"In time, you will become bored with the innocent thing, Lachlan. Men like you do not truly change." Claire licked her lips. "Why do you think I married your father? Not because I cared for him, certainly. But because it was the easiest way into your bed. It has only ever been about you. About how good we could be together - both in bed and out. But we can start with in, and go from there." Then she offered him a view of her breasts, which were barely concealed by her gown beneath her pelisse. "She cannot please you, Lach, my darling. Not as I know I can."
"Get. Out." Lachlan said those words through clenched teeth, using all of his willpower not to reach over the desk and strange the infernal woman.
They stood like that for more than a breath of time, neither one of them moving. Neither combatant willing to give in and be the first to look away. However, when it became clear to Claire that Lachlan was not about to back down and that her feminine wiles were not working on him as well as she had hoped, she drew in a deep breath and pulled back, wrenching her wrist from his grasp.
"This is not over, Lachlan, my dear," she growled, tossing her fiery mane of hair. "You will be mine. I will have what I rightfully deserve. You have been warned." With that, she swept out of the room like the queen she believed herself to be.
When he was certain she was gone, Lachlan let out the breath he had been unaware he was holding and sank back into his chair. He only had a moment's rest however, before a dark shape filled the doorway.
"She will be back, you know. She will not stop until she is utterly defeated and, unfortunately, I do not think that even a wedding to the lovely Miss Saintwood will stop her."
Lord Candlewood. Nicholas Rosemont. It could be no other.
Lachlan rubbed his face with his hands. "Candlewood. What brings you to my home?" As if he didn't already suspect.
"Oh, this and that." The duke crossed the room to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, which he quickly tossed back. After he poured another, he settled himself in the chair in front of Lachlan's oversized desk. "Crown business and all of that. Boring business, really."
Now, Lachlan understood. Half English and half Scottish, he was a bridge between the two countries and the Crown had a vested interest in him - and whom he wed. "I take it you have heard of my impending nuptials?" He asked it as a question but it truly wasn't.
"Lady Diana Saintwood is a fine choice." Candlewood tipped his glass at Lachlan in salute. "A better English bride you could not have selected. She will make you a splendid marchioness. Everyone in the ton wishes you happy. I'm certain you know that."
Meaning that King George approved of the match. Not that it mattered to Lachlan. He would wed Diana with or without the Crown's approval. However with the approval, he had a far more powerful set of allies against Claire at his disposal.
"I do," Lachlan finally acknowledged with a nod. "And I love her very much."
"And your stepmother?" Candlewood took another sip of his drink. He was acting as if he did not care about the outcome, but it was obvious to Lachlan that he did. It was also clear the duke had overheard Lachlan's entire exchange with Claire.
"She will not give up, I am afraid."
The duke nodded as if mulling over the situation. "I see. And in truth, I expected as much. She is a tenacious thing, if not more than a little on the cheap side. Well, then, perhaps my old friend Harry Greer can be of service." He smiled, clearly deep in thought. "The man does have a talent for ferreting out information that even I cannot uncover. Not certain how he does so, but it's brilliant, really."
"I will not give up Lady Diana." Lachlan wanted to make certain that Candlewood understood that his devotion to Diana was unwavering.
"Love her that much, do you?" Candlewood's eyes were dark now, the normal deep brown nearly black. This was a man that anyone would be a fool to cross. Including Claire McKenna, even if she did not realize it yet.
Lachlan grimaced. "I do not believe in love. Not for myself at any rate. But I care for Diana greatly, more than any other woman I have ever known. As I said, I am devoted to her and her alone."
For some odd reason, Candlewood found that comment uproariously funny. "Ah, Hallstone, no one told me you had developed such a sense of humor over the years! Not in love with the chit? Good God, man! If ever there was a man in love with a woman, it is you." He smiled then, a real smile that changed his eyes, and something in his face softened as well. "No wonder you and Breckenright became friends in Bath. The two of you are equally as humorous."
