A Marquess Is Forever

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  "There, my love. My beautiful Diana. It is only pleasure from here." Those were the first words Lachlan had spoken that she could understand but they filled Diana's heart with so much joy that she could barely keep from shouting it at the top of her lungs. He loved her. He might not have said those precise words but the pure emotion was there in the tone of his voice, in the way he cradled her hips to his and the way his body moved over hers, as if she was a treasure to be cherished, a lover to be savored.

  "I want it all, Lachlan," she whispered, leaning up to bite at his earlobe. "Show me more. Give me all of you." And with each stoke of his body that drove her higher and higher into pleasure until she shattered with pure and utter delight, he did just that. Even if he did not quite realize it.

  They made love so many times throughout the night that Lachlan lost count of how many times he pleasured Diana, each time spilling his seed deeply inside of her. It occurred to him later that he might get her with child, but since they were to be married with all possible haste, he did not much care. After the pleasure he had found in her arms - and, to be fair, she in his - he did not think he could wait overly long to make her his wife. Given the expression on her face as the fire began to die to embers, he did not think she could wait either.

  "Did ye like that, lass?" he asked, finally unafraid to allow her to hear him speak in his natural voice and tongue. Later, when they were around other people again, he would go back to being the proper English gentleman with that faint hint of a Scottish accent he could never completely lose. "Please say that ye did. Fer my sake if not for yours."

  "I adored it, Lachlan. Truly. This has been the most magnificent night of my life." Diana ran a hand down his chest, unable to stop marveling at the harness of the muscles beneath her fingertips. "Is there more?" She raised an eyebrow in question. "For I have heard that there is."

  With a groan of pleasure at her brashness, Lachlan rolled over onto his back, taking Diana with him, the soft mounds of her breasts pressing delightfully into his chest as he ran his fingers through her messy riot of hair while she straddled him. "Whom have you been talking to, lass?" Unbidden, he slipped back into his English manner of speech. Perhaps his Scottish ways were fading away after all. "This sort of activity is not something a young lady should know about." The he flung a hand over his eyes in disgust, already knowing the answer. "Let me guess. Patience."

  "She is a rather forward woman, even for a married lady." Diana settled more snugly against Lachlan, adoring the way she fit so perfectly against him. "She often does not mind her tongue as much as she should." She paused. "So is there more?"

  "Aye, lass. There is. So very much more." Lachlan kissed Diana deeply. "And I will show you all of that and more. I will teach you how to please me and I shall please you as well. In more ways than you can imagine." He reached down and tilted her chin up so that he might look into her lovely blue eyes once more. "I will do all of that and more. Once we are wed. For now that I have you, I will not let you go. You are mine, leannan. Now and forever. You must know that, at least in your deepest of hearts."

  Diana swallowed hard at the old Scottish term of endearment. She had not expected this. She had hoped, certainly, that Lachlan cared enough for her to wed her, but she had not come to his bed expecting a proposal. In fact, she was not certain why she had agreed to allow him to bed her this very night, other than that she felt so empty and incomplete without him. Whatever the reasons, however, they no longer mattered.

  "So what say, ye, my Diana?" There was a hint of uncertainty in Lachlan's voice, as if he was afraid that she would refuse him. Then again, she had not answered him immediately or with the proper enthusiasm. Perhaps she should rectify that immediately.

  "Yes, Lachlan! Yes!" She peppered his chest with kisses, moving up to his lips for a deeper, more meaningful kiss. "Yes, I will be your wife. I love you!" Her heart leapt for joy in her chest and she finally - finally - felt as if her world, which had been uncertain for so long, had come into focus at last. Because of this man. The man she loved with all of her heart.

  Lachlan thought his heart might burst because he was so happy. He could not love Diana, he could not say the words he knew she longed to hear, even though she had offered him her love mere moments ago. However he could cherish her and be the perfect, doting husband. He would pleasure both her body and her mind, giving her all that she desired. He prayed it would be enough. He prayed that she would never demand his love, for that, he could not give. Though he would if he could. If he was capable of loving anyone, it would be this woman in his arms, the same one smiling up at him as if he had just offered her the moon and stars combined.

