Too Wilde to Wed

by Eloisa James

  It wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

  She glanced up at him, startled, and he could tell that she hadn’t thought this far ahead. For Diana, she had been fairly organized. She had not only got a loaf of bread from the kitchen, but she had sliced it, and there had been the mug of milk as well.

  But she hadn’t thought of the moment when a man would be staring down at her, unable to stop his lips from curving.

  “You’re so large,” she said faintly.

  Several responses came to mind and he discarded each. For the moment.

  Instead he bent down and picked her up. She went still all over, eyes round, as he got the right grip on an impossibly soft and curvy body.

  “No,” he said to her, answering the question he hoped she wasn’t thinking. “I am not going to hurl you onto the bed and have my evil way with you.”

  “I didn’t think you were,” she said, dignified. “That is our past, not our present.”

  Still holding her, he sat down in the seat she’d been in and nudged her head onto his shoulder, until his cheek could rest on silky hair. “During our engagement we were never near a bed, more’s the pity.”

  “You know what I mean.” Diana was gazing at the fire, and he had the sense that she felt shy. Yet she wasn’t a shy woman.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Romance is our past,” she explained, keeping her eyes fixed on the burning logs. “You know, when you . . . well, when you met my mother’s creation, and thought I would be good enough as a duchess.”

  Good enough?

  Her view explained why she was so comfortable to be here, with him in her bedroom. It made it clear that the woman who jilted him was still the woman of his heart. The truth of it unfolded slowly inside him, the way dye colors water: first just a bright drop, then spreading in every direction.

  He loved her; he still loved her; he’d never stopped loving her.

  Not that she had any idea. His future wife—if he could persuade her to consider him again—was damned unobservant. He’d have to look out for her.

  For the moment, Diana was in his lap, smelling like honey and lemon. She was safe and warm in his arms.

  “If we’re not lovers, what are we?” he asked.

  “Friends,” she said, with such certitude that he knew that she’d given it thought. “You need a friend to take care of you right now. Alaric would do it, if he were here. Or Horatius. Or Parth—I saw him at Christmas and I liked him so much.”

  North grunted. Was her voice particularly animated when she talked of Parth? He had the feeling she had ruled out marriage to the peerage, but Parth wasn’t a member of polite society.

  Parth probably owned most of England by now, but he stayed away from anything smelling of the ton.

  Smart man.

  Not the right man for Diana, however. North’s arms tightened around her. “This is so improper,” she said, with a little squeak. “I wouldn’t allow it to happen, North, except for you . . .”

  “I can’t sleep,” North said, ruthlessly using the truth against her. “You are helping. Alaric could scarcely curl up in my lap, could he?”

  “You slept last night, with no one in your lap,” she pointed out with a gurgle of laughter.

  “I’m going to sleep even better tonight,” he said. “Talking of our past, tell me of our betrothal party.”

  “What of it?” She didn’t sound eager to elaborate. “It was lovely. Your parents were so kind.”

  “But your sister had just died. Were you able to go to her funeral?”

  She shook her head, and he felt warm breath on his neck as she sighed. “My mother insisted that I continue on to Lindow Castle, since Lady Gray, Lavinia’s mother, could act as my chaperone.”

  “Even if your mother had kept Godfrey’s existence to herself, why not explain that one of her daughters had passed away? The wedding might have been put off for six months, or we could have made it a small affair since you would have been in mourning.”

  “Perhaps she would have, if we had been a real couple.”

  North had thought they were a real couple. He still thought so.

  “We would indeed have gone into mourning, and you were likely to find out about Rose’s son,” Diana said wearily. “I would be tainted by his existence. As my mother saw it, you might use it, at some point during the mourning period, as grounds to break our engagement.”

  “Why would your mother question my honor?” he said, hardness entering his voice.

  She was silent.

  “Diana.”

  “You were infatuated with the perfect duchess-to-be that she presented you with. That wasn’t real; it wasn’t me. She and I both knew it. The longer we allowed the betrothal to carry on, the more likely you would discover the truth.”

