A Marquess Is Forever

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Diana believed him. Even if she hadn't, his deepening accent confirmed his statement. "I missed you, too," she confessed, her voice husky. "I know I shouldn't feel this way. We are still only courting after all. But I felt as if I was incomplete without you today."

  Slowly, Lachlan ran his hands over her bare shoulders. Oh, how he wanted her. He wanted her beneath him as he took her, sheathed himself inside of her waiting heat. He wanted to take her innocence and give her his heart in return, for while he could still not quite term what he felt for her as love, it was far deeper than any emotion he had ever experienced. It might not be love, but it was close enough.

  If Lachlan thought she would agree, he would ask her father to allow their betrothal now. Tonight. But he was also aware that Diana had spent so long being caged within the confines of Lord Hathaway's tangled web that she needed more time. She wasn't ready. Not yet. And he was not about to add to her fears. As long as he could keep the duke away from her - preferably far away so there was no chance the other man might compromise her just to be done with things - Lachlan could wait. He had not always been a patient man, but he was now.

  "Do not worry, Diana, love," he finally said as he kissed her forehead, fearful that if he took her lips, he would not be content to stop with a kiss, at least not as hard and painful as his cock was at the moment. "I will not leave London yet. Perhaps not ever. I have duties to Hallstone as well, in case you have forgotten and at present, they are more important than anything my father or my cousin already have well in hand. There is still much I need to learn about being a marquess. That might well take all season. Remember, after my mother passed, I was raised to be a Scottish laird, not an English marquess."

  That was part of the duality of his nature, one that Lachlan could not hide. He was equal parts English and Scottish. In truth, he did not quite fit in anywhere. It was one of the reasons he had lived as a libertine in Edinburgh, at least at first. If he was a rake, he knew precisely where he belonged, no matter the setting. Not to mention it was exactly where his father thought he belonged as well. Yet over time, Lachlan had grown bored with that life. Then, he had become Hallstone and the English part of him, the one he had never truly acknowledged had taken over his life.

  "Do you regret it?" Diana asked softly. "Becoming Hallstone, I mean? It can't be easy for you. After all, it is not as if you can hide the fact that you're Scottish."

  Lachlan paused. Out of all of his friends, including Candlewood, no one had ever asked him that question. In the dim light, he found a small bench, indicating that on some evenings, this pathway was most likely lighted. Tonight he was thankful for the darkness. "Not so much, no," he finally replied after thinking over his answer for a moment. "I regret that after my mother passed, I did not do more to discover this part of myself, waiting for so long to consider that I was the grandson of an English marquess and not just the wild Highlander my father wanted me to be." Then he smiled, though he was certain she could not see him in the darkness. "Do you know, love, that you are the first person to ask me how I felt about being Hallstone? It has always been assumed that I welcomed the title, but the truth is, I was not raised to it."

  With the dim light cocooning them, Diana felt that she could be bold, or at least bolder than she would normally be in the light. "Then it is their loss, Lachlan. For I find that the more I know of you, the more I wish to know. You are a complex man."

  "Not nearly as much as you credit me with being, lass" he replied, pulling her to her feet and urging her to continue walking. He was afraid that if he had her seated in the shadows for too long, he might give in to his increasingly strong desire to possess her.

  "And I think you are modest."

  Then they slipped into companionable silence, wandering the dusky paths, staying away from the brightly lit ones, but never venturing too far into the darkness either. They were careful to stay just out of the light, preferring to remain in the shadows where their identities could be concealed.

  Eventually they made their way towards the Moorish pagoda, taking in the fire eater show, as well as a man who walked on stilts and juggled at the same time. He wasn't very good, but Diana laughed at his antics anyway, just happy to be in Lachlan's company. From time to time she glanced at him, his midnight hair catching the light just right so that deep blue streaks appeared, ones that matched the deep blue of his eyes when he was looking at her with what she now knew to be desire.

  For now, she was happy, Diana decided. She was living the life she had imagined for herself only a few short weeks ago when she had determined that this would be her last season. She hadn't sought Lachlan out, but somehow, he had found her just the same. She did not want to read too much into that, not the way her friends would have. For now, Diana knew that she was content and that was enough.

  She also knew that once the night ended, she would be faced with the very real dilemma of the duke. Diana had no earthly idea how to be rid of him, especially now that he had decided that pursuing her was the best way to make his reputation appear unblemished again. As if that night in Miss Banbrook's company had never occurred. Clearly the idea of another man, a marquess no less, did not seem to have any effect on Hathaway or his intentions. If anything, it made the man more determined. Then there was the matter of Claire McKenna - if and when she ever showed herself in London.

  Suddenly, Diana did not want the night to end. Instead, she wanted it to go on forever. With a gentle tug on Lachlan's arm, she eased them both back into the shadows, noting that he followed her willingly, trusting her implicitly to guide them both to their destination. He did not question. She liked that about him.

  "Have something on your mind, do you lass?" Lachlan asked when they were safely away from the prying eyes of society, the dim light from the lanterns barely penetrating through the thick hedges that lined the walk.

