"I am sorry, your grace," Diana finally said as the duke continued to sweep her around the floor, seemingly confident that she would grant him what he asked for. After all, he was the Duke of Hathaway. No one refused him. Ever. "My affection for you, if there was ever any to begin with, his changed over the last few months." She paused. "Over the last year, really." Ever since Diana had seen the look of pure infatuation in Lord Weatherby's eyes when he had gazed at Lady Amelia during the Ardenton wedding breakfast, she had known in her heart that she would settle for nothing less. It had simply taken her a great while to realize that.
"I do not understand." It was Hathaway's turn to stumble now. "Are you refusing to allow me to court you? I am a duke. The Duke of Hathaway. Brother of your best friend. Out mothers were friends. There was an understanding."
"And that is precisely why I am refusing you," she said as gently as she could. "I am a duty to you. An obligation. I am not certain that I shall wed Lord Hallstone, but I do know that he sees more to me than simply a vessel to provide him with his heirs. He sees all of me, and I have come to learn that I wish for my husband to see the woman and not merely the body. More than that, I deserve nothing less."
For the first time in their acquaintance, Hathaway looked angry. "The man is not for you, my lady. He is a rogue and a rake. He has whored and gambled his way through Edinburgh. His family is just at the edge of scandalous. He is also half-Scottish!" The duke said the last part as if it were a greater sin than all of the others combined.
"I am well aware of the marquess' past," Diana offered calmly. "He is no longer that man. If you do not believe me, ask Lord Radcliffe or Lord Candlewood. They seem to like him well enough and believe him to be socially acceptable."
That was clearly not what the duke had expected her to say. "He will hurt you," Hathaway warned.
"He may," Diana agreed evenly. "Or he may not. What I do know is that I enjoy his company. When I am with him, I feel as if I am my truest self. I may have only known him but a few days, but for the first time in my life, I feel as if I am more than the daughter of Lord Westfield. I am Diana, and I do not think you can understand exactly how heady of a sensation that is."
"I will change your mind," Hathaway vowed. "He is not the man for you. You might be infatuated with him now, but in time you will come to know him for the rake that he is. He can never make you truly happy. Not as a proper English gentleman could."
She shook her head slightly. "I know my heart, your grace. It has been slumbering for years, waiting for someone to awaken it. The marquess was that man. As I said, I might not wed him, but he has shown me what is possible. What I desire."
"I will change your mind," Hathaway vowed, his mouth pressed into a grim line as the waltz ended, forcing him to escort her off the floor. It was not lost on her that he took her to her mother rather than back to Lachlan. Though given the frown on her mother's face, Diana realized that perhaps the duke did not understand how scandalous his actions the previous evening had been.
He did not seem to understand that now he was viewed as a rake, just as those men he had derided in the past - including Lachlan - had been. He also clearly did not understand how that changed him in the eyes of the society matrons. He would be forgiven, certainly, for he was a man and a duke. However, he was also perhaps no longer to be trusted with young, innocent ladies. At least not as he had once been.
"Think about what I have said," Hathaway practically demanded as he left Diana at her mother's side with a rather stiff bow. "If you change your mind, you have naught to do but send a messenger to me. Or pass the word through my sister."
"I would thank you to leave Sophia out of this, your grace." Diana was not about to allow the duke to manipulate his sister any more than he already was. "She is a good friend to me and I do not wish to see her hurt any more than she has already been." Then Diana dropped into a curtsey, relieved when the duke walked away without another word. However she also had the feeling that this particular conversation was not quite over.
After a few moments in her mother's company, it became clear to Diana that her mother was having far too good of a time chatting with Lady Evanston to pay overly much attention to her daughter for once. So with a few brief words about wishing to seek out her friends - and Diana wasn't even certain they were in attendance - Diana instead went in search of Lachlan.
