Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(81)

“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 tarts, 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.”