  He did snort this time.

  “You had purchased a special license,” she said softly.

  North frowned. Hair had fallen over her eyes and she was tracing a circle round and round on his chest. “How did you know that?”

  She took a deep breath. “My mother bribed Boodle. She knew everything you did. She knew when you asked your stepmother to give you your grandmother’s ring. On the morning you asked me to marry you, I put on a special dress, a gown fit for a duchess, with real pearls sewn among the embroidery. Your valet had sent a messenger two hours earlier.”

  North was stunned into silence.

  “I’m sorry. But my mother was not the only one. Boodle likely took bribes from three or four other women who wanted their daughters to be duchesses, and accordingly kept track of your daily activities—if only to make certain that they accepted the same invitations you did.”

  North waited to feel angry, but he couldn’t muster the emotion. “Did my purchase of a special license frighten you?”

  “I had strict instructions,” she said in a low voice. “If you brought up the special license, I was to eagerly agree. It felt wrong, and every hour it felt worse. I think I went a bit mad.” She was tracing circles again. “There was no one to mourn Rose, so my mother didn’t hold a funeral for her.”

  “Except for you,” North said, tightening his arms. “Except for you, Diana. No wonder you ran away. I can’t even remember the first week after Horatius died. The family hardly slept. Someone was always crying somewhere.”

  “You are so lucky to have your family,” Diana said, her voice falling to a whisper. “Even if Horatius didn’t live very long, he was lucky too.”

  “I kept thinking that it must be a jest,” North said. “I hoped I would wake up to find him strutting around the drawing room, provoking Aunt Knowe to snap her fan at him.”

  “I know,” Diana said. Then: “I’m afraid marriage to you became mixed up in my mind with grief for Rose.”

  “Your dream would have been to wake up before you ever met me,” North said, his hand stroking down her back and curling around her side. He put his head back, a wave of exhaustion closing over him.

  Diana threaded the fingers of one hand through his, and he felt her body relax against his. Their closeness wasn’t sensual, not just now. Her fingers wound around his with strength, and her slight weight felt like a mountain pinning him to the here and now.

  To this room, this castle, this woman, this contented moment.

  “I’m sorry, North,” she said, when he was on the very edge of tumbling into sleep.

  “No apologies,” he said groggily. “You don’t love me. I understand that. You can’t choose how you feel, any more than the mad playwright chose to be mad.”

  “Are you talking about the author of Wilde in Love?” she asked, her voice confused.

  But sleep overtook him before he could answer.

  Chapter Nine

  The next day

  It was close to two in the afternoon before they heard a rumble of carriage wheels in the distance. Diana sent up a silent prayer of thanks, because she was at her wit’s end. Artie was driving her mad.

  They had found Fitzy irritably stalkin
g around the Peacock Terrace. They had visited the finch’s nest four times. The first three times, a little brown bird was snug on her nest. The last time, its mate had been poised on the edge and flew away when they poked their heads from the window, so the children were able to count the eggs.

  At the sound of a carriage, Artie looked up at Diana. “Mama?” she asked, for perhaps the fiftieth time.

  “Yes!” Diana cried, after a quick look out the window. A plume of dust in the far distance translated to the train of carriages that accompanied the Duke of Lindow’s family: carriages holding the duke and duchess, at least four and possibly seven Wilde offspring, personal maids and valets, six or seven grooms, a few footmen, and anything else deemed necessary for travel.

  Artie screamed with ear-piercing joy and spun in circles until she made herself dizzy. Then she grabbed Godfrey’s hand. “Downstairs, Free!”

  “Wait!” Diana looked over both of them. Just because they didn’t always dress to their rank didn’t mean that they hadn’t proper clothing, no matter how Boodle used to complain.

