A Marquess Is Forever

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  His visit to Lord Covington's home the previous day had unfortunately not been successful, as the earl had been out for the day. However, Lachlan had managed to make amends with two of the other men on his list, those to whom his father owed fairly small sums of money. In one case, the debt was merely a guinea, but it was, in Lachlan's mind anyway, a debt nonetheless and one that should be settled.

  Today, he had taken care of four more names on his list. There were eight remaining in addition to Covington. If all the others went as well as these first few had, this task would be far easier than Lachlan had imagined. Then again, all of the other remaining debts were of a more serious, not to mention more costly, nature. The one owed to Covington, of course, was the biggest of them all.

  Lachlan had also received a visit from his grandfather's solicitor that afternoon as well, informing him that none of the nephew's wished to fight Lachlan for the title. Mostly, he was informed while the solicitor did his best not to laugh, that was because the other men were afraid of Lachlan and his Scottish heritage. One of the young whelps had even expressed the fear that Lachlan might challenge him to a joust, of all the ridiculous things. Lachlan could not believe that any man in this day and age could be so foolish or stupid, but then, humanity often surprised him and not always in a good way.

  That, coupled with the easy to read reports from his grandfather's land steward, had left Lachlan in a very good mood. All was going well. Better than he had anticipated really. However, as in all things, there was one single wrinkle. There always was it seemed.

  In Lachlan's case, however, the "wrinkle" was a very lovely, very desirable lady. One Lady Diana Saintwood, to be specific.

  He could not stop thinking about her, and he had tried very hard. Well, perhaps not so hard, but he had tried. A little. Very well, not so much. Or at all really.

  Every time he closed his eyes, even for a second, she was there with her teasing, intelligent eyes and bright smile, a hint of impropriety lurking just beneath her highly polished and sophisticated surface.

  She was beautiful and desirable, soft and curved in all of the places a woman should be, at least to his eye. She had an air about her that intrigued him, even though he knew bloody good and well that he should not. However, he could not seem to help himself either. One glance at that thick hair of hers and he was imagining it down, falling to her waist so that he might bury his hands in the delightful mass of it. In his more wicked fantasies, she was wearing nothing more than a strand of jewels about her neck - usually rubies - and a pair of stockings. He, of course, was wearing nothing at all.

  Ideas like that were precisely why he had to get hold of himself. He had other problems to deal with. Yes, he had mentioned to Radcliffe that if he encountered an amenable, biddable woman, he would court and possibly even wed her. Somehow, Lachlan doubted very much that Lady Diana fell into the "biddable" category. Minx perhaps, but certainly not biddable. Yet even after all of that mental scolding, he still could not quite dislodge her from the corner of his mind where she seemed to have set up permanent residence.

  At first, he had told himself that he was simply worried about her health. After all, what gentleman wouldn't be when a lady nearly faints in his arms? He had even thought about sending a servant around to her home, inquiring about her health, but had then decided against such an action. Back in the Highlands, that was a sure sign of a man's interest in a woman. He doubted that such an action would be interpreted any differently here. The last thing he wanted to do was bring shame to Lady Diana or taint her name and reputation in any way.

  Instead he had waited - and rather impatiently at that - for her family to send a servant to inquire if Lachlan had noticed anything amiss in their daughter's health. That was the usual way of things - in so far as it went, since nothing about his appearance at the jeweler's yesterday afternoon was normal. Not even for a notorious man like himself.

  For Lachlan was many things but he was not stupid. He was a young gentleman of means, even before he had assumed the Hallstone title. He also enjoyed women and drink and gambling, though never to excess with any of those vices, for he knew all too well what ruinous adventures that type of excess lead to. However, he was hardly a saint and he knew full well that rumors about him - his behaviors and proclivities - spread through the ton just as they did for any man of note or consequence.

  That said, his reputation was far better than most and even at his worst, he did not even approach the questionable behavior of some of society's most notorious bachelors, his friend the Duke of Candlewood being one of them. Therefore, he was a little surprised when he did not hear a word from the Saintwood family, either in inquiry or thanks.

