Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(12)

“Plain soap,” North repeated.

He tossed the wet ball of soap in the air, and Boodle managed to catch it. He raised the soap to his nose and took a sniff. “Exquisite! Magnificent! Everyone agreed that the Marquess of Saltersley will smell better than—”

“If you recall, Boodle, I do not use that title,” North observed, an edge to his voice. His brother Horatius had been the marquess, and while North had no choice about taking on the dukedom, he had refused the courtesy title. “Fetch another soap, if you please.”

Boodle scuttled into the corridor, muttering to himself.

Lying back in the tub, North forced himself to face the truth: He still wanted Diana. Perhaps he wanted her even more than he had when they were betrothed. If he started kissing her now, the way he had at their betrothal party, he wasn’t sure he would stop.

It was an unpleasant discovery. It made no sense that he found her more sensual when wearing a drab servant’s dress and a tired muslin cap.

Likely his desire was a natural response to her intrinsic beauty, indicating nothing more important than the fact he was alive and male.

Boodle came back with a ball of soap that smelled of honey. Good enough. North began scrubbing off the dirt of the trip from London to Cheshire, made in three days instead of five.

It was to win Diana that he had first hired Boodle, who had tutored him about patches, powder, and wigs. His valet’s handiwork had transformed North into a fashionable dandy, a perfect consort to Miss Belgrave in every detail except his refusal to wear face paint. He had dressed in French finery, danced endless minuets, even cut back on billiards to take up archery, her favorite sport. Never mind the fact that he had a constitutional dislike of shooting arrows merely to hit a bull’s-eye.

Boodle snatched up a scent bottle and waved it in the air. “This holds your personal scent,” he cried, opening the stopper and taking a loud sniff. “The bottle is rock crystal and gold leaf. It came with this cunning travel pouch, which will enable you to refresh yourself before entering a ball, or if you find yourself in a crowd of odiferous persons.”

“No,” North said, keeping it simple.

“No?” Boodle’s voice rose. “Why not? I spent hours preparing for your arrival. I even ordered you a frock coat with the new narrow cuffs!” He squinted at North. “I hope your shoulders are not as large as they appear to be, or the coat will not fit. Mr. Hawkes necessarily cut to your previous measure.”

“No perfume.” North glanced at the bed. “No yellow coats, Boodle, especially with all that embroidery.”

“Yellow? It is not yellow. It’s saffron.”

North just shook his head.

An expression of extreme distress wrinkled his valet’s face. “It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

“Her?”

“She’s shamed and humiliated you, and thus you are hesitant to reenter polite society. I sympathize, my lord. I felt as much when I was on Bond Street, but I braved it out. I turned up my nose at anyone asking impertinent questions about you.”

North stopped soaping and watched with bemusement as his valet threw a clenched fist in the air. “The solution is not to hide in Cheshire. No! We must order an entirely new wardrobe and be seen everywhere, talking to everyone! Courage, not retreat!”

Bloody hell. His valet was more passionate than the men in his regiment had been. “I feel no hesitation to go into polite society,” North stated. Not that he meant to waste any time doing it.

If nothing else, service in the military had taught him the value of time.

Boodle didn’t appear to have heard him. “From this vantage point, it is hard to remember that Miss Belgrave did appear to be a desirable match—barring the unfortunate circumstances of her ancestry.”

That would be the grocer.

“Yet blood will out,” Boodle said, shaking his head. “We see it over and over. Were Miss Belgrave on the stage, she would be an actress of some renown.”

That seemed to imply cunning on Diana’s part, as if she had wanted to be a duchess. She might have acted the part of a demure maiden during their courtship, but in North’s opinion, she’d wanted neither him nor his title.

“I do not blame you for being taken in, my lord. I understand your shame. Who could have imagined the consequences . . . ah, the consequences!”

North was struck dumb.

“To be frank, it is only because I am the most loyal of creatures that I have awaited your return,” Boodle said, turning to the bed and patting the saffron-colored coat. His mouth pulled so tight that it resembled a rosebud. “As the scandal grew and grew in your absence, I considered the reputation I had gained from transforming you into a gentleman of fashion. Your father offers no challenge to my creative genius. More than once, I contemplated not returning to your service, but if a valet is not loyal, what is he?”

It seemed to be a rhetorical question. “I gather you are vexed that Miss Belgrave returned to the castle with her son,” North said.

“Had I refused to return to your service, it would have confirmed to England—nay, the world, because my reputation extends to the French court—that the scandal was justified. It would have confirmed the shame that has fallen on the Wildes as a whole.”

North’s mouth had fallen ajar, so he snapped it shut.

Boodle spun to face him, striking his chest with his fist. “If I left you, I, one of the most famous valets in all England, it would have confirmed the rumors that you took Miss Belgrave by force.”