Lachlan had no idea what to say to that, so he decided that keeping silent was the best policy. If the duke wanted to believe Lachlan capable of love, that was fine. Lachlan and Diana both knew the truth of their relationship. Her opinion of him was all that mattered.
"The contracts should be formalized tomorrow," Lachlan said stiffly. "Once that is done, I am hoping that Claire slinks back to Scotland and leaves us be. It would do her great harm socially to be viewed as attempting to come between a betrothed couple."
At that, Candlewood sobered a bit. "That is true. However I fear that your stepmother will not wait that long to strike again. She is wounded, her trump card not as powerful as she imagined. And she is desperate to obtain what she wants. That makes her twice as dangerous. Be on your guard." The man rose. "In the meantime, I will do what I can to thwart her." He reached out to shake Lachlan's hand, forcing the marquess to rise as well. "You may believe I am doing this solely for our king, but I have other reasons as well. I wish you happy, my friend. I truly do."
Then he turned and was gone, leaving Lachlan alone in his study feeling as if his streak of good fortune was about to end.
Chapter Seventeen
"That color is divine on you," Sophia informed Diana as the small group of friends stood in the middle of Madame LaVallier's dress shop on Bond Street. "It will be perfect for your wedding dress."
Diana had been surprised when her mother had allowed both Sophia and Eliza to accompany her to the modiste's for the dress fitting. Normally, Lady Westfield demanded to be present and have final say over every gown choice that Diana had made - not that it had prevented Diana from having some rather inappropriate gowns made in the past anyway. After all, Diana's father paid the dressmaker's bills, not her mother. And as long as his daughter was happy, the viscount tended not to care what she purchased. That Diana's mother was not present today spoke to just how much she was against her daughter's forthcoming marriage to the marquess.
Looking down from her perch on top of a fitting stool, Diana held the swath of plum-colored fabric up to her body. Though many of Madame's fabrics were lush and rich, somehow this bit of silk felt different. Better. Perfect. Almost magical.
"You do not think it is too dark?" Diana asked, fingering the soft folds, imagining how she would look walking down the aisle at St. James church in front of her family, friends, and much of the ton. "Though I do like it."
Normally, Diana trusted her own fashion sense implicitly. She had, after all, been the one to suggest complimentary colors to Lady Weatherby when Amelia was attempting to seduce the earl. Then again, Diana had also provided the slightly-too-small and more-than-a-little-scandalous gowns for the lady in question to wear for the duration of that magical house party. It was not as if Diana did not know what she was doing in regard to color choices.
Then again, no dress she had ever had commissioned was as important as this one would be.
"It will be perfect for you, Diana." That came from Eliza who, up until this point, had been tucked up on a chair in the corner, much like Marie often did during calling hours. The maid, whose disposition had improved greatly in the last fortnight for some reason, had accompanied the young women on this errand, again much to Diana's surprise. However, Diana believed that eventually her mother would relent and understand that while Diana had not known Lachlan long, she knew his heart. He was a good man and he loved her, even if he could not say those precise words. That was all Diana needed to know. He would not betray her, as her
mother seemed to believe he would.
Rising, Eliza crossed to where Diana stood on the dais, already wearing one gown in a striking turquoise blue that was in the process of being fitted for her trousseau. Gently Eliza removed the gorgeous plum-colored fabric from her friend's hands. "In truth, I think that Lord Hallstone would find you beautiful no matter what you wore." There was hint of longing in Eliza's voice and once more, Diana was struck with the desire to help her friend make a match. However for as often as she had attempted to do so in the past, Eliza remained unwed, somehow managing to chase off even the most ardent of suitors. Even the fortune hunters. Not that there had been that many, to be fair, as all of the friends knew well. "However, this fabric makes you glow, Diana. The smile on your face is truly radiant. It is the correct choice for your wedding gown."
Looking at her friend with warm affection, Diana silently vowed to help Eliza make a brilliant match once her own wedding was over. Lachlan had informed Diana that he had no plans to return to Scotland permanently, though a honeymoon to Tinsburg Castle later in the year was not out of the question. London, however, was to be his home, along with Cloverfield, the long-time country seat of the Hallstone marquisate.
