Free Royal Regard by Mariana Gabrielle Page A

smirk crossed his face as he
inclined his head to Lady Huntleigh and the woman who was spreading
rumors. They both gulped and looked down at their squab in port
wine and cherries.
    Unknowingly saving her from ignominy, the
hostess turned the table and Lady Huntleigh opened a clumsy,
self-conscious conversational gambit with the gentleman on her
left. Given the beginnings of a polite dialogue with the woman next
to him, Nick couldn’t quite hear the faux pas written all
over Lady Huntleigh’s face, even only four feet away, but he could
tell he unsettled her, and that was a good start. Her puzzlement at
his small attentions shone like a gas light.
    Heaven help him, he was nearly old enough to
be her father—no, older brother—which, he rationalized, made him at
least twenty years less a reprobate than her husband. Huntleigh was
ancient as alphabets, but Nick guessed Lady Huntleigh was only
three-and-thirty, maybe four, given the fifteen years since her
debut. As some catty women might say, the bloom was off the rose,
but she still had the improbable air of an untouched maiden, not
cynical enough to be a world traveler, not staid enough to be a
stodgy merchant’s wife.
    And Nick had never met anyone stodgier than
the new Earl of Huntleigh. Even the king said so. A devout Anglican
whose knowledge of the Bible rivaled any vicar; a staunch
teetotaler who drank naught but small beer and gambled only enough
to do business with men at the tables; a faithful spouse who made
plain his disgust for the fleshpots of London. The only sailor Nick
had ever met disdainful of dockside temptations. As a dubious
testament to his own wit, Prinny had conferred an earldom named to
fit the decades-old moniker first coined by the king’s father—with
all due pomp and ceremony, Humdrum Holsworthy had been elevated to
Humdrum Huntleigh.
    A little more than a week after the Carrick’s
supper, at a rout given by the Countess of Estermore, Nick came up
behind the new earl and his wife as her wrap was being taken by a
servant.
    “Lord Huntleigh, I was hoping you would be
here this evening.”
    “Your Grace,” Lord Huntleigh bowed politely
and Lady Huntleigh curtsied, studiously avoiding his eyes and only
whispering a greeting.
    “I hadn’t expected to see you, Sir,” Lord
Huntleigh said, neck not half as stiff as his wife’s shoulders.
“From all accounts, you avoid the beau monde .” The clear
implication: Lord Huntleigh had heard about Nick’s propensity for
gambling in the rookeries. Nick neither admitted nor acknowledged
the polite aspersion.
    “I wished to congratulate you on your
elevation, and I have a piece of business to discuss on the advice
of Lord Pinnester. Begging the pardon of your lovely wife, of
course.” Nick bent over her hand and kissed the air above her
knuckles, but held on a bit too tightly and a bit too long.
    She tugged her hand away and improved on her
mumbled salutation. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Sir.”
    “Humble servant, Lady Huntleigh.”
    Myron smiled with difficulty, the face of a
man secure in his own position, but ready to defend it anyway.
“With due respect, Sir, I’ve been warned to keep my wife close
whilst in your company.” Lady Huntleigh took her husband literally,
scooting a step closer to his side and holding on to his arm with
both hands. “I hate to credit rumors, but I am not in the habit of
inviting scandal, especially not involving my wife.”
    Nick took a step back. Husbands normally
didn’t confront him with his intentions directly.
    “No scandal intended. Although, with a wife
so charming, it must be trying to keep the blackguards away.” He
grinned at Lady Huntleigh, but she looked at the floor. He couldn’t
tell if she were being coy or if he had truly caused a problem in
her marriage, nor did he know Huntleigh well enough to gauge how he
might treat his wife if he were incensed. Nick hadn’t been trying
to make trouble, but had spoken more to, and about, Lady