Candlewood also believed that Claire was in London to try to trap Lachlan into getting her with child and then, when his father passed, taking her as his wife so that he might claim his previously bastard child. It was a complex and complicated web, according to the duke, but Candlewood also felt that Lachlan would be able to avoid any traps Claire laid for him if he had enough information. And a wife. Candlewood had made certain Lachlan paid full attention to that last part. If he was already married, Lachlan could avoid just about whatever snare Claire set out to entrap him in.
So when Claire had cornered Lachlan moments after he had been announced at the Felton's ball, he was more than ready to deal with her. As the Marquess of Hallstone - and even just as himself - Lachlan had an army of friends, most of them already married, ready to take the troublesome woman off his hands long enough so that he might reach Diana and warn her. And if Diana - once he located her, of course - was willing to indulge in other, far more pleasurable things? He would not object. In fact, he rather hoped she would be amenable to the idea.
For Lachlan had already decided that he could not live without Diana as his wife any longer, especially after his chat with Covington earlier in the day. Lachlan wanted her, all of her. Forever. He wanted her to be his wife. He understood that she had just been given her freedom after so long of being bound to Hathaway, but he could not help himself. He was a selfish man and he wanted her for his own. That was one part of him that he found he could not change. Lachlan was selfish where his heart was concerned and most likely always would be.
Tonight he planned to ask Diana to marry him, or at least consider a formal betrothal, even if it was a lengthy one. Then, once he was assured of her desire to wed, he would officially ask her father for her hand. They might not wed immediately, but if they were publicly betrothed? Then Claire could cause no further trouble, not wanting to risk damage to her own reputation. Or so Lachlan hoped.
However as the best-laid plans often do, things had gone slightly amiss. Radcliffe had been waylaid by Lord Weatherby who had, in the ensuing days, had the increasingly troublesome Miss Phoebe Banbrook foisted upon him and his wife Amelia by his mother-in-law. Lady Hollinworth could no longer control the chit, and it was felt that perhaps the icy earl and his new wife might be of some assistance in that regard.
Lachlan's back up plan, in the form of Lord Candlewood, simply had not appeared at the Felton's at all, though that was not entirely surprising. The duke was known to appear when and where he pleased with no one to gainsay him. Then again, he was the Bloody Duke, so few were willing to risk his wrath by questioning him.
That left Lachlan to deal with Claire on his own for a time and she was, unfortunately, even more determined to get a child with him than he had imagined. She had all but undone the fall on his pants in the middle of the ballroom, and had it not been for a sharp comment from Lady Caroline Cheltenham, the Viscountess Breckenright, about proper behavior for a lady of Claire's social position, Lachlan was not completely certain that Claire would not have attempted to mount him then and there in front of everyone.
A few moments later, when Miss Phoebe Banbrook had appeared with the Comte de La Croix in tow, the evening had taken a decidedly ugly turn. For Weatherby had been correct in his assessment that the young chit was an uncontrolled menace, despite her earlier claims of innocence and sweetness. At that moment in time, Miss Banbrook was practically undressing the poor count in the middle of the ballroom, her breasts nearly falling out of her too-small gown and her behavior just this side of scandalous.
All of that Lachlan could have borne, however, his anger well in check, even though it was growing exponentially with each caress Claire gave his arm and each lewd comment she made about the size of his cock when she thought no one could hear.
Then, Lachlan had glanced across the dance floor and his heart had almost literally stopped while his anger became a full blown, mind-numbing rage. A rage so fierce that his vision blurred and the edges of his sight went black, the blood pounding in his ears until he could not longer think or hear. There, dancing a slow and scandalous waltz was Diana. And she was in the arms of Hathaway. Worse, they were talking. Worse still, she was smiling. Smiling! At the duke! It could not be!
It was all he could do not to stalk out into the middle of the floor and pull Diana from the duke's arms, staking his claim to her once and for all. His ancestors would have done that and more, certainly. They simply would have thrown her over their shoulder and been done with it, stalking off into the night and making haste for Gretna as quickly as a coach and four could take them. Or rather his father's ancestors would have. But Lachlan was still more his mother's son than he was his father's and somehow, he managed to keep his anger in check - the way a true gentleman would.
Even though he still very much wanted to destroy something.
Instead, he had drawn in a deep breath and called upon every lesson in courtly behavior that his mother had drilled into him. He remembered her gentle lectures about how a true English gentleman behaved, and how that his father was not a good example of proper behavior. Lachlan knew that his mother had tried to change, or at the very least tame, his father. It had not worked. But those lessons had taken hold in her son.
Then, with a grace that he hoped would make the long-revered Hallstone name proud, he escorted Claire - who thought for one brilliant moment that she was going to Lachlan's bed - over to Lord Marcus Cheltenham, the notoriously grumpy Viscount Breckenright, and his wife. The very same wife whose sharp tongue had delivered the set-down to Claire earlier.