That news had thrilled Diana greatly for while she loved Lachlan and would follow him anywhere - and once they were wed she would be bound to do so anyway - she did not think she could remain locked away at Tinsburg Castle for the rest of her days. Secretly, she thought that perhaps that was what had eventually killed Lachlan's mother. Diana wondered if the former English flower had simply died of loneliness.
"One day soon, it will be your turn, Eliza," Diana said, smiling at her friend and vowing to make that day happen if it was at all within her power.
Instead of smiling, however, Eliza sighed and looked away for a moment. "It will not be." Then she turned to Sophia. "But it will be hers."
"Sophia?" Diana could not believe that one of her best friends had not confided in her over a matter of such great importance. "Is this true? Has the duke finally relented regarding Lord Selby?"
A telltale blush spread up Sophia's pretty cheeks. "He has. I did not want to say anything until you and Lord Hallstone officially announced your betrothal. I did not wish for it to seem as if I was attempting to usurp your happiness."
"You silly thing! I would never think that and you well know it! So tell me more. How? When?" Diana was overjoyed for her friend. Finally the duke had come to his senses. She wondered if her words to him during their waltz had helped to change his mind.
"Last night," Sophia whispered, her hands clasped daintily in front of her. "Before we attended Almack's for the evening. Hathaway pulled Lord Selby aside and informed him that if he still wished to marry me... Well, we had his blessing."
"Sophia, I am so thrilled for you!" Eliza wrapped her friend in a big hug and Diana would have done the same had she not been covered in a gown stuck through with more pins than she could count. "Whatever changed his mind?"
Sophia glanced up at Diana. "Whatever you said to him when you waltzed had a great impact, I believe, though I am not completely certain. That, along with pressure from Mama, especially when he continued to chase after Miss Banbrook like a great fool, is what I believe finally convinced him to give his consent." She was fairly bursting with joy. "After all, as Mama pointed out, since my beloved brother was making a complete nabob of himself over a girl and courting scandal as well, he could no longer claim moral superiority over Lord Selby."
"May you and Lord Selby be as happy as I am certain Lord Hallstone and I will be," Diana offered, wishing she no longer had this infernal dress on so that she might hug her friend as well. Where was the shop girl with those slippers she needed to try on to adjust the dress' length, anyway?
Just then the little bell over the door to Madame LaVallier's shop tinkled and all three women turned to look at the new patron of the establishment. Diana's father had made arrangements for the shop to be closed while Diana chose her wedding gown, compensating the dressmaker handsomely to ensure that this time would not be interrupted. The door should have been locked, but then, some of Madame's girls had been making deliveries recently. Perhaps one of them forgot to lock the door after she either departed or returned.
No matter, really. They were almost finished and in truth, Diana felt rather embarrassed about the whole arrangement. She did not want any sort of special treatment just because she was selecting her wedding gown and large parts of her bridal trousseau. It was not as if her upcoming nuptials to Lachlan were a secret after all.
However when a tall, willowy woman with striking green eyes and bright red hair swept past Madame and into the back salon, something inside of Diana became unsettled. She did not know this woman but there was an air about her that spoke of devilment and something darker. Malevolent, perhaps, would have been a better word. It was the same air that had clung to Miss Letitia Worth several years before when she and her friend Miss Henrietta Cartwright were attempting to stir up trouble between Lady Julia and Lord Radcliffe while they were courting.
"I am sorry, but this is a private session. You cannot enter. Please. My shop is closed for a bit longer yet. You must leave." Madame LaVallier hurried into the small room behind the unknown woman, but if the red-haired beauty heard the older woman, she paid her no mind.
"This will not take long," the woman intoned and when she shifted, Diana could see a large strand of emeralds about her neck that nearly overpowered the emerald silk evening gown - of all things! - that she wore as if it were a second skin. Something about this woman was off. Wrong. Diana had the distinct impression that this woman meant to do Diana harm if she could.