She needed to see him for some reason, mostly, she decided, so that he might reassure her that he was interested in her for more than her looks. She knew she was more than an obligation to him and, foolish as it might be, she wanted to hear him say the words. More than that, she wanted him to kiss her again as he had last night so that she could feel desired and cherished. For there was also one other lesson that Lachlan had taught her - it was that she was selfish. Now that she had tasted desire and passion, she craved more of it. From him and from no other. And if selfish that made her, then she would embrace it with glee.
Lachlan took a healthy drink from the glass of excellent scotch he was holding before topping it off and taking another. He had retreated to Redwing's study so he would not have to watch the Duke of Hathaway making a fool of himself over Diana. Or having to worry about his desire to separate the man's head from his shoulders, overcoming his own good sense that said Lachlan should not pick a fight with a man like the duke.
It wasn't as if Lachlan was unfamiliar with that sort of behavior where he was concerned. He had witnessed it plenty of times in the past, particularly back in Edinburgh when he lavished attention on a lonely widow or an unhappily married women. Suddenly, other men found those women who had somehow managed to snare Lachlan's attention simply delightful. And interesting. And desirable. That was when Lachlan stepped away, not wishing to fight for a lady's affections when there were plenty of others to be found - many with husbands who would not kick up a fuss over an affair, especially if Lachlan and the woman in question were discreet about things.
This time? This time it was different. This time he was not willing to simply back away and let the other man win. He would not relinquish his claim - such as it was - to Diana so easily. For once, he would fight for a woman. However he also decided it was best not to think about the reasons why too closely.
He took a quick glance at the ornate clock that ticked almost silently on Redwing's mantle. It had been nearly half of an hour. The waltz should have long since ended. More than anything, Lachlan wanted to return to the ballroom, search out Diana and claim her for the next dance, whatever it was. In fact, he wanted to claim her for every dance for the rest of the evening. No matter how great of a scandal he caused.
With a sigh, Lachlan drained his glass and placed it upon the desk, knowing one of Redwing's staff would be by to clean it up later. He had not meant to get this entangled with Lady Diana Saintwood. It was a bad idea; he had known it from the beginning. However, the damage was already done and he found that he did not wish to simply let her be - as would be wise - especially with his stepmother on the way to London. He wanted the lady by his side, his family's complex and complicated past be damned. Diana, he was quickly learning, was strong and fierce, so unlike the other young ladies he had known over the years. If any woman could deal with his family in stride, it was she.
However, she did also deserve to know that Claire would be arriving in London, most likely within a few days. And that the woman had the propensity to cause trouble. Diana could handle the woman, Lachlan was certain, as she was a product of London society, far more sophisticated than someone like Claire could ever hope to be. However, a little forewarning never hurt.
Determined to seek out Diana and claim her for at least the next dance and possibly another waltz, Lachlan opened the library door only to see Miss Phoebe Banbrook hurrying down the hall, mischief clearly on her mind. He had no doubt that since the duke had clearly thrown her over, she would attempt to snag the next titled lord she could trap, and a marquess, while not quite as good as a duke, was nothing to laugh at either. However he wa
s certainly not about to become her latest conquest.
He was also not positive she had recognized him in the dim light of the hall, but it was evident that she had seen a man peeking out of the library. That, he knew, would be enough for her. The Duke of Hathaway might be able to get away with throwing over a young lady like Phoebe Banbrook, but Lachlan knew he would not be so fortunate if they were caught out together. Propriety would demand that he wed her. His dream - for he could now admit that it was his dream - of someday wedding Diana would die. More than that, he imagined the look of hurt on Diana's beautiful face when she discovered the news of his indiscretion. He could not do that to her. He would not. He cared for her far too much. However if Miss Banbrook managed to catch him, there would be no other course of action. Therefore, she must not be allowed to get her hooks into him as if he was some prized fish to be caught.
Closing the door behind him as quickly and quietly as he could, Lachlan looked around the library for another means of escape, though none were exactly forthcoming. Then he spied a section of drapes that was not quite as tightly shut as the rest. Upon further investigation, he discovered a small door that led to a balcony. It was barely big enough for a man of his considerable size, but would have afforded a normal sized male - someone like Redwing obviously - a place to enjoy a brief respite from the usually darkened room.
