Too Wilde to Wed

by Eloisa James

  With a gulp, she forced herself from her chamber. Lavinia was waiting for her at the bottom of the marble steps leading to the entry, and spun her in a circle, crowing about how exquisite she looked.

  Diana had never felt beautiful, not compared to Rose. Certainly not during the Season, when her towering wig and extravagant attire drew everyone’s gaze. In her cousin’s shining eyes, she saw the truth. She was beautiful when she was allowed to be herself.

  Lavinia was wearing a white gown overlaid by translucent silk gauze, embroidered with scattered tea roses in precisely the right shade to complement her lip color. She looked like one of those naughty French angels in paintings who lounged on clouds wearing nothing but a few wisps of carefully painted silk. Were those angels?

  Diana’s knowledge of art was as scant as her understanding of peafowl. Perhaps those ladies were actually courtesans.

  “Look at this!” Lavinia whispered, pulling her in front of a mirror in the entrance hall. “We look so much alike!”

  “Not really,” Diana objected.

  “We must owe our bosoms to some formidable ancestress. I hope she made as good use of them as we will tonight!” Lavinia’s giggle threatened to split what little silk was holding her breasts in check. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed. “Where is your lip color?” She stuck a hand in her pocket and brought out a tin no larger than the tip of her thumb. “Here.”

  “My mother always made me wear pale shades,” Diana said dubiously. “That red will make my mouth look even larger.”

  “Your mother is a fool, and if we agree and move on, we’ll all be better off,” her cousin said briskly. “There is nothing a man loves better than naughty lips on a chaste lady.”

  Diana obediently pulled off her right glove and dabbed dark rose on her lips, trying not to think about how swollen it made them look. As if she’d been kissed for hours.

  “There is no reception line tonight,” Lavinia said, “which means we will walk straight into a thicket of gentlemen. Don’t forget our plan: You must flirt with every man I introduce you to. I shall dance numerous times with North, making my mother happy and quelling any rumors about the two of you.”

  Diana nodded, conscious that she didn’t want North to dance with Lavinia. Dog in the manger, she told herself, not for the first time. It was shameful not to want him, and not to want any other woman to have him either.

  “You shall dance more than once with Lord Hon, the Baron of Houston.” Lavinia said, inspecting Diana’s lips. “You look utterly delectable.”

  “I shall dance with whom?”

  “Lord Hon is a distant cousin of mine on my mother’s side, so you won’t have met him, most likely. His title hails from Scotland. Renfrewshire, I think. I’ll introduce the two of you. All you have to do is say something clever and smile at him, and he’ll be entranced. He’s not a useless aristocrat, like the ones you disparage. He rebelled against his family and got a degree at Edinburgh, so he’s a practicing physician. You might even address him as Doctor Hon if you prefer, highbrow that you are.”

  “I’m not a highbrow!” Diana protested. But she had to admit that Lord Hon sounded interesting.

  “Later this evening, I shall deposit North directly at your feet. You will dance with him, but you must look utterly bored the entire time. Exchange a word or two at the most. You are like brother and sister to each other, or so the duke decreed over supper.”

  Taking a deep breath, Diana marshaled the strength she had inherited from her grandfather. Lady Knowe strolled to meet them as she and Lavinia entered the ballroom.

  “Good evening, Miss Gray, Miss Belgrave,” she said, dropping into a curtsy. Diana’s silk skirts puddled on the floor as she curtsied, in a way that the stiff brocades her mother favored had not.

  “Since I never go to London, I had forgotten how imaginative everyone is,” Lady Knowe said. “A woman just told me on the best authority that Godfrey is the son of the Duke of Cumberland, brother of King George.”

  “My mother probably started the rumor,” Lavinia said. “She has far too much imagination for her own good, and counts it a poor day when she doesn’t circulate at least one story that she created herself. Doesn’t Diana look exquisite?”

  Lady Knowe looked Diana up and down. “Fifty times better than you did during your first Season, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, darling. I will assume this triumph should be laid at your feet, Lavinia?”

