quick tongue would have gotten me into. But with your inherent gift of tact, you won’t run that risk. Lethal or not, those girls will be charmed by you. Everyone is.”
    That comment made Breanna smile—a fleeting smile that tugged at her lips, then vanished—almost as if she’d enjoyed a private joke she alone was privy to. “If you say so.” She gathered up her skirts. “Anyway, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll head over to the ladies’ corner. It will be entertaining to hear the latest gossip.” She paused, squeezing Anastasia’s arm. “Good luck finding investors, Stacie. My fingers are crossed.”
    Anastasia watched her cousin weave her way across the room. “Sometimes I forget how much Breanna is deprived of,” she murmured to herself. “So much so that a chat with a group of women is like an extraordinary gift. How in God’s name can Uncle George …” She broke off, realizing she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
    “I don’t know,” Lord Sheldrake surprised her by answering. “But it can’t stay that way. Nor will it, now that you’re home. You’re very good for Breanna. I’ve never heard her speak her mind before. It’s a healthy sign.”
    Before Anastasia could respond or even contemplate the marquess’s words, he dropped the subject. Turning on his heel, he tightened his grasp on her arm and began drawing her toward the refreshment table. “Come. It’s time to accost Lord Dutton.”
    Anastasia complied, although Lord Sheldrake’s subtle taunt was not lost on her. In response, she tossed him a saucy look. “I’m not going to accost him,” she retorted. “I’m going to offer him the chance of a lifetime.”

5
    U NFORTUNATELY, LORD DUTTON DIDN’T seem to share Anastasia’s opinion. Oh, he gleefully acknowledged Lord Sheldrake’s introduction, swaggered his fat little body when he heard she wanted to speak with him alone, then gobbled her up with his eyes when the marquess walked away. But when he heard the nature of her business—or rather, that all she wanted to discuss was business—his entire demeanor changed. He looked shocked, then offended, and finally scornful, not even waiting to hear the details before he brought the conversation to a rapid close and made his way back to the desserts.
    She received similar responses from the other eleven businessmen she approached—from Edgar Lyman, the