"This," he whispered finally, hearing her draw in a sharp gulp of air as his breath softly caressed her cheek. "I will receive this in return. And I shall be satisfied."
Then Lachlan drew her closer still and every so lightly pressed his lips to Diana's, giving her the first true kiss of her life. She might not have said the words, but the truth of her need was in every fiber of her being. And when she smiled against his lips, he pulled her closer still, wrapping his arms around her until she was pressed so tightly against him that there was no possible way she could avoid feeling the evidence of his desire.
Better that she know you desire her, his mind whispered, than for you to be forced to lie to her and pretend you don't.
And when Diana opened her mouth to draw in a breath, Lachlan took advantage and deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, tasting her and drinking her in. She was everywhere. Around him, in him, with him. In this moment, she was his, and he reveled in it, the first time he had felt a woman's complete and utter surrender - without artifice or pretense. Much to his delight, Diana did not resist him. In fact, she seemed to welcome his kiss. And him. All of him.
In that moment, Lachlan knew he had lost this gamble. Diana Saintwood was far more dangerous than he had suspected. He was in well over his head. And he silently vowed to enjoy every moment of his descent into the sun.
Chapter Six
"You appear a bit flushed, Diana. Are you certain you are well?" Ursula Saintwood frowned at her daughter with something that resembled a scowl on her face. "Ever since that day at the jeweler's, you have not been yourself. Really, I wish you would allow me to call for Dr. Hastings so that he might examine you."
"I am fine, Mama. Truly. There is nothing wrong with me." Or at least nothing that Dr. Hastings could cure, Diana thought to herself. "I am simply having a bit of difficulty adjusting to London after so long in the country. Remember we departed for Dornman Park very early last year so that Papa could have the necessary time to tend to estate business before the Earl of Weatherby's house party."
Diana was tired of having this conversation with her mother. Not to mention that the relentless badgering over her health had been something of a staple in mother-daughter chit-chat for the last several days. It had simply become that much worse after Diana had returned to the ballroom last evening still flushed from Lachlan's kiss.
Lachlan. For Diana could not longer assign him the impersonal title of Marquess of Hallstone, at least not in her private thoughts. He was also the man who had given her her first kiss. And what a kiss it had been. In fact, she wished to still be contemplating that magical moment now rather than listening to her mother harangue her about her health. There was nothing wrong with her. Well, perhaps other than the fact that Diana might have fallen a teeny, tiny bit in love with the marquess last evening. But other than that, she was perfectly fine. And she did not want to discuss her health - or the reason for her nearly constant blush - with her mother.
"If you are certain, dear. Why just last week Oliver had Dr. Hastings look in on Patience. He thought that..."
"Mother," Diana warned, her own patience growing thin rather quickly, "I am fine. And it is almost calling hours. If the duke arrives, you do not wish for him to overhear you pecking at me about my health, do you?" It was a rotten trick and Diana hated to do it, but she wanted to be left alone for a bit, even if it was just with her maid. Marie was often in a temper and refused to speak, which suited Diana just fine at the moment. All the more time she would have to daydream about Lachlan and his lovely kisses.
The barest mention of the duke, of course, perked her mother up quite a bit. "Do you really think he will call, Diana? Did he speak with you last night? I know he was waltzing with Miss Banbrook, but I am certain that it was merely because he felt sorry for her, the poor dear. He has such a good heart in that regard. A true gentleman, always doing what is best for others before thinking of himself."
In Diana's opinion, the duke did not think of others first, but she remained silent on the topic. Even though she was certain her mother had at least heard whispers of the rumors regarding Hathaway and his feelings - or rather lack of feelings - Diana was also certain that it would not be so easy to dissuade her mother that any potential marriage to the duke would not take place. Best to not poke the sleeping bear, as her father liked to say.
"He did not speak with me last evening, Mama, but as you say, he is a gentleman, so one never knows when he might pay a call. If he does, I suspect it would not do for him to hear us discussing my health." Of course, no gentleman who wasn't already a family friend had paid a social call on Diana in years, but she did not mention that fact either. Oh, she had plenty of callers and they often brought flowers or chocolates, but they were usually friends of Oliver's or distant family relations who were merely following social dictates. They were most decidedly not courting her. After all, it was understood that she was promised to the duke. Or had been, anyway.
Except that now she was not bound to the man any longer, and a large part of London knew it, or if they did not yet, they would soon. Diana did not doubt Lachlan's word on the matter. She had the distinct impression - especially after discreetly questioning her friends at the ball last night after Lachlan had departed - that the Marquess of Hallstone did not lie. He was, as she had suspected from the beginning, an honorable man. He was in town to right his father's wrongs. That bit of information had come from Eliza, who had direct knowledge of the situation, which was not nearly as surprising as it probably should have been.
Duncan McKenna owed Eliza's father a few guineas and Lachlan had arrived at the Deaver household during calling hours the previous day to settle the debt. In truth, Eliza had confided - after also confessing that her father would be furious if he discovered she knew anything at all about his business dealings - her father had forgotten all about the debt. It was only a few guineas, after all. And, as a whole, the Deaver family did have larger issues to worry about and had for the last several years now.