  On the other hand, perhaps he was not so surprised after all, given how fervently Lady Westfield clung to the notion of her daughter marrying Hathaway. Any contact at all - of any sort - with another man was often viewed as potentially harmful to Diana's chances at becoming the next Duchess of Hathaway, at least in the viscountess' eyes. At least that was according to the gossip Lachlan had overheard at White's that morning, and given the way the woman had stared daggers at any man who had dared to even so much as glance at Diana this evening, Lachlan well believed it.

  Much as Oliver Saintwood's wife had been termed the other evening, Lady Westfield was a menace - especially to her own daughter. She clearly did not see how much damage she did to her daughter's reputation by scaring off all potential suitors while focusing all of her matchmaking efforts on a man who was clearly uninterested. The currently unmarried state of Lady Diana - as well as Hathaway's blatant refusal to wed her - had been all the gossip at the club that morning, especially now that word had begun to spread that the lady in question was helping another young miss, the indomitable Miss Phoebe Banbrook, launch into society. That was a job assigned to an aging debutante, one on the verge of becoming a spinster. It was not among the actions of a lady still on the marriage mart herself. No respectable young woman would dare risk the competition - or so the conventional thinking at White's went.

  However, that also meant - again according to the gentlemen at White's - that the lady in question was now available for courting again - as if she hadn't always been available. Some of the more randy and callow youths present had discussed courting her to see if they could get under her skirts, while others who were obvious fortune hunters were calculating whether or not taking on Lady Westfield was worth the trouble of securing Diana's dowry. There were a number of men who readily decided that it was worth the risk, which had made Lachlan's temper - as well as his desire to speak to Lady Diana about the matter - rise rather quickly. Though more out of concern for her and her reputation than anything. It had nothing to do with Lachlan's own interest in her. Nothing at all.

  Still, all of the talk of Lady Diana, her marital status - or lack thereof - as well as whether or not she might make a biddable mistress in a year or so had not sat particularly well with Lachlan and had been the only event to mar an otherwise enjoyable day.

  Now as the crowd around him began to disperse, he found himself being swept back inside the grand ballroom along with them. He thought that it might be time to wish his host and hostess a good evening, even though he had only arrived about an hour ago, when she appeared in his line of vision. As if his thoughts of her on the terrace had somehow forced her to appear out of thin air.

  And she looked far lovelier than she had in his already overactive imagination. Lady Diana Saintwood was nothing short of a vision and one that stole the breath from his body. She was, in a word, perfection.

  Tonight she wore a gown in a deep blush color, too dark for a true debutante but still acceptable for a young, unmarried lady of good standing. The gown shimmered as she moved, as if some sort of metallic threads had been sewn into the sheer overskirt. Since the gown featured a bit of gold lace at the bottom - which his sister Sorcha had informed him before he left Scotland was the mark of the ton's most sought after modiste, a Madame LaVallier - Lachlan could very easil
y believe that there was pure gold in her gown as well, designed specifically to highlight the sunrise-hued tones in her hair. Diana had a peaches and cream glow about her, with diamond studded pins decorating her hair and a small diamond pendant at her throat - tasteful and delicate, just as she was.

  It was then that Lachlan noticed that, while she was smiling, she did not exactly look happy. Not as she had the other night, certainly. Instead, she appeared to be attempting to look happy, almost as if she wanted to be, but did not know how to go about it at the moment. Then he risked a glace at her mother who was sitting in a chair along the wall. The woman continued to frown as Diana approached, the lines on her face deepening the closer her daughter came to where Ursula sat tapping her fan in annoyance.

  Whatever snit Lady Westfield had worked herself into, her ire was clearly directed at her daughter. And in that moment, Lachlan wanted nothing more than to save Diana from whatever tongue lashing her mother was about to impart. He wanted to be her hero, her knight in shining armor. Whatever the source of Lady Westfield's displeasure, Lachlan was certain that Diana was not the cause, nor did she deserve to bear the brunt of it.

