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She searched past him.

Whatever did the minx seek?

“Your wife’s not with you?” Juliet asked.

Lord. Bold as brass, and without a jot of remorse.

“Or haven’t you married?” She blinked up at him innocently.

Groaning inwardly, Regine purposely remained imperious to the crafty glance her sister slid her. The little hellion. They’d have a serious conversation when they arrived home. Nay. On the carriage ride home, and she’d disabuse her littlest sister of any misplaced romantic notions.

“Alas, I remain a crusty old bachelor.” He chuckled and bent at the waist as if greeting royalty.

“Crusty? I should say not. Why, you’re even more handsome than I remembered,” Juliet quipped without any apparent regret for her impertinence. “Or, perhaps you’ve always been thus, and I can finally see you now.” She flitted her fingertips near her spectacles.

Jaw slack, Regine blinked, undecided whether to chastise Juliet for her impudence or cheer that she had taken so to James and could jest light-heartedly about her hated eyeglasses. Where had her reserved, well-mannered sister gone? The one so embarrassed by her spectacles?

“And you, Miss Edenshaw, look quite fetching in your eyeglasses.” He dipped his chin and murmured in a velvety voice, “Very élégant.”

Pinkening under his praise, she tentatively touched the left temple two inches before where it looped behind her ear. She stood a little taller and confident. “Thank you.”

Regine could’ve hugged him for his kindness.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation. Shall we?” James extended his elbows, and Juliet promptly latched onto his left arm.

Juliet shot her an, “Ah ha! So that’s the way of it,” glance.

Casting the proffered arm a dubious look, Regine vacillated. Touching him again would be an enormous mistake. Her palm still tingled from when he’d handed her down from the carriage. But she yearned to feel him beneath her fingertips. To caress that firm, sinewy flesh.

Her life had been bereft of touch and affection for so long. Oh, Heartwaite had given her an occasional fatherly peck on the cheek, and naturally, she and her sisters had hugged to console each other when their mother died. But she’d missed—no, craved—a virile man’s touch.

Not any man’s. James’s.

An acorn-colored eyebrow quirked in challenge at her continued hesitations, and by George! Did his lips tremble? Blast the rotter. He knew how he affected her, though she’d vowed to remain impervious to his disarming smile.

Setting her jaw, and dredging up the remnants of her resolve, Regine gingerly laid her finger inside the crook of his elbow.

He bent his neck, placing his mouth near her ear. “I’ve had dog hair cling to me with a firmer grip.”

What? She blinked like a ninny. Dog hair?

He chuckled again, the contagious baritone resonating in his chest, and her traitorous lips twitched.

He’s acting charming for Juliet’s sake. Don’t forget that.

“Relax,” he said out the side of his mouth as they passed through the entrance, Juliet in her eagerness rushing ahead. “I shan’t bite. Unless…you want me to.” That last emerged a throaty purr.

Good God.

She glanced upward, searching his face for the hostility so apparent yesterday. Leeriness yet lingered in his marine eyes but not the frosty rejection he’d first turned on her at the coffeeshop. Regine raised her chin and summoned a smile. She’d enjoy today. For Juliet’s sake.

“You might not bite, James, but your gaze can unshell a nut with a single, searing look.”

A shadow fell across his features, and his attention shifted to Juliet, jaw slack, and slowly turning in a circle. “Truce for today?” he murmured for Regine’s ears alone. He lifted his square chin toward her enthralled sister. “For her sake?”

“I wasn’t aware we were at odds,” Regine quipped, instantly regretting her playfulness when his eyelids slid half-closed, and he swept that hooded, sultry turquoise gaze over her.

“Make no mistake, Regine, we are.”