Lachlan, however, had either not forgotten or somehow learned of the debt and had come to London this season, at least in part, to settle his father's estate. It was common knowledge, at least according to Eliza - who was something of a wealth of information on the subject - that the old laird was ill and dying and that his son, a newly named marquess in his own right, was attempting to restore the family's good name by cleaning up his father's debts.
There was more to the story according to Eliza, and Diana, for one, did not doubt her friend. Something about a stepmother who wished to retain the title of countess even after her husband died, as well as some other questionable dealings. Though Eliza was not completely certain of the details. How her friend knew that much, Diana was not certain and also not certain she wished to know. If the information was accurate, however, then Eliza might be as good of a spy as the Duke of Candlewood was rumored to be.
Diana also knew that Eliza did not believe her when she said that she was merely interested in learning more about the marquess to determine what sort of man he was, especially after the scandalous and much-gossiped-about dance they had shared. News of Diana's waltz with Lachlan, which, according to Sophia, was actually only the second most interesting bit of gossip at the ball, had somehow taken on a life of its own. The biggest scandal, at least according to Sophia? That her brother had waltzed the supper dance with Miss Phoebe Banbrook.
Still, after what Diana had thought was a discreet line of questioning, Sophia and Eliza had both asked Diana directly if she was interested in the marquess. Preferably as a lover. That question had, to everyone's shock, come from Eliza. Diana had denied any attraction, of course, praying that her friends did not notice her lips, which were still a bit swollen from Lachlan's heavenly kiss. Neither of them had believed her, of course, but they also had the good grace of long-standing friendship not to question her further. Or at least not at that moment when, according to Sophia, Diana had "stars in her eyes" for the first time that any of them
could remember.
That, of course, she could not deny, and in the end, had not even tried. She did have the proverbial stars in her eyes when it came to the marquess. She liked him and he seemed to like her. For now, that was enough.
Diana was pulled from her daydreaming over the events of the previous evening - and really it was a marvelous kiss, even if it was her first - when Philbert, the family's butler announced a caller. That, of course, also made her mother sit up and take notice.
"Oh! I must be off! I'll send in Marie!" her mother fairly shouted, which of course, the caller - whoever he was - would certainly hear. Subtlety was not Ursula Saintwood's specialty, unfortunately.
Then she was gone in a flurry of skirts and the rustle of silk, only to be replaced by the perennially sour face of Marie the maid. Though she did have the good sense to bring a bit of needlework with her. Diana was abysmal at the art, but Marie enjoyed it immensely and was rather skilled at the craft. Any gifts of needlework supplies that Diana was presented with were quickly passed off to Marie, much to what Diana suspected was the maid's secret delight. Not that Marie ever showed pleasure in anything. Except perhaps lemon tarts. She did seem to have a fondness for them, Diana had noticed, which was why some were always available during calling hours. It was a little thing, really, to keep one's maid happy, but in Diana's considered opinion, a happy Marie - even if she might not appear to actually be happy - was a thankfully silent Marie as well. The price of Cook's time and a few lemon tarts was well worth the trouble.
"I'll receive our guest in here, Philbert," Diana sighed as Marie - who had apparently chosen today not to be on her best behavior - promptly took a position in a prominent chair in the middle of the drawing room and crossed her arms over her chest, her needlework sitting on her lap. Waiting. "Please have Bridget bring a tea tray, as well. Preferably with some of those lemon tarts. I'm certain my guest would enjoy some refreshment." If Marie heard the comment about the lemon tarts, she didn't say anything. However Diana did note that her posture was a little less stiff, probably in anticipation of the sweet treat.
As she waited, Diana eyed the room critically. After Oliver had married, the stream of callers had declined quite a bit, so she never really took note of the state of the drawing room. Though it was evident that her mother had. The walls were covered in a striped damask wallpaper done in tones of butter yellow and ivory, which gave the room a warm, comforting feel. The settee and chairs were covered in a matching fabric as well, the dark wood surrounding the bursts of color polished to a high shine. Though a fire had not been laid today, the hearth grates were clean and ready for use if someone complained about a chill. On the mantle, an ormolu clock kept perfect time, its soft ticking a gentle ebb and flow as muted rays of sunlight danced across the thick Aubusson carpet. A few landscapes, ones that Diana recognized as her mother's rather skilled work with watercolors, decorated the walls here and there. They mostly showed Dornman Park in the spring and summer, the pastel colors blending perfectly with the wallpaper.
It was as lovely of a room for receiving callers as Diana could ask for, and yet there was something wrong. And it wasn't just because of Marie's less-than-cheerful presence planted firmly in the center of the scene. It was, Diana realized, because she did not want to receive callers. Or male ones, anyway. Well, to be more precise, male ones that were not the Marquess of Hallstone. Lachlan, however, would be welcome here any time he chose to call upon her.