Lachlan had not known Marcus long, though they had met in Bath while the viscount was convalescing from a long illness. Until this season, he had never met Lady Breckenright at all, though that was not surprising, given what he had learned of their rather long and tumultuous courtship. And with all of the lessons in propriety well learned at his mother's knee, Lachlan had left his stepmother in their care, and she unable to extricate herself without looking as if she was chasing after her young, unmarried stepson.
He would have liked to have helped the young French count as well, but when Lachlan glanced back, the man was gone. Not to mention that he did have more pressing matters. Except that Diana and Lord Hathaway were gone as well.
Rage, thick and black as anything he had ever felt began to cloud Lachlan's mind, preventing him from thinking clearly. Anger unlike any he had ever known rose up in him and threatened to overtake him, dictating his actions. He even felt his hands clench into fists until he noticed that Hathaway had appeared again, this time by the side of Miss Banbrook, who was looking decidedly embarrassed about something. Then, the duke led her away onto the terrace when few, if any, people were looking.
Except Lachlan had been looking. And if the duke was in Miss Banbrook's company, then he wasn't with Diana.
The fearsome anger lifting a bit, Lachlan quickly scanned the crowd, attempting to mimic Candlewood's air of disinterest as he did so and failing miserably. He could not help himself. He wanted to see her. He needed her in a way he had never needed another woman in his entire life. However, he still refused to call what he felt for her love. That was another lesson that he had learned at his mother's knee.
Love hurt. Love corrupted. Therefore, he did not love.
So while he did not love Diana, he did need her. More than that, he wanted her. And tonight, he would have her, this desire she inflamed in him burning so hot that he thought he might die of it.
No more waiting. No more courting. After tonight, she would be his. Despite what he had vowed earlier that day, the rage that had overwhelmed him when he had seen the duke and Diana dancing had driven home the point that she was meant to be his. He needed her by his side. Now. For always. If she wanted to be courted further, then he would indulge her. But it was time she came to realize just how desperate he was for her and how perfect they were for each other. That meant taking her to his bed - if she would allow it.
Just when he had about given up ho
pe of ever finding her in the crush, he spied the garnet silk of her gown, a flash of color in a sea of pastels, calling to him like the siren she was.
As quickly as he could, he crossed the room so that when she made her way down the hallway, he was there beside her before she could even blink. "Go find your friends once we arrived downstairs and have them make your excuses to your mother. Have them inform her that you are spending the night at their house or some such nonsense. Whatever lie it is, I do not care. Just know that you are coming home with me. I cannot bear to be apart from you any longer. The other night at Vauxhall was merely the appetizer, my love. Now I want the full meal." Then he grasped her hand and tugged her down the hall towards the stairs that would led them down to the grand entryway and from there, to his carriage. He noticed she did not protest.
Diana knew she should stop Lachlan. This was madness. More than that, it was not like him. He did not behave this way, as if the whole of bad behavior of his Scottish ancestors was guiding his actions.
However there was a part of her that was thrilled by his actions, by the way he took possession of her, demanding that she come with him right that very minute and assuming that she would follow. No man of her acquaintance acted thus, and it excited a part of her that she had never acknowledged before. It was one she knew she needed to come to terms with and quickly. For the truth was, now that she had come to peace with Lord Hathaway, she had also come to terms with her feelings for Lachlan.
Diana loved him. Utterly and completely. She wanted to be his. And while she did not know what inside of him had changed, she was not about to question it either. This was Lachlan embracing both parts of himself, the English marquess and the wild Scottish laird. In this moment, he was a new man, one she had not had the pleasure of meeting before. However she suspected she would like everything about him. She would like it very much.
So without another word and only a few hastily dashed lines to her friends on scraps of parchment, Diana followed Lachlan out into the inky dark night and directly into his waiting carriage, not giving a damn if anyone saw them or ran back to her mother to tell tales. Diana was about to thoroughly ruined and she could not wait!
Chapter Fifteen
The carriage ride seemed endlessly long, even though logically, Diana was certain they had only traveled a few streets away since they were still in Mayfair, the lights glowing brightly in richly appointed town homes where balls and musicales were well underway. Though Lachlan did not speak for the entire length of the ride, she knew his eyes were on her constantly, following her every move. She could see them sparkle in the darkness, their blue depths now black, both with desire and something more that she was certain he would refuse to acknowledge.
No matter. She was with him and he was able to truly make her his. That was all she needed to know.
Then as if in the blink of an eye, despite how interminably long the ride had seemed mere moments ago, they were in front of the Hallstone town home and Lachlan was whisking her inside, no sign of a single servant anywhere. That was odd, but then what did she know of how Lachlan conducted his home life? Nothing, really. He might not enjoy servants waiting up for him as others in society did.
"I gave them all the night off," he whispered as he led her into the house, acting as if he had read her mind before taking her cape and hanging it on a coat hook. She suspected that it was probably for the butler's coat when he went outside with umbrellas and other accoutrements to allow guests to come safely into the home. Silly thoughts for such a moment, she decided, but when she looked up at Lachlan, there was nothing silly at all about the way he was gazing down at her hungrily. "There will be no one to bother us unless I ring the bell." Diana saw his perfect, white teeth flash in the dim light of a single candelabrum. "And I have no intention of doing such a thing. Do you?"
