Free Royal Regard by Mariana Gabrielle

frigate outrunning and outgunning pirates
took him back twenty years, though he had learned the hard way not
to discuss such adventures in company. He thought perhaps he should
take Lord Huntleigh aside to discuss the ramifications of such
public disclosure, but was far too intrigued by the lady’s
narrative to suggest she not continue.
    Nick was chagrined Lady Huntleigh had seen
him in the company of the widowed Lady Rowena Astewithe, who set
his teeth on edge. Allison had arranged his escort, trying yet
again to marry him to any fertile woman with a pulse. He hadn’t
expected to see the Huntleighs, or he might have—
    Might have what, exactly? he wondered
to himself a few days later, as he surreptitiously changed the
place cards at a small supper given by Lord and Lady Carrick. It
isn’t as though I can marry her, he thought, as he gave a
viscountess a place at the table far higher than her position
warranted, just to seat himself directly across from Lady
Huntleigh.
    I don’t even want to be married.
    Lady Huntleigh barely uttered a word to him
beyond, “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” and
he was entirely circumspect: he might have used a protractor to
gauge the degree of his bow and a ruler to measure the appropriate
distance between her hand and his lips. But she couldn’t keep from
staring when she thought he wasn’t looking.
    Improving matters, her husband had declined
to attend at the last minute, citing ill health, leaving her in the
care of her cousin’s inattentive husband. Lady Huntleigh was
preoccupied all evening and left early, against Lady Firthley’s
objections, but it was the first time he was able to converse with
her beyond a polite greeting.
    When they spoke just before the exodus to the
dining room, Lady Huntleigh was shy, glances slipping away toward
the walls, but couldn’t avoid him with everyone else in the room
engaged in other conversations.
    “I had not remembered London being so cold in
the springtime.”
    “It is chilly this year, to be sure.” When he
added, “The shawl you are wearing is lovely,” she seemed to lose
her breath and looked as though she wished to hide behind it.
    “So kind of you to say.”
    As he caught her eye with an impertinent
grin, bewilderment stained her cheeks. She was prettier every time
he saw her, especially in her emerald-green gown with primrose
trim, better fitting and better suited to her coloring than any
previous frocks, bringing out the bronze tones of her hair and the
gold of her sun-kissed skin.
    She couldn’t stop the heat rising from her
chest to her forehead with each syllable of the four innocuous
sentences they shared while the guests were being seated, so he did
his best to turn his attention elsewhere. Taking too much notice
would give him away.
    All he could do was quietly take in her
features one glance at a time: her soft, plump mouth, the rounded
tip of her nose, her genuine smile and real blushes. He didn’t know
the color of her eyes yet—maybe blue, maybe green. If he looked too
closely, he might not be able to tear himself away.
    She wasn’t as striking as Nick’s usual
conquests, not jaded or restive or hostile, not resorting to paint
on her face or suggestive banter or sending him signals with her
fan. Still, he caught her looking often enough to warrant an
impudent wink across the table while everyone else listened to a
drunken baron rudely regale the entire table with a bizarre tale of
minor municipal chicanery. When her eyes rounded with shock at
Nick’s shamelessness, he determined they were a crystal-clear aqua marina , the color of a Caribbean coastline.
    From the corner of his eye, Nick watched Lady
Huntleigh whisper to the woman next to her, who both ogled him just
long enough for him to notice. Whatever she heard made her mouth
fall open, but she quickly clamped her jaw shut against any
semblance of interest. Only she didn’t turn away from him as fast
as she might.
    A slow, wolfish