Little Coquette by Joan Smith Page A

her.”
    Lydia stared at the doorway, afraid she was about to be revealed as an impostor. She looked up to see Lord Beaumont staring at her in disbelief. His nostrils dilated, and his eyes glowed like hot coals.
    “This here is Nancy Shepherd, Prissie’s sister. This is Mr. Marchant, Nance. He has a message for your sister from her gent.”
    “How do you do, Mr. Marchant?” Lydia said, staring at him like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake.
    “Miss Nancy,” he said, walking forward and offering his hand. He drew her up from the sofa in a sudden, swift motion. “It will be better if we speak in private,” he said to Sally. “You don’t mind?”
    “That’s up to Nancy,” Sally said with a belligerent air, looking from one to the other.
    “That’s fine.,Sally,” Lydia said. “We’ll go to my sister’s flat, Mr. Marchant.”
    “Come back when you’re finished,” Sally said, with a suspicious look at Beaumont. “We’ll have lunch together, Nancy.”
    Beaumont ushered Lydia out the door, with a hand clamped firmly on her elbow.
    Lydia’s instinctive reaction was guilt, but by the time she got Prissie’s door open, the guilt had turned to anger. She didn’t have to account to Beaumont for her actions.
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Chapter 8
    As soon as they were in Prissie’s flat, Beaumont turned a fulminating eye on Lydia and flung her around to face him. “May I know what you think you’re doing in that getup?” he demanded.
    “I am endeavoring to discover who murdered Prissie Shepherd,” she said, wrenching her arm free and striding into the parlor. He had to scurry after her to continue his tirade.
    “We agreed that I would come to Maddox Street to make those enquiries.”
    “No, Beaumont, you agreed; you told me you would do it. I had nothing to say in the matter. I was to sit at home like a good little girl, twiddling my thumbs, until five o’clock in the afternoon, waiting for you to ride up on your white charger. You might as well realize right now that I intend to participate fully in this matter, with or without your so-called assistance.”
    “Did I wait until five o’clock to come here? I felt it would take me that long to complete my enquiries.”
    “Well, it did not take me that long. Of course, my enquiries did not involve any other activities,” she said with a sharp look.
    “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
    “Well, they are lightskirts, and you were awfully eager to meet them, without me along.”
    He shook his head in disgust. “You are your mother’s daughter, Lydia. All men are lechers who can think of nothing but attacking women. Just what you hoped to accomplish by sneaking off—”
    “I have already discovered a good deal—and without coming to harm. As to ‘sneaking off,’ you are not my keeper.”
    “Thank God for that! What do you think will happen if someone who knows Prissie’s sister meets you? Say Dooley, for instance.”
    She tossed her chin in the air and began to stride the room, as she had often seen gentlemen do. “I’ll handle that when and if it happens. I don’t think he knows Nancy. He is some fellow Prissie met years ago when she first came to London.”
    “You’ll handle it by posing as a lightskirt? Is that your idea of a sensible plan? You wouldn’t fool a schoolboy with that accent. You don’t look a bit like a lightskirt. Your gown is dowdy and your hair is all wrong.”
    “The gown, for your information, belongs to a lightskirt, Prissie. As to the hair, it fooled Sally, and she, you must own, would be as familiar with the breed as you are.” She cast a furious glance at him. “Though of course from a somewhat different perspective.”
    Outdone on that angle, he tried a new attack. “You’re wearing rouge! And have applied it very badly, I might add.”
    “What of it?” she said, and resumed her angry striding. Neither of them had sat down. “I am not posing as an experienced lady of pleasure, but as a girl fresh from the country looking