Page 12 of Royally Matched
“I’m Austin Hargreaves, of the Santinoga Hargreaves. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. We’re big in lumber.” His olive skin and dark eyes remind me of my own.
“Lumber? Fascinating,” I say with a practiced smile.
He hasn’t let go of my hand yet, so I tug on it to release his grip.
“Sorry, I rather lost myself there for a moment,” Mr. Hargreaves says. “You’re so very beautiful, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I murmur before I turn my attention to Mr. Disheveled Manliness, although I really should stop thinking of him in those terms. “And you are?”
“This is Duck,” Austin Hargreaves, evidently famous for lumber, says as he gestures at his friend.
“Duck?” I question. I allow my eyes to sweep over him once more.
Sue me. I’m still a woman, even if I have a spreadsheet.
Unlike the other men here, “Duck” doesn’t look totally put together. The buttons of his white shirt strain against his chest, which, I admit, I notice is sculpted, and I would guess, firm to the touch. His tousled hair more than skims his jacket collar, enhancing his rugged appeal, and I get the distinct impression this man isn’t often in a suit.
“It’s a nickname, Your Royal Highness. From back in high school,” the man called Duck replies, his voice deep and velvety—the kind of voice I could listen to all day long, allowing it to wash over me and envelop me in its velvety warmth, each word a soothing caress to my ears.
I could be getting a touch carried away right about now.
“I managed to shake the nickname once I left school, although Austin here hasn’t forgotten it,” he finishes.
“You’ll always be Duck to me,” Austin proclaims, his voice not nearly as dipped-in-honey-velvety as Duck’s. He proceeds to quack a couple of times, and then laugh at his own joke.
Duck shakes his head at him, smiling.
“Why Duck?” I’m eager to hear his voice once more—and avoid any more quacks from Mr. Lumber.
“It’s rather an embarrassing story, actually, ma’am,” Duck replies, and I notice for the first time his arresting bright blue eyes that seem to pierce through the grand hall’s opulence.
“I’ll tell it,” Austin says and immediately launches into the story. “Back in high school, Duck here had a mishap with a BBQ grill, after which he had to waddle around the place for days. It was hilarious. He walked like this.” Austin moves stiffly from one leg to the other, successfully pulling off a human embodiment of a duck, and I press my lips together to stifle a laugh.
“Thanks for that,” Duck says with a shake of his head.
“You’ve got to admit it was bloody funny at the time,” Austin says with a slap to Duck’s back.
“What was the mishap with the BBQ grill?” I ask, intrigued.
“Believe me, ma’am, you don’t want to know,” Duck replies.
“Oh, but I do want to know,” I insist. I’d quite like to take the opportunity to listen to his lovely voice some more.
Who knew a voice could be so alluring? Other than Barry White, of course.
It’s clear to me that this man is the exact opposite ofthe sort of husband I’m looking for, yet I find myself drawn to him, full to the brim with Amelia’s “sizzle.”
But this man proves that sizzle is totally overrated in the husband hunting stakes. Duck can’t be right for me on paper. But in person? Well, that’s another story all together.
So, I can allow myself a brief flirtation tonight, although that’s as far as it can ever go.
“Come on, Duck, tell the princess your story. I’m sure she wants to know all the gory details,” Austin teases.
Duck’s eyes slide from his friend back to mine. “I… err… sat on it,” he says with obvious reluctance.
“You sat on a BBQ? Was it hot?” I ask.
“Scalding.”