Royal Regard by Mariana Gabrielle Page A

no
objection.”
    As the orchestra took up the next selection,
Nick held his hand out for her. “What luck for me. A waltz.” She
placed her gloved hand in his, and he felt a trembling she couldn’t
control.
    “Behave yourself, Wellbridge,” Huntleigh
admonished as Nick settled his hand at Lady Huntleigh’s waist, and
they swept into the current of the ballroom.
    Of the many activities he shared with women,
dancing was high on the list, though his reputation said otherwise.
Because he avoided debutantes, and they often surrounded him to the
exclusion of all others, it was thought he disliked the pastime,
but in truth, the music always teased his senses, particularly when
it was slow and intimate, as this set would be, allowing him and
his partner to also tease each other. If only Lady Huntleigh
would.
    “I think you are making a mockery of me, Sir.
You are flirting shamelessly at every party, and now right in front
of my husband. You must desist.”
    “Nick, please—Wellbridge, if you prefer—and
you are entirely correct. I would much rather flirt with you behind
his back.” He leaned in closer to her ear, “When we are in front of
him, I am afraid your sweet blushes will give us away.” The scent
of flowers rose from her hair. Lavender. Maybe lilacs. Maybe both.
He breathed deeply. Definitely both. “I cannot allow you to expose
our secret, Lady Huntleigh, for I have sinful designs on you.”
    Bella’s slipper caught on the waxed floor.
Taking advantage of her instability, he held her waist more firmly,
drawing her close to encourage her shivers and gooseflesh.
    “You said you had no designs on me! You swore
by the Knight’s Creed!”
    He leaned in to murmur, “I am not a knight,
my sweet.”
    With less wallflower and more worldly woman,
she laughed, “Sir Satyr, I’m sure, charter member of the Order of
Rakehells, pledged to lead me down the path to depravity.”
    “You’ve caught me.” He stared down at her
ripe mouth. “Would that we were not in a crowded ballroom.”
    She bit her lip as they danced right past her
husband, but by the time the music worked its way through a
crescendo, she seemed to regain herself.
    “I am not the type of woman one takes as a
mistress.”
    Her frown meant to put paid to his indecorous
intentions, but he had seen such glowering before, always from
women he eventually took as mistresses.
    “What type of woman is that, my lady?”
    She stumbled again, muttering a reply; if he
wasn’t mistaken, “Deuced gentlemen and their accursed flirting.” He
asked her to repeat herself, just to see if the forbidding look
would appear genuine. Oh, yes, it was certainly authentic.
    “Would you rather,” he asked quietly, a
whisper across her earlobe, “a lifetime of only Humdrum
Huntleigh?”
    Her face momentarily softened, with the same
brief look of longing he had seen as she watched the dancing, but
just as he almost missed it, her expression grew as stony as gravel
shore.
    “ Lord Huntleigh is a wonderful man who
has just made me a countess… And I know perfectly well no man like
you could possibly be interested in me.”
    How delightful she has considered it, he
silently preened.
    “On the contrary, a woman who doesn’t give
a tuppenny damn about Almack’s is of enormous interest. And
what do you mean by ‘a man like me’?” He winked at her. “An
incorrigible rogue?”
    Bella blushed and turned her head away. She
stuttered, “I just meant… a man of your… stature…” She gulped,
“Your rank, I mean.”
    “Is that what you meant? I am quite
devastated you weren’t referring to my manly physique.” Nick
grinned at her, and she dropped her eyes so he wouldn’t see her
taking in his handsome face, instead resting her gaze on the
stature in question. He involuntarily puffed out his chest to prove
himself decidedly manly, no trace of youthful lankiness, but
neither fleshy like Firthley, nor frail like her aged husband.
    She let out the tiniest of