  If other gentlemen noticed the scene unfolding before them, they did not seem inclined to act, most likely because they did not wish to bear the brunt of Lady Westfield's anger either. Or it might be because they did not want to risk the imagined wrath of Lord Hathaway, or be viewed as trying to usurp the other man's position in Diana's life.

  Lachlan didn't care about any of things.

  He also knew - both from Lord Radcliffe and from the lady herself - that she had no position in Hathaway's life and likely never would. He knew that. These other men now did as well, and it was only a matter of time before they came sniffing around her skirts. However it would most likely take even the bravest of them a day or so to gather the courage. After all, the news of Diana's freedom, such as it was, was rather new. And her mother was still a formidable creature.

  Lachlan, however, was not afraid of the Lady Westfields of the world, having faced down not only his father a time or two but his new stepmother as well, and he didn't need to gather any courage to approach Diana. In comparison to those two, there was little Ursula Saintwood could do to make Lachlan cower before her. He also intended to prove it. Not just to himself but to Lady Westfield and everyone else as well. But most importantly, to Lady Diana. He wanted to be her protector, the one man who was strong enough and had enough force of will stand between her and her mother. And he had no bloody idea why he felt compelled to do so, other than to possibly warn her that trouble was about to land directly on her doorstep. Well, that and the very real possibility that he was most likely thinking with his cock, something that always led to trouble. And yet, he did it anyway.

  Chapter Five

  "Ladies." Lachlan was determined to be his charming best as he bowed low in front of Lady Diana, who was not yet seated, and her mother, who clearly had no intention of moving from her comfortable chair. "It is a pleasure to see both of you, as always."

  He could tell by the way Lady Westfield's eyes darted from him to the duke, who was presently on the other side of the room, that she was clearly of two minds. She obviously wanted to send him away, to keep Diana "saved" for the duke or some such nonsense. However, gossip spread quickly among their set and she had unboundedly heard at least the vaguest of rumors that were flying so swiftly about her daughter and the unlikelihood that Hathaway would wed her.

  As he had learned that morning, it appeared that more people had overheard the duke's words at the Radcliffe ball than any of them had initially suspected. It was probably the work of a footman or other under-servant but the damage had already been done. Someone had heard Hathaway state that he would not marry Diana and that juicy bit of gossip had spread quickly. After all, that bit of news was what had prompted the discussion of Diana's unmarried state that morning at White's. That same gossip was now clearly being watered down so that it might be acceptably discussed in the drawing rooms of London. Lachlan was also fairly certain it had reached Lady Westfield's ears, but perhaps not those of her daughter.

  "My lord." Lady Diana dipped into a low curtsey and he could not help but attempt to steal a glance at the slope of her lush breasts in that maddening gown. He was also well aware that Lady Westfield was watching his every move very carefully.

  "I had hoped to ask you to dance if your next set is not already claimed," he said, deepening his Scottish burr just a bit, hoping that Lady Westfield would find it charming.

  She didn't.

  "No." It was a singular response and when Lachlan raised his eyebrows in response, Ursula glared at him. "The next set is to be a waltz and the supper dance. That honor is reserved for Lord Hathaway. Always."

  "I do not see his name on your daughter's card, my lady." He spoke to Lady Westfield but kept his eyes fastened on Lady Diana.

  "It is understood," she shot back quickly, an angry edge to her voice. She rather looked like a storm cloud about to pour rain all over the countryside and it was all he could do not to laugh at her thunderous expression. That would never do. Not if he hoped to court the woman's daughter, anyway. And he did hope. Very much so.

  Unable to stop himself completely, however, Lachlan looked rather pointedly across the room. "Is it?" He did not wish to be rude but the woman was sorely testing him. He wished to dance with Diana. Except for the brief time she had been gone with her friends, she had been stuck along this bloody wall all evening, something that he had been informed that morning was an all-too-common occurrence when Lady Westfield thought that the duke might be slipping from her grasp.