Instead of a steady stream of male admirers, Diana wanted the comfort of chatting with her friends, sharing gossip and deciding what ball to attend next. She wanted to plot out how Sophia could go about circumventing her brother's rules so that she might wed Lord Selby. She wanted to find a good man who would appreciate Eliza for the bluestocking beauty that she was. In short, she wanted to help her friends find happiness. She wanted to do something more than entertain men who were little more than rakes, scoundrels, and fortune hunters. For those were the types of men who would seek her out now. It would not be gentlemen of good standing calling upon her. Lachlan had been correct about that, unfortunately.
Still, Diana had a duty to perform as hostess, especially since she had already invited the unknown gentleman into her home. Much as she might want to shirk her responsibility, she could not.
From behind her, she felt Philbert return to the room. "The Marquess of Hallstone, my lady." And with those words, Diana was suddenly very thankful that her mother had the good sense to keep this drawing room ready for callers, no matter how infrequently they might appear.
This was a fool's errand. And, in general anyway, Lachlan was no fool. Except when it came to the lovely Lady Diana. For her, he suspected that he might always be a fool of the worst sort. The type of fool that thought with his cock and not his head. Especially after their blood-warming, cock-rising kiss the previous night.
Not to mention that he had asked permission to court her, after all. Even if it was just to keep the rakes and fortune hunters away. So there was that. And it was a reasonable enough explanation for his presence in her drawing room, even if the expression on her face indicated that she might not precisely remember what she had agreed to the night before.
To be fair, once he had kissed her, large gaps had appeared in his memory as well. Except for where she was concerned. About Diana Saintwood, Lachlan remembered everything. With perfect clarity.
Now he stood in her family's drawing room with a bouquet of pure white roses, hopeful that her mother would not have him immediately tossed out on his arse. It took rather a lot to dislodge Lachlan from a room if he did not wish to depart. However if anyone could accomplish the task, he was fairly certain it was Lady Westfield. He had yet to meet a more formidable foe.
"My lord," Diana dropped into a curtsey, "it is lovely to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Given the way her eyes were shining, Lachlan took her words as she meant them. She was truly happy to see him and he was glad of that, though perhaps a bit more than he should have been.
He was also surprised to see Diana's maid, Marie he thought her name was, remove herself from the center of the room and instead scurry into a corner where she managed to tuck herself up rather neatly. It was odd, but he did not remark upon it. Given the household he had grown up in, this was among the least alarming of servants' behaviors that he had observed over the years.
"I thought I had mentioned last evening at the ball that I might pay a call upon you today, my lady. Or was I mistaken?" He offered her the roses, noting that she blushed prettily as he did so. "I do come bearing gifts, however. Surely that might buy me a few moments of your time?"
"Oh, yes, my lord. Forgive me my foolishness. I had forgotten." Diana could not hide the blush that crept up her cheeks but she did accept the flowers. They were beautiful and obviously rather expensive, though she adored them more because of the man who had brought them to her than because of whatever they had cost him.
She inhaled deeply, savoring their scent for a moment before handing them off to the maid who had just appeared with the previously-requested tea tray, along with explicit instructions to place them in water immediately. "May I offer you some refreshment, my lord?"
When Diana gestured for him to take the seat beside her on the settee, Lachlan did so quickly before she changed her mind or her mother appeared. Either one would quickly end his hopes for the afternoon.
Instead of reaching for a plate and some biscuits, he instead smiled at her warmly. "I was rather hoping we might go for a drive in the park. The weather is fine, warmer than usual for this time of year, and I thought you might enjoy it. You did mention to me once that you have not been driving in ages, did you not? I have my carriage outside, along with my tiger and my groom. All very proper, I assure you."
"I am afraid I cannot allow that with my daughter's delicate constitution."
Lachlan nearly cried out in frustration. He had known Lady Westfield would appear at some point. However he had hoped to get Diana out of
the house - preferably without her maid since he had made certain to bring his open carriage - before the old dragon appeared, clearly still clinging tightly to her misguided belief in the duke. He did not wish to be the one to inform her that he had seen Miss Phoebe Banbrook in Hathaway's carriage heading for the park, just as Lachlan himself had been coming to call on Diana.
But he would do so if necessary. The pull Diana had over him was that strong.
"What is this? My daughter has a delicate constitution? Since when?"
For the first time, Lachlan was able to catch a glimpse of the elusive Viscount Westfield, and the man was not at all what Lachlan had expected. Instead of being sour-faced as his wife most often was, the viscount seemed rather a jovial sort, especially when he entered the drawing room and introduced himself to Lachlan before plucking at least five lemon tarts off the tea tray.
"So you wish to take my Diana for a drive in the park?" the viscount asked after formal introductions had been made, and he had ascertained that no, Diana was not in any immediate danger of dying from some unknown illness. And after he had finished his tarts.
"I would very much enjoy doing so, sir." Even though Lachlan held a loftier title than the viscount, he made certain to be properly deferential. After all, this father had little reason to trust a gentleman whom many in London considered to be a wild Highlander with his precious daughter. "I was introduced to your daughter a few evenings ago at the Radcliffe affair and very much enjoyed her company. She is bright and witty, not to mention beautiful, while remaining every bit a proper lady. She does both you and your wife credit, sir." He also thought a little flattery might go farther with the viscount than it did with his wife. It did.
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