  And he was too selfish of a man not to take what she offered.

  "You won't be sorry, lass. I swear it." Lachlan prayed she would not be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two days later when Claire stormed into his study in a flurry of expensive silk and dripping with jewels, Lachlan was not overly surprised. Well, he was surprised that it had taken her this long to confront him about his impending betrothal to Diana.

  The formal contracts between him and Diana's father had not yet been signed. What with Lachlan already a marquess and set to inherit another title when his father passed, along with the details of Diana's obscenely enormous dowry to sort out, the solicitors for both sides had been rather busy. But it was clearly understood by all involved that the formal announcement of their betrothal was little more than a formality at this point. Everyone was merely waiting on the finer details to be settled. After all, Lachlan had only just received the Hallstone betrothal ring, a great behemoth of a ruby surrounded by little clusters of diamonds, from the former marquess' vault only that morning.

  However the impending announcement regarding Lachlan and Diana's upcoming nuptials was not precisely a secret either.

  Lachlan had officially escorted Diana to Lady Fairhill's annual event in support of the Ladies' Society for the Advancement of Medicine. That event had occurred the night after they had first made love in his bed, staying together well until the first fingers of dawn had streaked the sky. Even now, he was not certain how Diana had snuck back into her home unnoticed, but he did not question their good fortune at not being discovered.

  The following evening, he had escorted her to the theater once more, this time making certain that the nasty Lord Northrup knew good and well that Diana was spoken for, and that the other man should keep his distance. Lachlan was, however, congratulated rather warmly by Lord Hunt, the same man who had vied for Diana's hand for a single afternoon less than a fortnight ago. Perhaps, Lachlan decided, the man wasn't such a bad chap. Lord Hunt was merely poor, which, while many in society viewed as a crime, Lachlan did not.

  In fact the last two days had been rather splendid, if Lachlan considered them as a whole. Indeed, fortune seemed to be smiling down upon him, which he found that he rather enjoyed.

  Nor had Lachlan questioned his continued good fortune at being welcomed into Lord Westfield's library the day after he had thoroughly debauched the man's daughter, so that he could formally ask the viscount for his daughter's hand in marriage. For a moment, Lachlan had been worried that the older man would not grant permission, but then the man had smiled broadly and heartily welcomed Lachlan to the family. It remained to be seen if the viscount's wife felt the same. Thus far, Lady Westfield had only offered Lachlan a mild congratulations and a weak smile. Still, he was confident that in time he could win over even Ursula Saintwood's hardened heart.

  He might not be a duke, but he was a marquess. And that, in Lachlan's opinion at least, was nothing to sniff at.

  That same sentiment was apparently shared by his stepmother who was clearly aiming for a higher title for herself, not to mention praying intently for the impending death of her current husband. It was clear that the fact that Duncan McKenna had not yet passed on to his final reward was irking her greatly.

  "You cannot marry that Saintwood chit!" Claire announced rather boldly as she ba
rged into Lachlan's study without waiting to be announced. "I forbid it!" Her lush red curls were not as neatly arranged as they might normally be otherwise, speaking to her rather hasty - and obscenely early - appearance in his home.

  "And good morning to you, too, Stepmother." Lachlan knew Claire hated to be reminded of her relationship to him and he was gratified to see that his barb hit home, her eyes flaring in anger.

  He also made certain to wave off his clearly worried butler, Roberts. The old man had come with Lachlan to London from Scotland, and he always did his best to ensure that his employer never came to regret keeping the older man on at his post, even though he was well past his prime. Once Claire departed, Lachlan made a mental note to speak with Roberts and assure the man that his stepmother's sudden appearance in his library was not in the least the butler's fault. The woman would overrule the Almighty himself if she thought she could get away with it.

  "Did you hear me, Lachlan?" Claire practically shrieked, a bit louder this time. "I forbid you from marrying that silly Saintwood girl. I will not have her usurping my title!"

