“The hooks go at the back,” she offered charitably.
Jasmine bolted to her feet, looking mortified. “Caspita! Lady Alanis! I…I apologize.” She struggled with the gown in an attempt to put it right again. She wasn’t making much progress. “I cannot thank you enough for saving my brother’s life. I’m in your debt, and so is Eros.”
Alanis smiled. Apparently, despite her swaggering independence, Jasmine wasn’t all that different from normal females. She liked pink frills. Alanis wandered in and gently rescued the gown from Jasmine’s two left hands. “How is your brother faring?” she inquired.
“Very well, considering. He did not much appreciate the chicken broth you sent for his lunch, but the footman with the bath amended his mood.”
Alanis chuckled. “An ailing individual can hardly expect to be served a savory meal sautéed in rich sauce. He should be content to be alive to eat at all.”
“He’s asleep now.” Entranced, Jasmine followed Alanis’s clever fingers as they worked their magic on the swishing silks and frills. Alanis stepped forth and pinned the gown to her front. Jasmine nearly swallowed her tongue.
“Hold this,” Alanis instructed, fastening Jasmine’s hesitant fist around a bit of silk. She smoothed her hand along the wrinkled front. “It requires a few minor alterations, but…”
“Lady Alanis—” Jasmine choked. “I cannot accept an offering from you. It is I who should reward you with gifts. Besides,” she blushed, “it would go to waste on me.”
“Oh, it’s not a gift. I’ll trade it for a pair of breeches and matching boots.”
Jasmine stared at her as though she belonged in bedlam. “Breeches, Lady Alanis? You wish to dress as a man when you own a magnificent wardrobe?”
Alanis gave a shrug. She didn’t so much begrudge Jasmine for conquering Lucas’s heart as she did for the freedom she enjoyed. This outlandish female traveled the world as a free spirit while she had to read about the world existing beyond the golden bars of her cage. “Why not? I’d love to put on breeches and strut about without a care in the world.”
“There are less gratifying aspects to dressing as a man,” Jasmine lectured. “Being looked upon as a freak of nature for one, or having to stand up to male standards in man’s world while secretly envying refined ladies who are the bane of one’s existence.”
Alanis stilled under the direct blow. Humor replaced her shock, and she sank on the couch, laughing. “The bane of refined ladies’ existence is pretty Amazons who enjoy absolute freedom and rove man’s world…and, of course, dour-faced matrons and overbearing men.”
Jasmine smiled hesitantly. “You seem highly capable of handling overbearing men.”
“Years of practice.” Alanis prettily batted her eyelashes. “My world may twinkle to the eye, but the golden bars cast the luster. I require chaperonage to take a turn in the park.”
“Indeed? Always?” Jasmine joined Alanis on the couch.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Alanis sighed heartily. “We fine ladies must travel with our very own dragon to ward off licentious males.”
Jasmine giggled. “How did your dragon react when you installed a wounded man in your bedchamber? I saw no scorching signs on the walls.”
“My dragon is housebroken. Her snorts are worse than her blaze.”
They both laughed. Jasmine said, “I can’t say the same about the dragon in your bed.”
Alanis jumped at the opening. “Tell me about him. What is he like as a brother? I’ve heard lots of stories about him, but from what I gathered these past few days he seems rather rational, deliberate, and highly intelligent. Not at all the mad monster people say he is.”
“He’s no monster. He’s a great gun and a gentle, loving brother with the heart of a lion, but the traits you listed are exactly what makes him dangerous.”
“Dangerous to the French?” Alanis subtly angled for more information.
“Dangerous to whomever Eros deems objectionable. Spain is on his blacklist as well.”
“It seems your brother is determined to single-handedly rid our world of all its undesirable tyrants. Why doesn’t he officially join the Grand Alliance? Surely it would be preferable to being tagged a pirate with a price on his head.”
Jasmine averted her gaze. “It’s hard to explain.”
Now that sounded intriguing. Alanis was prepared to sit all day and listen to stories about the man with the heart of a lion. She glanced at the door connecting to her bedchamber.
Betsy walked in through the main door. Jasmine stood. “I should leave. Thank you again.”
Alanis stood up also. “Don’t forget the gown. I’ll be happy to share Betsy when you decide to try it on. I think it was deliberately designed to exasperate. Wouldn’t you say so, Betsy?”
Betsy nodded in agreement. Jasmine took the gift with a grateful smile. “Lady Alanis.”
“Enough with the ‘Lady’ and think nothing of it. One should start somewhere.” Amazing how of all people Lucas’s mistress turned out to be a lovely person, Alanis thought. She was also Eros’s sister and that enticed Alanis to befriend her even more. “If you’d like, we may call upon a local modiste and start you up at once. Within a week you’ll have a whole new wardrobe.”
“A whole new wardrobe?” Jasmine looked dazzled.
Alanis took her arm and escorted her out the door, away from Betsy’s ears. Outside her expression sobered. “What are we to do about the hanging?”
“If Hunter doesn’t change his mind, Eros and I must leave tonight,” Jasmine whispered.
Alanis regarded her ambivalently. Should Jasmine leave, there would be no more talk of sending her home and she would have finally achieved her lifelong ambition. Yet Eros would be leaving as well. Tonight. It was too soon. Besides, didn’t she deserve better prospects than a husband pining for the woman who slipped away? “Tell me what I must do to help.”
Jasmine leaned closer. “I’ll keep on trying to change Hunter’s mind, but if you do not hear from me, please keep him occupied this evening while we make good our escape.”
“All right.” Alanis well envisioned what a dratted pleasure dinner was about to become.
CHAPTER 7
“Captain McGee, you must tell us the latest news from the forefront,” Colonel Holbrook demanded across the table from Alanis. “How are our boys faring against those Frenchies?”
Alanis sighed with relief. Throughout dinner, Lucas scrutinized her as Lord High Justice while she smoothly charmed his peers and put a strain on his decision to ship her home. But she had nothing more to report on the subject of the latest French fashion.
“Well,” the captain frowned, “our latest triumph was in the Milan Region. General Savoy was determined to have the strong bridgehead near Cassano and crushed Marshal de Vendôme!”
“To our first victory in Milan!” Mr. Greyson saluted and the men tossed back their wine.
“I keep telling you this Savoy fellow is not a bad sort, even if he is French,” Holbrook said.
“Austrian,” Greyson argued. “General Savoy is Austrian.”
Captain McGee shook his bewigged head. “He’s half Austrian, half French.”
“His mother was French, Cardinal Mazarin’s niece,” Alanis recalled aloud, “but his father was an Italian prince. The Duke of Savoy in Turin is General Savoy’s first cousin.”
A hush fell around the long table.