  Lachlan knew without glancing behind him when Ursula Saintwood's piercing gaze fell upon the scene across the room, one he had known was about to occur - namely Lord Hathaway leading one Miss Phoebe Banbrook out onto the floor for the waltz. The supper dance. Best not to forget that. He was certain Ursula would not. Lachlan heard the sharp intake of the older woman's breath, saw the flare of her nostrils and the pinch of her lips. She fairly bristled with indignation. She was also so enraged that she was in no real position to protest when Lachlan offered Diana his hand and led her onto the floor, pulling her directly into his arms a bit closer than was appropriate.

  His hearing was also excellent, so he heard the hushed whispers that began to snake through the crowd the moment he led Diana onto the floor. Lachlan had accomplished what so many other gentlemen had failed to do over the years. He had managed to procure a waltz with Lady Diana and he was not the duke. To him, it did not matter that he used what some might consider battlefield tactics to shock Lady Westfield into letting her daughter go without protest. Now that the couple was on the floor, the gorgon of a woman could not undo the action either, though given the way she was frowning, he had the distinct impression she very much wished she could. However propriety kept her firmly planted in her chair, like a flower in a pot.

  "That was beautifully done, my lord," Diana teased as she settled herself rather comfortably into Lachlan's arms for the dance, her voice still a bit shaky as if she could not believe someone had actually confronted her mother. "I confess that I am in awe of your skills in handling my mother."

  "I have endured two stepmothers and a father who is, shall we say, something of a handful. I have had plenty of practice in dealing with difficult situations." Lachlan did not lie exactly, but this time he did skirt the truth a bit. That was unusual for him. For some reason, he did not want this amazing creature to think badly of him just yet. That could come later, for it was inevitable that she would learn of his family's rather notorious history - as well as his own - if she did not know already.

  Diana smiled up at him then, a brilliant and beautiful expression that made her look like everything he had ever desired in a woman, and all thoughts of his family flew from his mind. "Still, well done, Lord Hallstone."

  He wanted to beg her to call him Lachlan, though where that idea came from he did not know. Instead, he returned her smile wi
th one of his own. "I simply wanted to dance with the most beautiful woman at the ball. Do not blame me for that, for I can no more help myself than the sun can stop shining each day." Gently, Lachlan pulled her into a turn, unsurprised when she turned out to be just as graceful on her feet as he had hoped, despite the many years she had not danced in public. "I also wanted to warn you."

  "Am I in danger, my lord?" Diana was flirting and she knew it. She also knew that she liked it. This man had invaded her thoughts since the moment they had met two days ago. He made her feel unsettled. Uncertain, even. She felt that she had the right to attempt to unsettle him as well.

  "From me? No." As one, they glided smoothly across the dance floor, and he could not resist pulling her far closer than was acceptable.

  "A pity then." She said the words so softly that he almost missed them. But he didn't. And he looked at her in shock only to see her smiling wickedly at him. But there was something more in her gaze, something that spoke of hurt and an unsettledness that had not been present even yesterday. Did she know what Hathaway had said? She must have had some inkling, for otherwise, she would not be flirting with him so blatantly. Would she?

  Wanting urgently to find out and unwilling to wait, he carefully maneuvered them towards the terrace doors, making it appear as if they were merely waltzing around the edges of the ballroom. Since this was the supper dance, the area just beyond the doors was most likely deserted, as every gentleman was determined to walk into the supper room with a lovely lady on his arm. It was also at least part of the reason Lachlan had approached Diana when he had.

  For a few moments they danced together in silence at the edge of the ballroom as other couples moved away, wanting to be nearer to the dining room doors when the meal was announced. When he was certain that no one was watching them, Lachlan tugged Diana a bit closer to him and then waltzed them right out through the open terrace doors. From there, he quickly moved them to the far edge of the balustrade where the lanterns had long since flickered out, leaving the area cloaked in darkness.