Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(59)

“No laughing,” Artie cried. When Godfrey just laughed harder, she darted over and tickled him. He writhed, giggling madly, until Peter rescued him by swinging him up onto his shoulder.

Diana managed to hold Artie still long enough to retie her headband so the feather stood up tall behind her head.

“Master Godfrey isn’t ready to go,” Peter said sadly. He was holding Godfrey upside down by his ankles, and the little boy was twisting around, giggling madly and trying to grab the footman’s waist.

“Peter,” Diana said with some alarm. “Remember that he had breakfast not too long ago.”

“Oh, he won’t—Lord Roland!” Peter nimbly turned Godfrey right side up, and put him on his feet.

“Good morning, Peter.” North turned to Diana. “Miss Belgrave, children.” He had that severe look again.

He wasn’t severe, Diana reminded herself, hugging the knowledge inside herself. He had slept with his legs tangled around hers, one hand on her bottom.

He had slept.

“Good morning, Lord Roland,” Diana said, dropping a curtsy. “We are going to say hello to Fitzy before walking to the village.”

“Mr. Calico is visiting Mobberley,” North said, nodding. “I shall accompany you. He is one of my favorite people in the world.”

Artie leaned back, hands on her hips, staring up at her brother. “To see Fitzy?”

“Absolutely,” North said. “Are you a peacock?”

“Yes,” Artie told him. “’Cause Fitzy is lonely. Bread.” She held up her cotton bag.

“That’s very kind of you.”

Diana caught Godfrey’s hand. “Lord Roland, we wouldn’t dream of distracting you. I’m sure you have much work to do.” Which was a gracious way of saying, Please withdraw your offer.

North ignored her and turned to Artie. “Artie, would you like a ride to the lawn?”

“No,” Artie said, grabbing Godfrey’s other hand.

“No, thank you,” Diana prompted.

“Uh-huh,” she said, dancing up and down. “Fitzy will be hungry!”

When they reached the terrace, Fitzy was waiting for them, though given his magnificent girth, his appetite was debatable.

Over the last year, he had grown used to seeing the three of them every morning. He cocked his head and looked suspiciously at North.

“Please stay back,” Diana said. “Fitzy is not fond of men.”

“He doesn’t dislike us,” North remarked. “He’s just a competitive beast by nature.” But he obediently backed away.

“Come, come, Fitzy,” Artie crooned. Slowly the peacock advanced on his spindly legs, his great tail dragging in the damp grass. “You’re a good peacock,” Artie told him, holding out a fistful of bread crumbs. “The best peacock ever!”

Godfrey had no interest in Fitzy, and began attempting to hop the entire length of the terrace without putting down his right foot.

North moved until his shoulder bumped Diana’s. “Why is Artie so much nicer to that bird than she is to her own brother?”

“She’s known him all her life,” Diana reminded him. “She scarcely knows you.”

“Friends should feed each other.” His voice was ripe with innuendo.

“Good Fitzy,” Artie said, gently patting the peacock’s beak. They’d discovered that Fitzy didn’t care to have the top of his head touched, perhaps because of his magnificent crown of blue feathers.

The children skipped ahead as they headed across the south lawn toward the path to the village. “Do you like peacocks or dukes better?” North asked idly.

“Isn’t it an overlapping category?” Diana asked, giving him a mischievous smile. “I enjoy the absurdly dressed, though I’d rather not be one of the flock. London would be very tiresome without the odd peacock to gawk at.”

“I find clothing to be a matter of indifference,” North said, an unmistakable ring of truth in his voice. He bent closer. “Unless I’m trying to capture one particular woman’s attention, of course.”

The path leading to Mobberley was an easy ramble between two meadows. The moment they were out of sight of the house, North tucked Diana’s arm into his elbow. His eyes dared her to say something. When she didn’t, he pulled her closer.

“Behave yourself,” she warned. “So you don’t care about clothing. What do you care about?”

“A beautiful woman who manages to look regal in a worn black dress.”

“Pooh,” Diana said. But she let the compliment warm her heart. The children were galloping ahead now, Artie occasionally swerving to pick a flower and add it to a messy handful.

“Almack’s is full of women who would happily be my duchess,” North said musingly. “Like an ocean of perch trying to leap into my net, and the one fish I want swims as fast as she can in the opposite direction.”

“You are terribly arrogant,” Diana said.

“Would you say my observation is inaccurate?”

Diana chose not to answer that.

“When one becomes a reluctant heir to a dukedom, fish with shining scales try to jump into one’s boat, so many that one could easily capsize.” He glanced at her, but she held her tongue. “I was savaged by a trout in the first year after Horatius’s death. You might know her better as Lady Catherine Weathersby.”