Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(80)
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.