Beside Diana, her friends both shifted as if to protect her, but Diana would not be cowed by this woman - whoever she was. "Then speak your peace and be gone. I am in the middle of a fitting for my wedding gown and do not wish to be disturbed." This was not generally Diana's way. She was not a haughty debutante who thought herself better than other young ladies. However she was still Ursula's daughter and had not completely ignored the lessons learned at her mother's knee.
Surprisingly, the woman in the green gown laughed. "Ah, yes. Your wedding to Lord Hallstone. My Lachlan."
"Your Lachlan?" Diana asked, arching an eyebrow in what she hoped was a reasonable imitation of Lord Candlewood's infamous expression. "I am afraid you are mistaken. Lord Hallstone is my betrothed. We shall be wed in a month's time." Still, deep inside of Diana, a little voice whispered that, despite his words, despite his claims that he did not lie, she had only known Lachlan a short time. And he had admitted to being a libertine. At the time, Diana had not pressed for the details and Lachlan had not offered them. Perhaps she should have. Still, this was Lachlan and she knew his heart perhaps as well as she knew her own. He loved her and her alone, even if he had not yet said the words. The rest did not matter.
"He is my stepson. And my lover." There was a glittering malevolence in the woman's eyes when she dropped into a quick curtsey. "I am Lady Claire McKenna, Lady Gladston. My husband is Lachlan's father."
"That you may well be, but Lord Hallstone is not your lover," Eliza quickly snapped, surprising both Diana and Sophia. "I would know if you were." For some reason she could not identify, Diana did not doubt her friend's claim.
"You are but a little girl. A mouse with no standing." Claire's eyes skimmed Eliza's pale yellow gown that set off her dark hair brilliantly. "But with excellent taste, I see." She inclined her head as if offering Eliza a small measure of respect.
"You know nothing of us. Or of Lord Hallstone." Sophia was next to interject. "Be gone." Given the way she was trembling, Diana knew it had taken extreme courage for Sophia to speak up and defend her. Still, this was Diana's battle. Not her friends'.
"I am going," Claire drawled lazily, her eyes never leaving Diana's. "I do not stay where I am not welcome. I merely thought Miss Saintwood should know that the man she is to wed has already indulged with another - and very recently." She swept a
hand over her stomach and Diana knew that Claire was implying she was pregnant with Lachlan's child. "You may have won his body, my dear, but you will never win his heart. He loves me. He told me so." Then she was gone, sweeping from the room, with Madame, who had previously been frozen to the spot, chasing after her, railing in French.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, Marie, who had suddenly reappeared as if by magic let out what sounded like a low growl. "That one does nothing but cause trouble. She lies, my lady. She is no good. I know this in my heart. Your Lachlan, he loves you. He does not do these things she accuses him of." Then she sniffed in disgust and muttered something French that everyone in the room suspected to be a curse.
"I know that, Marie," Diana whispered, the joy of the day suddenly gone. "She is merely attempting to stir up trouble."
"She wants him for herself," Eliza supplied, picking up the bit gorgeous plum silk that had dropped from her hands during the confrontation. "Everyone knows it is true."
"Everyone?" Sophia asked in confusion, a frown on her face. "Eliza, dear, how do you know this? I have not heard even a mere whisper of this and believe me when I say that I have heard every last salacious bit of gossip as of late. Especially as my brother is seemingly incapable of ceasing to make a public spectacle of himself over Miss Phoebe Banbrook."
Still holding the piece of silk, Eliza adjusted her glasses. "I hear things." Then she shrugged slightly and flicked her gaze back to Diana. "When one is often mistaken for a potted plant, one hears many things." Then she glanced down at her daffodil-hued gown, which was another of Madame LaVallier's beautiful creations. "No matter how finely one is dressed."
"Well, she shan't come between us," Diana said firmly, leaving no room for doubt, even though deep inside of her the seeds had already been planted. "She is a scorned woman who has been denied what she wants. Lord Hallstone is faithful to me. He loves me and no other."
A Marquess Is Forever Page 27
