Ten Things I Love About You by Julia Quinn

instinctively wanting to hide her blush, then feeling silly because it was so dark, and he probably couldn’t see it, anyway.
    Or maybe he could. He seemed like the kind of man who could tell when a female was blushing based on the scent of the wind, or the alignment of the stars.
    He was a man who knew women.
    “I don’t suppose you got a good look at them?” he asked, then added, “Our amorous friends.”
    Annabel shook her head. “I was really more preoccupied with getting away.”
    “Of course. Very sensible of you. It’s too bad, though. If I knew who they were, I might have a better idea of how long they would take.”
    “Really?”
    “Not all men are created equal, you know,” he said modestly.
    “I suspect I should not pursue that statement,” she said daringly.
    “Not if you truly are sensible.” He smiled at her again, and good heavens, but it took her breath away.
    Whoever this man was, he had been visited many times by the gods of dentistry. His teeth were white and even, and his grin was wide and infectious.
    It was bloody unfair. Her own bottom teeth were a jumble, as were all of her siblings’. A surgeon had once said he could fix them, but when he’d come after her with a pair of pliers, Annabel had taken off running.
    But this man—he had a smile that crept to his eyes, lighting his face, lighting the whole room. Which was a ridiculous statement, because they were outside. And it was dark. Still, Annabel would have sworn that the air around them had begun to shimmer and glow.
    Either that or she’d drunk her punch from the wrong bowl. There had been one for young ladies and one for everyone else, and Annabel was quite sure that she … or at least fairly sure. It had been the one on the right. Louisa had said it was the right, hadn’t she?
    Well, she had a half-half chance, at the very least.
    “Do you know everyone?” she asked, because, really, she
had
to. And he had been the one to introduce the subject.
    His brows rose with incomprehension. “I beg your pardon.”
    “You asked for a description of the couple,” she explained. “Do you know everyone, or only the ones who behave with impropriety?”
    He laughed aloud. “No, I don’t know everyone, but, sadly—even more sadly than the existence of my conscience—I know
almost
everyone.”
    Annabel considered some of the people she had met in the last few weeks and gave a wry smile. “I can see where that might be dispiriting.”
    “A lady of intelligence and discernment,” he said. “My favorite kind.”
    He was
flirting
with her. Annabel fought back against the frisson of delight that seemed to roll across her skin. He really was quite beautiful, this man. His hair was dark, probably somewhere between walnut and chocolate, and it was dashing and unruly in the way that all the young gentlemen spent hours trying to achieve. His face was … Well, Annabel was no artist and never had learned how to describe a face, but his was somehow uneven and perfect at the same time.
    “I’m very glad you have a conscience,” she whispered.
    He looked over at her and even leaned forward a touch, his eyes alight with amusement. “What did you say?”
    She felt herself blush, and this time she
knew
he could see it. What was she supposed to say now?
I’m so glad you have a conscience because if you decided to kiss me, I do believe I’d let you?
    He was everything Lord Newbury was not. Young, handsome, witty. A little bit dashing, quite a lot dangerous. He was the sort of gentleman young ladies swore to avoid but secretly dreamed about. And for the next few moments, she had him all to herself.
    Just a few more minutes. She would allow herself a few more minutes. That was all.
    He must have realized that she was not going to tell him what she’d said, so instead he asked (again, as if this were an ordinary conversation), “Is this your first season?”
    “It is.”
    “And are you enjoying yourself?”
    “That would depend upon when you