When he glanced to his right, Lachlan could see the light spilling out of the ballroom and across the terrace that led to the viscount's gardens. There was a small gap between the two areas, but he was a man used to tossing cabers and doing other physical feats that most London gentlemen would never attempt. For the first time, Lachlan was glad of his partially Scottish upbringing as he heard the library door rattle and a decidedly feminine giggle come from the other side.
Refusing to think about what he was about to do, or that there was a more sizeable gap between his present location and the terrace than he had first thought - not to mention that if he fell, he might well break something of importance, such as his skull - Lachlan climbed up onto the railing that circled the balcony and then with as much grace as he could, launched himself outwards, aiming for the piece of decorative ironwork that jutted out from the edge of the terrace towards the library.
It was a mark of his sheer desperation to avoid Miss Banbrook that he succeeded in making the leap without injuring himself. In fact as he landed rather soundly on the marble terrace, he thought himself rather fortunate, especially as Diana took that very moment to step outside - unaccompanied of all things! - to obviously get a breath of fresh air.
For a moment, Lachlan simply stood in the shadows watching her, drinking in her beauty and allowing himself to truly appreciate the fact that he desired her and that she seemed to desire him in return. If he had his way, there would be no marriage of convince in either his future or hers, but rather one of passion and desire, one of mutual respect and admiration. He knew there was unlikely to be love, but then, love often betrayed. It had in his mother's case certainly.
However he pushed those thoughts aside as he watched Diana fairly glide across the terrace, her golden hair graced with the faintest of red cascading in ringlets down over her neck and back, the rest piled high on top of her head. She reminded him of the finest Scottish sunrise, when the first rays of light tinged the brightening sky, streaking everything it touched with a golden glow infused with reds and oranges. Making the sky appear as if it was lit by fire.
This evening her gown was gold and cream, setting off her fair skin to great effect and causing a tightening in his groin that he could not deny. He wanted her, yes, but it was more than that. He fairly ached for her in a way he could not put into words. That was also a first for him. She was more than just beautiful. She was kind and witty and intelligent. In short, she was Diana. And in that moment, he knew he had to have her.
"My lady," he whispered, finally moving out of the shadows, "I was about to come looking for you. And then you appear before me as if an angel sent from above."
With a quick glance behind her, Diana moved to the edge of the shadows where Lachlan stood. Peering behind him, she saw the open library door and raised her eyebrows. "I am thankful that you are not an angel at this very moment." She eyed him again with suspicion. "I know you were not in the ballroom and I would have seen you come up the stairs from the garden. That only leaves one other way you could have arrived here in this very darkened corner." Then she slapped her fan on the palm of her hand. "Lachlan, what were you thinking? You could have been injured. Or worse!
"I was running from Miss Banbrook. Please. Let us go where we can speak." Quickly he took her arm and led her down the steps to the garden, heedless as to whether anyone saw them or not. If they were discovered, so much the better. He would have what he wanted - Diana - even though a part of him whispered that he was more than the heathen his father had wanted him to be and that he would not dishonor her that way.
Finally, when they were sufficiently hidden in the darkness, he pulled her down to a low bench, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around her when she shivered in the cool spring air.
"Is she still on the hunt then?" Diana asked finally when they were settled. "I did not see her today. Neither Mama nor Papa would allow it. They are horrified that I ever associated with her, even though I did so at their request."
"She wishes to be wed to a title." Lachlan shrugged, collecting both his wits and his breath. He was not quite as young as he had once been. "In that way, she is not so different than other young ladies. However, she is far more brash and bold in the way she goes about her pursuit." Then he turned to Diana. "But enough of her. I escaped her clutches, even if I had to jump over a railing to do so. The alternative was to be caught with her, which is," he shuddered for dramatic effect, "something I cannot countenance."