  “Yes,” Lavinia said with undisguised pride.

  “My cousin is my fairy godmother,” Diana said. “If Lavinia dressed the ton, a ballroom would be an altogether more beautiful place.”

  “I shall ask you for advice,” Lady Knowe said to Lavinia. “And now, Lavinia darling, why don’t you dance with a few of those men who are eyeing you so hungrily? His Grace has assigned me to instruct Diana about her role in tonight’s drama.”

  Lavinia gave them a dimpled smile and swept into a curtsy. The moment she moved a step away, two gentlemen leapt to her side.

  Peter appeared with a tray of champagne. Diana accepted a glass, but Lady Knowe waved him away. “I’ve a flask in my side panniers in case I want a drop of something. Did Lavinia explain the part you’re to play, Diana?”

  “She told me that I must dance once with North and look bored while I do it.”

  “You have a nervous disposition,” Lady Knowe elaborated. “You didn’t run away from North; that is an unfortunate rumor. Your nerves, compounded by grief at the death of your sister, led you to retire to your mother’s country estate. You then returned to the castle to be nurtured as the future duchess.”

  “‘Nurtured’?” Diana echoed. She couldn’t help smiling.

  “Because you adore your orphaned nephew, you spent a great deal of time in the nursery. However, when North returned from war, you and he came to an amicable parting of ways.”

  Diana turned the story over in her mind and nodded.

  “The rumors about your working in the nursery arise from the fact that you sleep in that wing, as it is quieter. None of my friends was surprised to learn of the demise of your engagement; they had all noticed your tepid affection for your fiancé. Of course,” she added, “that was one of the reasons North courted you in the first place.”

  “I see,” murmured Diana, though she didn’t see at all.

  “North doesn’t feel the title is truly his, thus he dislikes it when young ladies drape themselves about his person as if he were a ducal coat stand,” Lady Knowe explained. “You never acted that way, because you didn’t like him.”

  “That’s not true!” Diana protested, before she thought.

  Lady Knowe’s mouth curved in a toothy smile that made Diana think of an old crocodile waiting in the sun. “Really? You jilted him in a surprising fashion for someone who cared tuppence for the man’s feelings.”

  “I did not think before I acted,” Diana said, adding pointedly, “no more than you did, when you hired me as a governess.”

  “You have me there.” She shrugged. “Between us, we managed to ruin North’s reputation, so let’s put it right.”

  Over the lady’s shoulder, Diana saw North standing with Parth Sterling, his boyhood friend and Lavinia’s great nemesis. As she watched, North turned, caught sight of her, and instantly started in her direction.

  His face was expressionless, his wig unobtrusive, and his coat and breeches an austere black. A coat that unremarkable shouldn’t emphasize how broad his shoulders and chest were, but it did so nonetheless. Pristine white stockings flattered his powerful legs.

  No patch. No powder, no rouge, no lip color. His bottom lip was a natural color that should be available for purchase.

  North’s expression grew speculative as he neared them, as if he had read her mind.

  “Diana,” Lady Knowe said with exasperation.

  “Forgive me,” Diana said, pivoting back to her.

  Lady Knowe groaned. “You!” she said to her nephew.

  North bowed and kissed her hand.
“Yes, my best of aunts?”

  “I’m your only aunt,” she pointed out.

  “Which allows you to shine without interference.”

  She rapped him on the shoulder. “Pish! I have just been reminding Miss Belgrave of her nervous complaint, and the rest cure she took before you left for the colonies.”

  “I’d like to know more of Miss Belgrave’s nervous complaint,” North said, a rumble of amusement running through his voice. “Did it arise as a reaction to an aggressive peacock? Prism has just informed me that Fitzy has a new lease on life, thanks to a spirited fight that has vanquished young Floyd from the terrace.”

  “You are supposed to appear sympathetic to Miss Belgrave’s afflictions,” Lady Knowe said, ignoring this frivolity, “but also uninterested. No more staring at her as if she were a gazelle and you a hungry lion.”