  Lachlan placed a finger next to his ear and rubbed gently. "I believe all of London heard you, Claire." Then he drew in a deep breath and fixed his stepmother with a dark glare. "And might I remind you that you are not exactly in a position to forbid anything." He was careful to maintain his fully English manner of speaking. As of late with Diana, he had found himself reverting more to his Scottish speech, a habit he did not wish to continue. At least not with anyone other than his intended bride.

  "Your father will not stand for this! And neither will I!" She stamped her foot for good measure, making her appear more like a child than a woman just into her fifth decade.

  "My father has no say in the matter of whom I wed," Lachlan sighed wearily. He wanted to be with Diana this morning, enjoying her lively company. Not arguing with this shrew of a woman. "And neither do you."

  Claire smiled at him smugly and a slither of fear crept through Lachlan. "Fiona Campbell might beg to differ. According to her, you vowed never to marry anyone other than her."

  Placing his pen down gently upon his desk so that he might resist the urge to hurtle it directly at Claire's heart like a dagger, Lachlan leaned back in his chair and regarded his stepmother through darkly hooded eyes. "Is Miss Campbell in London at present, then?"

  "No," Claire crowed, almost giddy with unabashed glee. "She is back in Scotland. But I can send someone to fetch her here immediately. She is eager to reclaim her place in your bed. Still thinks she will become your wife." Then this stepmother laughed, a sound that, to Lachlan's ears anyway, was more evil than humorous. "I will disabuse her of that notion later. Once she has served her purpose, of course."

  Tilting his head slightly to the side, Lachlan studied Claire for a moment. Clearly she thought she had won, given the way she was nearly prancing around his library, giddy with delight. Then again, she had always been rather hasty, showing her hand well before it was time. It had always been her weakness. "When you do, Stepmother, be sure to have your messenger ask Miss Campbell about the Babe McPherson, would you? I'm sure all of Edinburgh, in fact all of Scotland most likely, would be anxious to hear about the child."

  As expected, that brought Claire up short and she blinked a few times in confusion. "What child?" Her eyes narrowed slightly but she was clearly still not ready to concede defeat. Obviously, the idea that there was a bit of scandal she did not know regarding Fiona clearly did not sit well with her. Not when Claire hoped to blackmail Lachlan, anyway.

  "The one Fiona had by Laird McPherson that she lost before the child was ready to enter the world." Lachlan picked up his pen once more and tapped it impatiently on his desk. He did not care for this part of himself, this unchecked anger and his ability to be ruthless. It reminded him too much of the man he once was. Too much of the man his father still was.

  However, his future with Diana was at stake and Lachlan would use every weapon available to him in order to secure it. "The same child she secretly buried wrapped in the plaids of both of their families." Then he smiled, though there was no humor in the expression. Just cold satisfaction. "The one that wears the missing McPherson family medallion around his neck."

  In years gone by, seven golden medallions had been cast, one for each branch of the McPherson family's ruling clans. The precious symbols of family heritage and unity had survived many events over the years, including the various Jacobite Uprisings that had torn apart Scotland over the decades. When the medallion granted to the Laird McPherson had gone missing some years ago, rumor had spread quickly through Edinburgh and the Highlands both that the theft of the medallion meant the possibility of another English invasion. That an English spy had brazenly snatched the medallion to indicate that the very foundation of Scottish society was about to fall.

  The missing medallion had been stolen. But not by a spy. Rather by Laird McPherson's mistress - Fiona Campbell.

  Shortly after Lachlan had dismissed Fiona as his mistress, he had been haunted by the story she woven about the stillborn McPherson babe. Had it been Lachlan's child, even if it had been a bastard, he would have wanted it to receive a proper Christian burial. The very idea that this innocent life was laying abandoned and forgotten in the forests of Scotland did not sit well with him. It gnawed at Lachlan's sense of honor, even though he had no real stake in the matter. Still, men of honor did not allow such things to pass without some type of intervention. His conscience would not tolerate it. So he, along with Alistair and a few other trusted men and gone to the spot near Loch Dé Luain where Fiona had claimed to have buried the child. And there the body had been. Just as she said, wrapped in the plaids of two clans, the missing medallion around its neck.