"Absolutely not," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. She allowed Lachlan to grasp her hand while he took the candles in the other and led her down the hall to a set of stairs made of ornately carved wood. She knew that Hallstone was one of the few in society who maintained a truly lavish town home in London in addition to his other estates and she could see why he indulged so. If her own home was this luxurious, she would be loath to give it up as well. Then again, the previous Lord Hallstone - and she supposed the current one as well - had been richer than Croesus. He could afford such a home and the staff to oversee its upkeep.
Then, once more, Diana looked at Lachlan and realized that she was really doing nothing more than stalling for time as she gazed around his home in wonder. It was merely because she was afraid, she quickly realized. But no more. She had no reason to be fearful. She wanted this. Wanted him. It was time to be brave, just as she had counseled her friend Amelia those many months ago.
Hand in hand, Lachlan and Diana continued upward on the grand staircase, up past the first and second floors. Up and up until they reached the third floor. This area seemed a bit darker than the floors, but no less well appointed, with an ornately carved banister that led directly into a thick oak wall, one adorned by only a few paintings and none of the usual frivolities that were typically found around bed chambers.
"My grandfather was a simple man," Lachlan said quietly as he led her down the hall, their combined footsteps barely audible on the thickly carpeted floor. "He did not decorate lavishly, but what he did purchase for his home was always of the utmost quality." He ran a hand almost lovingly over the single table in the hall, which was located just outside what she suspected was a bedroom door. "I do wish I might have known more of him, but that was not to be. I was a grandson he could not abide. At least not until the very end."
"But he bequeathed you the title anyway," Diana replied as Lachlan gripped the doorknob tightly, the knuckles on his hand white in anticipation. "That must mean something."
"It means only that my cousins are, or were in his opinion, idiots and simpletons." There was no malice in Lachlan's voice, just quiet acceptance. "My grandfather did not like the idea of a generations-old fortune being frittered away on nothingness and fripperies of little value. And my cousins would have done that most effectively. Every last one of them." He shook his head. "But that is not why you are here, is it, lass?"
Diana covered his hand on the doorknob with her own. "I am here for you, Lachlan. Just you and no one else. I find, much to my surprise, that I need you. And whatever you need from me in return, I will gladly give it. Even if all you wish for me to do this evening is listen."
She would not admit that she loved him. It was too soon and he likely did not feel the same. She also knew that Lachlan did not - or some might say would not - allow himself to feel love. He cared for her; she did not doubt that in the least. He also believed in love for other people, but for he himself? He did not love. He had vowed he never would.
Diana believed in love above just about all things. In her mind, that singular emotion was strong enough to conquer all. It was why she had done everything within her power to ensure that Lord and Lady Weatherby had found their happily ever after. She had witnessed the great love between them and had wanted to ensure that it lasted. It was also why she had refused to settle for a dull match between herself and Lord Hathaway. She knew she deserved better.
And Lachlan did love her. Diana was certain he did. Whether or not he ever said those words was another matter entirely, but in this moment, she did not care if he never said them. She wanted him, wanted the pleasure he could give her. She wanted to be his wife, at least if he would have her. If, in time, he spoke the words, then she would be overjoyed, but she would not pressure him to do so. Right here, in this moment, she was content.
"Oh, I wish for you to do far more than listen to me speak, lass. Starting now." There was that wolfish grin that she loved so much, the one that made him appear to be a Highland warrior from a long-ago age.
Before she realized what he was completely about, Lachlan pinned Diana against the thick door with his heavy body, pressing his weight into he
r while he nuzzled her neck. "Ach, love, you are so sweet," he whispered as he trailed his tongue along her delicate collarbone. "Have you any idea what you do to me?"
"I think I have some idea," she replied, her voice so breathy that she sounded like the young debutante she no longer was. She tilted her head to give him greater access to her throat. She adored how he made her feel when he tasted her there.
"Not nearly enough," he growled as he thrust his hips against hers so that she might feel the hard, long length of him pressing into her. "This is what you do to me." He ground against her harder. With another man, Diana might feel dirty, but not with Lachlan. With him, it simply felt...right.
"Show me," she whimpered. "I want to know all of you, Lachlan. I want to be yours." She wanted to say that she wished to be his wife, but it was not the right time. Now was the time for mating their bodies and not sweet words and promises of forever. Those could come later.
Fumbling for the doorknob, Lachlan somehow managed to get the heavy door open without tumbling them both backwards into his bedchamber or setting the place on fire, the brace of candles still gripped tightly in his hand. Once inside, he somehow managed to place them on a nearby table without ceasing his ravishing of her throat and shoulders. She loved how inventive he was to have managed it so easily and thought that probably boded well for the rest of the night. She hoped that it did.
A Marquess Is Forever Page 24