  "I just... That is, I mean to say... I do not wish...." Diana struggled for the right words, which was unusual for her. Usually, she knew precisely what she wished to say and how to say it. She had been told she had an easy way with people and a calming charm. Yet tonight, she felt as if the ocean and its rough waves were churning inside of her. Talking a deep breath, she attempted to articulate her feelings once more. "I am sorry, Lachlan. I do not know what is wrong with me. I feel adrift tonight, as though I do not wish for this night to end yet at the same time, I know that it must." She closed her eyes. "You must think me a goose, or worse, a flighty female, and that is not how I wish for you to view me."

  Slowly, he tugged her towards a bench, this one a little wider than the previous one had been and offering a bit more comfort. "And how is it that you wish me to view you, lass?" he asked, feeling his body stir to life as Diana's breasts heaved beneath the thin silk of her gown. Gods above, he wanted her.

  She settled beside him before reaching out to take his hand. "I wish you to view me as a strong, capable female. One who is not so silly as those you have known before. I wish you to see me as...different." Diana could not explain herself, nor was she quite yet willing to admit that she wanted him to see her as special, as something more than just another woman seeking to warm his bed. She wanted to mean more to him.

  "Different?" he asked quietly, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Or special to me in a way that no other lass has ever been?" He thought he had his answer when she closed her lovely eyes. "For if it is the latter, then aye, lass, I can assure you that you are. No other woman - and I will not lie, for there have been others, perhaps more than there should have been - makes me feel as you do."

  When Diana opened her eyes, Lachlan could see tears sparkling in her lovely blue gaze. "Do not say such things if you do not mean them," she implored. "For I find that I care for you a great deal, perhaps more than is wise. If you do not feel the same..." She trailed off, unable to give voice to the rest of that awful thought.

  "Shush, lass," Lachlan assured her, pulling her closer so that she might feel the weight of his arms around her. "I might not deserve y
ou, love, but I do want you, Diana. So much so that it frightens me." When she shook her head in protest, he stilled her with a kiss on her forehead. "I was not a good man back in Scotland. Far from moral, at any rate. Many of the stories circulating about me are undoubtedly true and I do not deserve someone as good and pure as you. However, I do want you just the same." He kissed her again, this time on her eyelids, his tongue tasting the salt of her tears. He hated that he had put them there. "And, like you, I cannot give name to what it is I feel for you, but I do know that it is more than I have ever felt for another woman."

  "For the moment, that is enough," Diana reassured him. "I simply need to know that I am not alone in this feeling that churns me up inside." In truth, if Lachlan asked her to be his, Diana would not hesitate. What she felt might not be love, but then she had never had any assurances that her marriage would be a love match. She had been raised to believe that her match with Hathaway was political and that at best, they might share a light friendship. But love? Love was never a consideration and she was not quite able to allow herself to dream of it now.

  "You are not alone, lass," Lachlan whispered softly, pulling her body closer to his so that he might feel the delicate press of her breasts against his chest, unable to help himself. "I was raised to believe that I must marry for duty, choosing a docile, biddable wife of Scottish heritage. Then I met you, and I began to believe that I could seek more." In truth, the concept of a love match was new to Lachlan as well. He had come to London to settle debts and, if possible, find a wife of noble birth that would stay out of his way. Then he had encountered Diana and become enchanted. After her, no other woman was likely to satisfy him.

  At the moment, she was in his arms, warm and willing. And he was a man, after all. He could not allow the moment to go to waste.

  "What about the duke?" she asked as Lachlan continued to dot her face with light kisses, heating her blood as he did so.

  "The duke can go hang for all care," he replied as he placed a kiss to the delicate column of her throat. When she did not immediately reply, he sighed, nuzzling the perfect spot at the base of her throat that he did so love on a woman. "Do not fret over him, lass. He will get over the loss of you the moment another pretty chit comes along."

  Diana tilted her head to give Lachlan better access to her collarbone, which he seemed intent on nibbling. "L...l...loss of me?" She could not keep the slight stutter out of her voice.

  "Aye, lass," he whispered as he kissed her shoulder, tugging the cap sleeve of her gown down a bit as he did so. "Loss of you. For he has lost you. To me."

  "Oh, Lachlan," Diana sighed and the wealth of emotion in those two words unleashed the desire he had kept restrained for so long.

  Running his hands up the side of her ribcage, he buried his face in the side of her neck, drinking in the essence of her. When she tentatively twined her arms around his neck, he pressed further. "I need you, Diana. Not all of you. I would not do that to you, at least not here, but I would like just a taste."

  When she murmured her assent, Lachlan let out a sigh of relief. He was so hard for her that he was aching, but he would not seek his own release. Not yet. He was well aware that Diana was new to the world of pleasure and he refused to rush her. However, there was no reason he could not give her a small taste of all of the things he wished to do with her.

  Tugging lightly at her bodice, he freed first one breast and then the other from their silken prison. "Ach, love. What you do to me."

  "Show me," Diana whispered, a note of desperation in her voice as she held him tighter to her. "I want to know, Lachlan. All of it."

