I never suspected you had a sense of humor,” she mused aloud, studying his face as if he were a fascinating puzzle to be figured out. “See? Hardly ten minutes into the night and I am already learning fabulous things about you.”
“Imagine what will happen in an hour,” he said.
“That sounded suspiciously liberal to me,” she rejoined slyly, reaching to wind her arms around his neck. “Did I mention that you look like you just stepped off a pirate ship? This outfit is very . . . roguish.”
“Roguish?”
“‘Roguish’ is a word from the English language,” she lectured. “It means . . . to be like a rogue. In your case, to be in the style of a rogue. Roguish.”
“I know what it means, Neliss. I do not believe I have ever heard myself described in such a way before. I shall have to take your word on that.” He reached up to push back some of the heavy fall of her hair. “You always wear dresses like this, and almost never bind your hair. Do not take this as a complaint, but I was wondering why that is.”
“I like dresses. I never quite took to the idea of skirts above the ankle. I guess I am an old-fashioned eighteenth-century girl.”
“I see. And just when, exactly, should I begin to look for those pigs that will be flying by?”
“You know, you sit there and accuse me of having a smart mouth?”
“Well, you were wondering what part of you was going to show up in me,” he rejoined.
“Oh. Ha ha. Your stellar wit has charmed me straight to my toes,” was her dry reply.
“In any event,” he continued, ignoring her sarcasm, “your style suits you quite well. It suits me as well.

Author: Jacquelyn Frank