  North looked only at Diana. “Nervous complaints cause a racing heartbeat. I know any number of ways to soothe that symptom.”

  He smelled wonderful. Clean male, she thought, a little dreamily . . . so much better than turnip mash or dirty nappies.

  Lady Knowe huffed and turned to leave. “Neither of you is good at following directions; I don’t know how my brother overlooked that signal fact. If you don’t fall in line, you’ll ruin the plan.”

  North didn’t take his eyes from Diana’s face. “I can demonstrate it to you.”

  Diana raised an eyebrow. “Your remedy for a racing heart? I would want to sample more than one remedy.”

  His smile was a caress, as if he brushed her with warm silk. “I volunteer to demonstrate them all.” He picked up her hand and kissed it.

  “I shall gather evidence from more than one provider,” she said sweetly, pulling away.

  Blue eyes darkened like a storm over the ocean.

  “Now,” she said, enjoying herself, “my mandate tonight is to flirt with every male in the room except for you. You bore me.”

  “You are recovering from a nervous complaint,” North said, his jaw tightening. “If you flirt with many men, you will not look like a recovering patient.”

  “You mustn’t look at me in such a heated fashion,” she whispered. “We are no longer betrothed.”

  “I never looked at you this way when we were betrothed,” he said.

  It was true enough. If he had looked at her that way, she might not have run away.

  The truth must have shown in her eyes, because he said, “Damn it, I played it all wrong, didn’t I?”

  His brows were slashing, black, arrogant.

  Rather irresistible, she decided.

  North’s attention made her feel light-headed, warm-cheeked, slightly dizzy . . . as if she were suffering a true nervous complaint that could be cured only by intimacies.

  “Darling,” Lavinia cried, inserting herself between them and deliberately turning her back to North. “I must introduce you to Lord Hon! I am convinced that you will greatly enjoy each other’s company.”

  Diana blinked at the tall man bowing in front of her. He had kind eyes and an intelligent forehead. He was a doctor.

  He wasn’t a duke.

  She sank into a curtsy.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dancing with Lavinia was no hardship, North admitted to himself; she was spirited, sardonic, and a wonderful dancer. During their third dance, she confessed that her mother thought he would ask for her hand at any moment, and then went into peals of laughter at his expression.

  North watched surreptitiously as Diana danced with every gentleman in the room, his father twice, and the baron three times. He didn’t like that, especially when the baron took her in to supper.

  Prism had set up a magnificent feast in the antechamber to the great hall, where a number of small tables had been set about, sufficient to accommodate every hungry guest. North collected a plate of food for Lavinia and then escorted her to a table where Parth and his sister Betsy sat.

  He would have thought twice about steering Lavinia in that direction if he’d realized that Parth would greet her with “My dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?”

  Without answering that Shakespearean salvo, Lavinia turned to North and served up such a performance of sweetly intimate conversation that anyone watching would have assumed they were already betrothed.

  Parth sat opposite, scowling. Betsy rolled her eyes. North put in a word now and then, while watching Diana out of the corner of his eye and trying to avoid the effusive smiles of Lady Gray, who was seated not far away.

  “Who’s that baron who took Diana to supper?” North asked Lavinia, during a lull in her gushing flirtation. He suspected her performance was really directed at Parth, rather than the guests seated around them.

  “The Baron of Houston? He has a degree in medicine from Edinburgh. I believe he holds some other titles as well.” She turned to Parth. “How are the children who used to be employed in that lace factory of yours?”

  Her face and voice were as cordial as ever.

  “The children are happily living in the country,” Parth said. Then he added, with an edge, “You might even say that you are supporting them, Miss Gray. Lace factories depend on those who indulge their every desire, six or seven bonnets in a single afternoon.”

  Parth didn’t have the smoothest manners in the world, but that was surprisingly impolite.

  Lavinia smiled, her face showing nothing but kindness. She leaned forward and cooed, “Alas, you assume that I would wear Sterling lace. Even for the charitable reasons you mention . . .” She shook her head sadly. “No.”