  They were clean and their curls brushed until they shone. Artie was wearing an enchanting ruffled gown with a translucent silk overlay embroidered with rosebuds. Godfrey wasn’t dressed as expensively, since Diana paid for his clothing, but he had on neat brown pantaloons, a dark blue jacket with red cuffs, and a lacy collar to his shirt.

  She held out a hand to each. “Let’s go dazzle everyone with Artie’s new teeth.”

  Artie jumped up and down, clapping her jaw together so her teeth were on display. “I want my feather!”

  “I’m not certain that a peacock feather will suit your gown,” Diana said coaxingly.

  Artie disagreed; her lips pursed in a testy pout. Diana gave in, crushing Artie’s curls with a strip of cloth that tied in back, allowing a peacock feather glued to the fabric to wave in the air. Then they all started down the stairs, Artie clutching her doll and Godfrey his wooden horse.

  As the stream of carriages bowled down the avenue of ancient chestnut trees that led to the castle, Prism began ushering the household out the front door. In short order, more than a hundred servants stood outside in the sunshine, grouped according to their positions in the household.

  Lady Knowe, clad in a magnificent purple gown with no fewer than four plumes on her bonnet, was striding from group to group, offering praise. To everyone working in the castle dairy, “Milk has been fine lately, and I commend the cheddar!” To the chef, “Splendid meat pies last night, but no more lambs’ tongues. Curious though it seems, my nephew turned green.”

  Diana looked over the crowd, but North was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?” she heard Lady Knowe demanding, her braying tones carrying on the breeze.

  Artie, Godfrey, and Diana walked over to join the children’s favorite footmen, Frederick and Peter. Soon Artie was bouncing and squealing on Peter’s shoulders, and Godfrey was waving happily from his perch on Frederick’s.

  One might think that the duke and duchess would travel in the first carriage. But no, that door flung open before the liveried groom could approach. As Leonidas and Alexander Wilde sprang out, sun shone on thick black hair, on strong jaws and noble noses, on cheekbones that would make a king gasp with jealousy, on lips that would make a queen feel faint.

  It really wasn’t fair. How could one family be gifted with so much? But then, they had lost Horatius, Diana reminded herself.

  North appeared at last. He strode out of the front door and headed toward his brothers. The three of them met in the middle of the castle courtyard, engaging in the rough-and-tumble greetings that young men liked.

  Watching them, Diana thought that Leonidas and Alexander were like young lions testing their strength, whereas North had the burly strength of a leader of the pride. The idea was so foolish that she felt her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

  All the same, she couldn’t take her eyes away from North. He wore no coat, and the muscles in his broad back showed through his linen shirt. His breeches weren’t nearly as tight as those he used to wear, and yet they emphasized the muscles in his thighs.

  He had a wildness that seemed new to her. No matter how she racked her brain, she couldn’t remember anything wild about the man who had courted her.

  That man, with his heels and patches . . . he had been civilized, urbane, utterly controlled.

  The new North grabbed Leonidas and fairly crushed him against his chest. One arm slung around his brother’s neck, he turned to the other vehicles. Seven carriages had come to a halt inside the courtyard walls, with another three drawn up just outside the gate, as they couldn’t fit safely inside.

  All of Prism’s organization was for naught, because the ladies’ maids ran to their friends. Grooms flocked forward to meet those who’d accompanied the family to London. A group clustered around one horse’s hoof.

  Young Wilde ladies burst out of their carriage, running to North and surrounding him like a bouquet of flowers that squealed and cried. The duke strode over to join them. His Grace’s hair was silvered at the temples, but he wore his fifty-some years with grace. He was as broad-shouldered as his son, but leaner, equally strong.

  Looking at the two of them made her heart twist because North’s father loved him so much. It was there, in his strong embrace, and in the way the duke and the whole family had stopped whatever they were doing to return to the castle. Leonidas and Alexander had even come from Oxford.

  She’d bet anything that Spartacus and Erik would arrive from Eton later today or tomorrow. The duke would have sent a ducal carriage for them, and the school wouldn’t dare to quibble.