Diana knew she should be coy and flirt. The lessons drummed into her head by her mother over the years practically screamed it. However, this was Lachlan, and after her conversation with the duke during the waltz, suddenly, she found that she did not wish to play games any longer. This man, Lachlan, might well be her future. He deserved better than cheap parlor tactics. Not to mention that inaction over the years had led to her present situation. She had taken an active role in other's lives while merely allowing her own life to go on around her as if she had no care for it. No longer.
"Then I am happy you escaped her clutches." Deciding to be bold, Diana reached out and covered Lachlan's gloved hand with her own. "For if you had been caught with her, then I would not be here with you now. And there is much I need to say to you."
"And that would be a pity, for I very much wish to hear what you would say to me," he replied, echoing her words from the night they had met. "Diana, I..." He shook his head and tried again. "Tonight when the duke..."
She squeezed his hand and he looked at her curiously. "Please. Let me go first before you speak whatever is on your mind."
Lachlan burned to tell Diana everything, not just about how he had wanted to murder the duke in the middle of Redwing's ballroom, but about Claire and danger she represented. About how he believed Diana was strong enough to stand up to his stepmother. About how he wanted to see if a future between them was indeed possible. "Go on." He nodded. "Speak first if that is what you wish, lass. I shan't deny you." He hated his brogue, but on nights like this when his self-control was slipping, so did his command of his tongue.
Diana nodded, glancing away for a moment. "Tonight during the waltz, Hathaway asked for another chance to win me. He said that he had been a fool and that he realized that I would be the perfect duchess for him." At that, Lachlan's heart sank, but then gave pause when she squeezed his hand again, as if knowing he would be upset by the news. "I refused him." Now the coyness came back to her, but more so because she was embarrassed than anything else. "He did not care who I was, whether I was kind or intelligent or a good person. Not as you do. He said most of the right things, but he lacked sincerity. All he truly cared about was
that I was quiet and shy, and that I could fill his nursery with the proper sort of children."
Diana looked up at Lachlan, her eyes almost beseeching. "That is not the life I want, Lachlan. You know this. You are the only one to have ever known that about me. I do not wish a confession of love at this very moment. It is too soon and I do not know my own feelings. But I do know that I wish to explore them. A lifetime of inaction has led me to this moment. A few more weeks to sort out what my heart desires? It is not so much to ask and I am inclined to believe that my family, in particular my father, will grant it. He might not understand, but he wants me to be happy. And in this moment? You make me happy. Not the duke. He never did. I doubt that he ever could."
She fell silent then, praying that he would not laugh at her or find her words so scandalous that he left the garden to seek out a more proper young woman to court. Despite his Scottish edge, Lachlan was a marquess, one that needed to marry well. Diana knew she certainly could fill that role, but ever since the moment of clarity that had sent her mind whirling in the middle of the jeweler's shop, she also knew that she was more than just prim and proper, a woman who helped others while her own life passed by around her. She deserved more, and if she fell short, at least she would know she had tried.
It was radical thinking for a young woman of her standing, but she prayed it was not too radical for a half-English, half-Scottish marquess who was still not quite civilized around the edges.
"And Hathaway?" Somehow, Lachlan doubted that the duke would give up without a fight, especially not since he had discovered what a treasure he had possessed - and then lost - in Diana. "Do you believe he will stay away as you have asked?"
Diana shook her head. "No. He has already said as much. He is determined to change my mind, especially after last evening's debacle with Miss Banbrook. Suddenly, he is no longer quite as welcomed by the mothers of young debutantes just out of the schoolroom. They will not refuse him certainly, as he is still a duke, but they are more careful. They cannot help but wonder if their daughters will be seen unaccompanied in a carriage with the man and then thrown over the next morning. Even if he is a duke." Then Diana took the daring step of lacing her fingers through Lachlan's. "He may try, but he will not change my mind. I do not wish to wed him. I am not certain I ever did."
A Marquess Is Forever Page 18