  Lachlan had only intended to make certain the child received a proper burial in a nearby cemetery, and he had done so. However, as time had passed, he also realized that he now held very powerful leverage over Fiona. Like Claire, she had overplayed her hand when she had attempted to use the story of the stillborn babe to gain leverage over Lachlan and find a way into his heart. What Fiona had not counted upon was that unlike her, Lachlan did not lie and when he said that he would never marry her, he had meant it. He was not about to change his mind. She had also failed to realize that he now had leverage over her, far more powerful than any she held over him.

  As long as she stayed away from him and those he cared about, Lachlan was content to keep Fiona's secret. She was the one who had to live with what she had done. And she had stayed away, for on some level at least, Fiona was not a stupid woman. He suspected she had long since puzzled out that by her entrusting Lachlan with her secret, she had unwittingly given him power over her.

  But Fiona was also greedy and she had always viewed Lachlan as her path into the highest reaches of society, a place that all of her father's connections and fortune could not simply buy for her. He had no doubt that when Claire had approached Fiona, his former mistress had weighted the options carefully and then decided that another attempt at snaring Lachlan into marriage was worth the risk. Pity she did not know he had done the Christian thing and had the child properly buried.

  For her part, Claire looked a little sick. "There is no child," she finally snapped, pulling herself up straight and attempting to look as imperious as possible.

  "I have six good men and an infant's body back home that says otherwise. Including Alistair." Lachlan rose, his gaze menacing. "You and your cohort Miss Campbell would do well to simply leave me and my intended be. Should you attempt to interfere with my future happiness, I am afraid that you will both be extremely sorry."

  "You lie!" Claire hissed but Lachlan could see the panic blooming on her face as the truth set in.

  "Do I?" he asked slowly, his face impassive. "You know me, Claire. You know I do not lie. Trust me when I assure you that you will greatly regret this course of action should you choose to pursue it. Now leave me and my intended in peace. Return to Scotland and my father. If you do so, I will
make certain that when you are the dowager viscountess, you will be able to remain at Tinsburg Castle in safety and comfort." Considering everything that had transpired thus far, Lachlan thought that was more than a reasonable offer. More than Claire deserved, certainly.

  She studied Lachlan for a moment through eyes that were little more than slits, reminding him a poisonous snake he had encountered once when he was on a short tour of Italy. Claire was dangerous, just as the snake had been. Even wounded, she still had the power to strike at him. He knew he needed to watch his back. And Diana's.

  "Trust, eh?" Claire stroked the large strand of emeralds around her throat, ones that, if Lachlan had his way, would be Diana's some day. They belonged to the viscountcy, after all. Not his stepmother. "Does your precious Miss Saintwood trust you, Lachlan?" She sashayed towards him, hips swaying in what he supposed was a seductive manner. It was too bad he only had eyes for Diana. "Surely she knows of your past."

  "She knows enough," he said through gritted teeth. "I may not have given her the details, but she knows I was a libertine in my younger years. I did not deny it. And she does not care."

  "Does she know about me?" Claire reached out to caress Lachlan, but as he had with Fiona so many years earlier, he grasped his stepmother's wrist before she could touch him, careful not to bruise her delicate skin, lest she brand him a beast of a man. "Do you think the fair Lady Diana would be jealous if she believe us to be lovers? Lovers before and lovers again, now that I am in London."

  Lachlan's eyes glittered as he looked at Claire with pure disgust. "She knows you are a menace of a woman who will do whatever is necessary to keep or advance your place in society. She knows you will lie to get whatever you wish as well, especially if what you desire is me in your bed." He pulled her closer. "Do not test me, Claire. I have friends more powerful than you can imagine. Do not tangle with me. You will not win and it will be most unpleasant. For you anyway."