  Just now His Grace had his head bent, arm around his son’s shoulders, telling North something with a rueful smile. News from the Ministry, perhaps. Something about those fools who’d underestimated General Washington.

  North looked around, as if for something or someone, and paused on her. The force of his stare made her shiver, because—

  No.

  She certainly could not recognize desire in his eyes at this distance. Or anything else.

  All the same, she didn’t tear her eyes away. She kept watching as His Grace turned his head toward her as well. He nodded. Perhaps Diana should have curtsied, but she was all the way across the courtyard and it felt awkward.

  Instead she reached up and took Godfrey’s hand because at any moment—well, in the next hour or so—North would have to inform the duke and duchess that Godfrey was not his son.

  Unless they, like Lady Knowe, already knew.

  Of course they already knew. A mixture of relief and shame flooded her.

  North turned away, listening to something his father was saying. He tipped his head back and laughed. She’d seen him smile, but she’d never seen a belly laugh. He had dimples at the corners of his mouth.

  His brothers were beautiful, but he was so much more so, like Adonis or a half-mad Greek god caught chatting with a mortal.

  Now the courtyard was full of people running back and forth. The duchess had Artie on her hip. His Grace turned around, his face lit up, and held out his hands. Artie leaned toward him with a happy cry.

  Artemisia Wilde would be fine when her governess, no matter how beloved, disappeared from her life. Diana knew that in her bones, in her hollowed-out, sorry-for-herself bones.

  Godfrey dropped her hand because Leonidas, one of Godfrey’s favorite people, was headed in their direction. Sure enough, Leonidas grabbed Godfrey from Frederick’s shoulders and transferred him to his own, walking back to the duchess, who smiled with the kindness they’d always shown the boy.

  The raging sense of envy Diana felt had nothing to do with the comparison between her work-worn fingers and the duchess’s delicate ones. It was the fact that Ophelia was surrounded by love. Her children loved her, and her stepchildren loved her.

  Leonidas was grinning as he told her some awful joke that he’d learned at Oxford. Her Grace was laughing so hard that she was leaning on her husband. Artie was reach
ing toward her again. And the duke . . .

  The duke had a possessive hand on his wife’s back. He’d put it there without thinking, most likely.

  Diana’s thoughts tangled together like a vine. That was a forever hand. It was a simple caress that said, I will always be yours. And you will always be mine.

  The gesture spoke of love that overflows onto children and stepchildren, and even onto the household, and certainly onto Lady Knowe, who was beaming and listening to whatever Alexander was telling her about his first term at Oxford.

  Prism began waving footmen and maids back into the house, so Diana made up her mind to retreat as well. Mabel could take care of Godfrey for an hour or two when Leonidas tired of him, and the duchess wouldn’t let go of Artie for hours.

  That evening, there would be rough ground to cover, as Lady Knowe would say. Diana would have to give notice, offer apologies, and make up a lie about where she was going next.

  One thing she knew absolutely, watching the family mill around each other, was that she could not live near the Wildes. If she and Godfrey were to be happy, they had to go far away. They could not hover on the edges of all that joy.

  Leaving the courtyard, she skirted the castle on the west side and hurried along the path to the apple orchard, trying to run ahead of her tears.

  On the other side of the orchard, she scrambled down the hill toward the lake and hauled on a weather-beaten rope tied around the trunk of the willow tree until an old punt scraped the edge of shore. It was the work of a moment to climb in and use the pole to push off from the shore, without undoing the rope from the trunk.

  The boat drifted from the shore, the rope’s length stopping the vessel under a fountain of leafy green willow spears that hung so thick and low that they brushed the surface of the water.

  Tucked under a length of oiled canvas were two pillows, allowing a person to slip off the seat and comfortably sit or even recline in the middle of the flat-bottomed boat. She put down the pillows, kicking off her uncomfortable shoes, peeling down her thick black stockings and tucking them under the gunwale at the end of the boat.