  Spurred on by her words, he traced a line of kisses from her lips down her throat and still lower. Across her chest to the gentle slope of her breasts and then lower, until he found the very spot he was seeking - her already peeked nipple. She gasped when he took the tight bud in his mouth and suckled her gently, but she did not pull away. He knew she wouldn't. His Diana was far too passionate.

  As he suckled at one breast, his fingers toyed with the other, rolling the nipple in between his fingers, tugging and pulling on her slightly until she swayed into him and moaned deep in her throat. God, she felt so good against him. So perfect. So right. His cock throbbed with need, almost to the point of pain, but he forced thoughts of his own pleasure aside. In this moment, it was all about her pleasure. Her needs. Her desires.

  "Lachlan...." Diana's blood was racing in her veins and she was growing restless. A deep ache had set up inside of her, one she somehow instinctively knew that only he could ease. She shifted her legs, pressing her thighs together, embarrassed when she felt the dampness at her very core.

  "Do not fight it, love," he whispered, his voice threaded with need. "Let me give this to you." He switched his mouth's attention to her other breast, plucking at the one he had just suckled, keeping the rosy pink bud taut and aching. He could tell by the way she pressed into his hand, making little mewling noises in the back of her throat that she was close to release. If he could bring her to this point merely by playing with her breasts, how strongly would she react when they were naked together? There was a part of him that did not want to wait to find out, but he pushed that more animal side of his nature back down, deep inside of him.

  He had been that man once. No longer. Diana deserved better from him.

  "I need you, Lachlan," Diana moaned. For she did. She needed him inside of her. She had enough married friends to know at least the general idea of what went on in the bedroom. Not that she had ever so much as been kissed before this wild Scot had come to town and swept into her life. However given the exquisite pressure building inside of her, she knew she was racing towards something, though she did not know what. None of her friends had been very explicit about that part.

  When he did nothing more but continue the maddening but delightful assault on her breasts, Diana grasped the lapels of his jacket, heedless now of who might hear them or stumble upon them. All the better, for then they would be forced to marry. At the moment, all she could think of was what pleasures of the flesh she would enjoy if she was Lachlan's wife. If that made her a trollop or a doxy, well, then so be it.

  "I did not wish you hurry you, lass," he sighed as he moved away from her breasts for a moment to kiss her deeply, their tongues tangling with pent up need, "but I can no longer wait to watch your lovely face as you come for me."

  Diana bit her lip to keep from crying out as one of Lachlan's hands snaked below her skits and unerringly found her damp center. "So wet for me," he breathed and there was something of awe in his voice, as if he could not believe that Diana desired him in that fashion. She did. She had from the moment they had met. "You are beyond lovely. And you are mine."

  Then his fingers were teasing her down there, making her quiver in his grasp. She pushed against him, unable to bear the exquisite pressure building inside of her, but he held her tight against him, the hard, muscled wall of his chest brushing against her overly sensitized breasts, the sensations flying through her body even though she could not feel his skin beneath hers.

  "Lachlan, I..." Then whatever else she was going to say was lost as he dipped a finger inside of her before removing it to tease the little nub of pleasure that she had discovered quite by accent some time ago.

  Over and over he repeated the motion - dip and slide, pressing on that sensitive little nub before sliding his finger back inside of her again. It was magical, these feelings he was evoking within her. It was beyond anything she had ever imagined and in that moment, she wanted more. She wanted all of it, him inside of her, pressing deep, filling her until she cried out with need.

  Then, in a single, glorious moment, Diana's world shattered into a thousand shards of light, colors cascading around her as she found her release. She must have cried out, for in an instant, Lachlan was there, capturing her lips with his and kissing her deeply, their tongues tangling as she rode out the final waves of pleasure until she felt herself go limp in his strong arms.

>   If there was anything better in this world than the feeling of complete and utter contentment that she was now experiencing, Diana did not know what it could possibly be. This was passion and desire, or at least a taste of it anyway. If she had married Hathaway, she would never have known that any emotion could be so sweet and yet so satisfying at the same time. She was certain of it. And now that she had tasted it, she wanted to hold this feeling - the very same one Lachlan inspired - deep inside of her. Forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "My God, man. You look like hell." Radcliffe was pulling no punches as he visited Lachlan in his study. "Or, let me rephrase that. You look like a man who is in desperate need, though I won't say of what."

  From his position behind his desk, Lachlan merely glowered at his friend. Ever since the night at Vauxhall, he had been walking around in a somewhat aroused state, unable to force the vision of Diana - sated and partially naked in his arms - out of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her, those lovely breasts of hers heaving as she experienced her first climax. With him. For him. It was enough to drive a man to drink - if he did that sort of thing any longer, of course. Which he did not.

  Lachlan had visited with Diana at least twice a day in the three days since that fateful night, each parting more painful than the last. When he was with her, his world lit up and he was Icarus once more, soaring on his wings of wax. However when he had to leave her, it was as if he was falling into the sun, her loss, even for a few hours, cutting him deeply.