  North stood up. “I must beg you to excuse me. I have just remembered something important.”

  “I agree with you,” Lavinia said.

  North wasn’t sure what to make of her mischievous smile. He kissed the ladies’ hands and nodded at Parth. Then he made his way over to Diana’s table and leaned down to murmur in her ear.

  She looked up, frowning slightly. “They’ll be in bed,” she whispered back.

  “We never slept in the nursery during a ball. You can hear the music.”

  The others at the table were looking at them curiously. “Miss Belgrave is a devoted aunt,” North said smoothly. “My butler tells me that her little nephew is awake and asking for her. I’m sure you can understand that the noise echoes around the castle.”

  They nodded at her approvingly, except for the baron, whose frown conveyed disapproval. The man clearly thought that there was something fishy about North’s interruption.

  There was.

  Lady Knowe’s plan had worked, and Diana’s reputation had been successfully restored. Accordingly, Lavinia and her mother would whisk Diana away, perhaps as early as the following day.

  Lavinia was fundamentally honest, and when a reason to pretend that North was courting her no longer existed, she would break the news to her mother, and take Diana to London or to Lady Gray’s country estate.

  North walked away from Diana without a backward look, playing the role of a mere friend. He returned to the antechamber and Prism’s feast. Recruiting Peter with a tray, he made an effort to collect a bite or two of everything: frangipane tarts that looked like tiny sunbursts; grapes frosted with sugar that sparkled in the candlelight; meringue of preserved apples, cunningly presented in tiny glass bowls; chocolate creams; and even violet creams too, because although he loathed them, they were so pretty.

  He added glasses of lemonade to the tray, along with nougat almond cake, and a bowl of vanilla blancmange, because it had a sensual wobble that reminded him of Diana’s breasts. Not a square inch remained on the tray to add another thing.

  Peter didn’t blink an eye when instructed to carry the tray to the nursery. North lingered long enough to seize a bottle of champagne and a pair of goblets, and then took the back stairway to the nursery in order to avoid meeting even a single guest.

  When he reached the nursery bedchamber, he found Artie and Godfrey in a nest of blankets before the fireplace. Godfrey was hovering breathlessly over the little ta
rts, and Artie’s eyes were fixed on the sparkling grapes. Diana was seated on a low stool at their side, silk skirts spreading around her like a field covered in violets. Peter had come and gone, and there was no sign of Mabel.

  “Champagne for Miss Belgrave, who is once again welcome in polite society,” North said, handing her a glass.

  “Thank you, Lord Roland,” Diana said.

  He lowered himself to the floor beside them. For a few minutes there was no sound other than squeals of excitement from Artie. North put the blancmange to the side, but they demolished everything else.

  “The baby finches will be born t’morrow,” Artie told North.

  “You say that every day,” Diana said. “It takes time to hatch baby birds, Artie.”

  “It’s true, though.” The little girl licked her fingers and ate the last grape.

  Diana was unable to stop smiling, for all the world as if she’d drunk an entire bottle of champagne. “This picnic was a splendid idea,” she said to North, wishing she could kiss him.

  He gave her a heavy-lidded look that suggested he wanted to do more than kiss. Perhaps he had decided to give her one last night.

  Artie lay back, her tummy distinctly rounded. “I want to go to balls every night,” she said sleepily. She reached over and grabbed Godfrey’s hand. “I’ll dance with you, Free. We’ll go round and round, then we’ll eat everything.”

  Her eyes closed, and she missed Godfrey’s scowl. Apparently he didn’t see himself as a dancer. North came to his feet and scooped Artie into his arms, put her in bed, and drew the curtains.

  “Where’s Mabel?”

  “Not here,” Diana said. “The upper servants are entertaining the ladies’ maids and valets staying overnight.”

  “I’m sure she’ll do a good job,” North said wryly. He tucked Godfrey into bed, then stooped and caught up the white pudding he had set aside. He held out his hand. “Your chamber, I think.” He pulled her into the corridor. “One last time.”

  “It’s dangerous,” she muttered, meaning it all ways.