Anne Gracie - [The Devil Riders 02] by His Captive Lady Page B

woman that you wish for private conversation with her and only her, and to that end you will send Lady Helen and myself to another part of the room. Leave the rest to me.”
    She patted him on the cheek a second time. “Excellent, dear boy. I can see why you made such an excellent soldier. Just one thing.”
    “Yes?” he said, impatient to get started.
    “Be careful. La Beasley has a fancy for you; she has been watching you like a cat watching a mouse hole for the last fifteen minutes. If she sees your interest in Lady Helen, she will turn on the poor girl like a snake. So be discreet, my boy.”
    “I am always discreet,” Harry informed her coldly.
    Harry’s aunt rose and shook her friend awake. “Come along, Lizzie, we’re going to talk to La Beastley.”
    Lady Lattimer spluttered to consciousness. “What? But I don’t want to speak to—”
    “Nonsense. It will be an adventure,” declared her friend. “We are going to rescue Lady Helen from the gorgon’s clutches.”
    “Oh, in that case . . .” Lady Lattimer rose and straightened her lace cap. The two ladies swept across the room toward Mrs. Beasley much like two ships of the Spanish Armada bearing down on a small fishing boat. Heads in the pump room swiveled. Conversation buzzed, then died to an avid silence.
    Mrs. Beasley watched their approach with frozen fascination as it dawned on her that two titled ladies had finally noticed her. She rose from her seat, smiling.
    “Mrs. Um . . . ?” Lady Gosforth inquired, as if she did not know very well who the woman was. She did not even look at Nell.
    The woman curtsied. “I am Mrs. Beasley, ma’am, and you are Lady Gosforth.”
    “I know,” said Lady Gosforth, inclining her head graciously.
    Mrs. Beasley tittered. “And of course, I’ve seen Lady Lattimer here before. A real regular, she is.”
    Lady Lattimer raised one aristocratic eyebrow at such a person’s presumption in daring to notice her regularity or otherwise. “Indeed,” she said in a quelling voice.
    Nell stood quietly to one side. Mrs. Beasley made no attempt to introduce her. She glanced past the two ladies, to where Harry stood a short distance away, examining a print on the wall.
    “And will your gentleman friend be joining us?” Mrs. Beasley asked.
    “No,” Lady Gosforth declared. “We wish to have private conversation with you—of a feminine nature. A gentleman would not wish to be present.”
    “I see.” Mrs. Beasley looked vaguely alarmed.
    There were four ladies present, counting Nell, and only two seats. Lady Gosforth gestured for Mrs. Beasley and Lady Lattimer to sit down, turned to her nephew and said, “Harry, a chair, if you please.”
    Harry brought a chair for her, and seeing Nell was still standing awkwardly by, was about to fetch her one when his aunt said, “No, we wish to have private conversation with this lady—please find another seat for her companion, Miss Er . . .”
    “Lady Helen—” began Mrs. Beasley.
    Lady Gosforth cut across her. “Find Miss Er a seat over there somewhere, Harry, and then take yourself off, there’s a good boy.” She waved him away and turned back to Mrs. Beasley, saying sweetly. “My nephew, you know, and therefore too young to be of any interest to ladies of our age.”
    Since Mrs. Beasley was a well-preserved forty and the two aristocratic ladies well into their sixties, Mrs. Beasley tried not to look affronted by this suggestion. She managed a strangled smile and watched, frustrated, as one of the most magnificent men she’d ever seen offered his arm to her drab little companion and escorted her to a distant corner.
    “My dear friend Lady Lattimer has been admiring your jewelry,” announced Lady Gosforth, kicking her dear friend on the ankle.
    “Ow—er, yes, your jewelry,” Lady Lattimer said with an indignant look at her dear friend. She pulled out a quizzing glass and peered at the vulgar array of jewels displayed on various parts of Mrs. Beasley’s person.