Royal Regard Read Online Free

suit.”
    “Pray, do not act like those stuffy women,
Charlotte. You shall become old and boring long before your time.”
Bella could not resist the jibe. “The look on your face will bring
on even more wrinkles.”
    Clearly afraid talk of wrinkles might turn
into a brawl, Myron interceded. “I expect my business can withstand
a bit of scandal. In fact, I know it can.” Myron held Bella’s arm
tightly, running his thumb across the back of her hand. He said,
though not loudly, “This is not the first time she has deservedly
shown an aristo the rough side of her tongue, nor will it be the
last, and I’m certain plain speaking causes no affront to God.”
    Nodding her head sharply in agreement, Bella
turned her nose up at Charlotte in a childish pretense. Finally
unable to contain his building mirth, Alexander started laughing
aloud.
    “I say, Holsworthy,” he remarked with a grin , “you and your wife are just
the fresh air we need at Court. It is so very dull listening to the
same on-dit day after day. You’ll ruin yourselves by
morning, but it will liven things up nicely.”
    “I take back everything I said about missing
you all this time,” Charlotte declared, looking down her nose at
her wayward cousin. “I had forgotten what a heathen you are.”
    “Then I shall endeavor to remind you as often
as I can,” Bella released a melodramatic harrumph. “There are more
ladies headed our way. Shall I tell the story of the Gongulobibi
priests revering me as a goddess?”



Chapter 2
    Nicholas Northope always took
notice when a lady he had never seen entered the room. However, it
had been months, perhaps years, since the ninth Duke of Wellbridge
had been so intrigued. No spring miss, the newcomer’s face
fascinated him: openly emotive, not the customary painted-on mask
of genuine boredom. Eyes too close-set, a nose with character
rather than charm, and cheeks more rounded than most, taken in
total, he still found her features captivating. She stuck out in
the crowd of jaded aristocrats like a sunflower in a field of
nettles.
    She had assuredly spent time in foreign
ports; he might assume Spanish or Italian blood if her hair weren’t
brighter than a fresh-minted copper ha’penny. Her unfashionably
dark face was curious, intelligent, and by the set of her jaw,
probably opinionated. Yet, her shoulders hunched just slightly, as
though she were afraid the entirety of the British aristocracy
would collectively slap her face as soon as she walked through the
door.
    He tugged at his tailcoat and straightened
his gloves, feeling a perfect fool in knee breeches and dancing
pumps, when he far preferred buckskins and boots. The conformist
rules at Almack’s were, to his mind, set by rancorous old women
with nothing better to do than make everyone else’s life miserable,
but his sister had insisted this afternoon once more than he had
managed to refuse.
    A thick strand of blond hair fell out of his
once-neat—if out of fashion—queue, curling at his temple, but he
refused to be seen adjusting his hair like a woman. Bad enough
Allie had forced lace at his cuff and diamond shoe buckles. He
looked ridiculous—more dandy than duke.
    Nick saw the lady across the room take a
deep, fortifying breath as she was joined by the Marchioness of
Firthley. From the way the two women put their heads together
without so much as a salutation, they were well acquainted,
possibly family. Good , he thought. Though he had never met
Lady Firthley, he knew the marquess well enough to procure an
introduction.
    The woman’s gown was uglier than Satan’s
Sunday suit: poor tailoring and endless rows of floating horizontal
ruffles emphasized all the wrong parts of her body, and petal
sleeves looked like the inadequate wings of a land-bound bird. The
pastel-pink tulle made her dusty-rose skin look dirty and her
bronze hair look brassy. He knew someone—no, everyone—in the room
was calling her kaffir or coolie or gypsy by
now.
    When her shoulders