Tell them what?” Giles asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, that icy blue that could ferret out a secret at twenty paces. “Oh, lord—you’re breeding, aren’t you. I thought you had gotten a bit thick about the waist.” “Rude!” Lydia gasped, pummeling Giles in the shoulder, and he laughed as he fended off her weak attempt at assault. “And to think we meant to ask you to be Godfather!” “Godfather!” he said. “To your wretched little bratling?” He dodged another feeble blow. “Darling, I’d be delighted.”
