A Marquess Is Forever

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Diana was not a weepy creature by nature, nor was she given to fits of moodiness. She was, however, still hurt by Lord Hathaway's words from a month or so ago, and Patience's harsh reminder that it was unlikely that the duke would ever marry her still stung as well. Diana did not want to admit that she had wasted her life pining after a man who did not want her. She did not wish to believe herself so foolish. Except that she had been, driven largely by her mother's insistence that Hathaway would do the right thing and keep his mother's long-ago promise. Diana should have known better, especially when he courted many young ladies but did not show favoritism to any of them - including her.

  Now she was on the verge of becoming a spinster with few prospects. Oh, if she announced tomorrow that she was truly eligible, then she was certain some fortune hunter or other would come sniffing around her skirts. However, she was also realistic enough to know that her days as a true diamond of the first water were limited, as were her marital prospects. Age was not on her side.

  As she saw it, that left precisely two options open to her. One was to continue on the same path she had been since she had made her come out - sit demurely on the sidelines and wait for the duke to come up to scratch. During that time she could continue on precisely as she had before, having fun with her friends, quietly matchmaking as she had done with the earl and his new wife, and turning away any offers of amusements from respectable gentleman. That was what her family would expect, of course, especially her mother who refused to accept that a wedding to the duke was not going to be forthcoming.

  Or Diana could defy convention, as she had been known to do on occasion, and, simply put, have a bit of fun before the season ended. If a man offered to take her driving in Hyde Park or to Gunter's for ices, why should she refuse him? If a man wanted to dance a waltz with her, she should not turn him down as her mother had insisted she do so often in the past. It was clear that Lord Hathaway did not care one whit what Diana did or whom she did it with. So why should she continue to care what he thought? She should not.

  Decision made, Diana raised her chin a bit in defiance. This would not be easy, of course. She was not foolish enough to think that would be the case. Her mother would be beside herself and might even have an apoplectic fit. Truly, Diana did not wish to cause her mother distress. Despite the viscountess' overbearing ways, she did love her children and was never purposely malicious. However, she was foolish and often did not look below the surface. Anyone who met the woman for more than a few moments could see that.

  So Diana would have to be cautious with her plan, but she was convinced that it was a sound one. She would have fun and enjoy herself this season - within limits of course. She would dance with rakes and take rides with noblemen who were not Hathaway. How she would accomplish this she did not know, for Lady X, society's most infamous gossip columnist had retired due to poor health - though it was rumored that the truth of the matter was that she had fallen in love with a man of the ton and had used her health merely as an excuse to be free to wed him. In the past, a well-placed word to Lady Sophia or Diana's other friend, Lady Eliza Deaver, would have assured that news of Diana's newfound freedom would have made the papers the very next morning. Now? Well, now that was a bit trickier. That said, it was still possible. It would just require some additional planning.

  Diana was so wrapped up in planning precisely how she would leak news of her availability that she did not notice that she had taken a wrong turn and had missed the retiring room completely. Instead, when she looked up, she found herself in front of the doors to the Radcliffe's library. Since all she wanted was to be alone for a few moments to gather her thoughts, she decided that the library would do rather nicely and promptly let herself inside. After all, she and Lady Radcliffe were friends, and Diana knew that Julia would not mind if her friend took a respite wherever she could find it, especially in such a crush of a party.

  Closing the doors quietly behind her, Diana was surprised to find that a fire had been recently laid, indicating that someone else was using this room. She doubted that Radcliffe's servants were foolish enough to leave an unattended fire, even if the room did have a bit of a chill in the early spring air. That gave Diana pause. She had decided to have fun, not be reckless, and common sense dictated that she should leave immediately. She turned to quit the library and seek out the retiring room once more when a deep, gravely voice with a trace of an accent stopped her in her tracks.

  "You needn't leave on my account, lass. It is I who should be departing."

  Turning quickly, Diana was quite literally rooted to the spot by the most handsome man she had ever seen - without question. Even more handsome than Lord Hathaway and he was reputed to be the finest male specimen in all of England. Diana felt much like she expected Lord Selby had earlier - as if she had no idea where she was or even who she was. It was as if the very breath had been knocked form her body. All because of this man, this stranger who had appeared before her the very moment she decided that she was no longer bound to Lord Hathaway by false promises.

  This man was dark in complexion, probably owing to his Scottish heritage that was reflected in his voice. In comparison to her, he was like a giant and she knew that he was well over six feet tall. In fact, he looked to be taller than even Oliver, who himself was nearly six foot three. This man's shoulders were massive and as he crossed the room towards her she could see his thick muscles moving beneath his well-cut evening clothes.

  He was wealthy, most likely a nobleman though she had no notion of who he could be. Still there was no denying it. Not only did this man move with the air of an aristocrat, but the superb tailoring of his waistcoat could only have been created by Watson and Webb, the men's equivalent of Madame LaVallier. A diamond and emerald stick pin accented his perfectly tied, snowy white cravat while even in the dim light of the fire, Diana could tell that his gloves were expertly stitched.

  He also seemed to have a sense of humor, his bright white teeth flashing in the dim, flicking light that cloaked the room in shadow. There was a smile on his full, lush lips as well, as if he found something - perhaps the situation they found themselves in - rather humorous, though Diana had no idea why that might be so. Simply being here with this man was a risk, especially for her and her reputation.

  However there was also a bit of mystery to him, as if he wasn't quite as civilized as he pretended to be. His thick, dark hair curled around his neck a bit longer than was fashionable. His high cheekbones set off a nose that had clearly been broken a time or two. Then there were his eyes. They were a deep, fathomless blue, the kind a lady could gaze into and get lost in. They captivated her, held her prisoner and made her want to promise him the world. Or at the very least, a single night out of her life, something that shocked her to her very core. They also spoke of secrets kept and promises made in the deep of night. Promises between lovers, hot and passionate. In that moment, Diana wanted all of that from this man and more, and she had to look away for a moment before she did something so stupid as to fling herself into his arms.

  Those same eyes, which now fairly danced in the flickering light of the fire, promised mischief as well as passion, and abruptly Diana was overcome with a desire to discover what he tasted like. In all the time she had known the duke, she had never once wondered what he tasted like. Now, she longed to taste this unknown man for reasons she could not articulate. In that moment, she knew she was in very, very big trouble.

  "You're from Scotland." The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to call them back.

  Brilliant, Diana! He probably thinks you're a complete idiot! Just like every other woman here!

  Instead of being angry or insulted, however, he merely laughed, a warm sound that made her tingle in places she didn't know she was able to tingle. "You're a quick one, lass, I'll grant you that."

  "I'm sorry, my lord." Finally Diana found her proper tongue. Gads! She was never this foolish. Or simpering. "I was simply not expecting anyone to be in here. I entered withou
t knocking so the fault is entirely mine."

  "And humble as well." This time, the man chuckled and she could tell he wasn't poking fun at her. He was merely enjoying himself. How she knew this she could not be completely certain. She simply did. He also had a nice laugh and a good humor about him, yet there was something beneath it all that hinted at a hidden depth. "It is I who should apologize, my lady. I have a feeling that you are well known to our hosts this evening, while I am merely a last minute guest the duke took pity upon." Then he dipped his head. "And as our meeting here is highly improper, I feel it best to introduce myself, though I will understand if you prefer a more formal introduction in the company of others."

  Diana held up her hand to stay his departure. She should allow him to depart and ask for a proper introduction later in the ballroom. Except that she didn't think this man meant her any harm. She also doubted that he knew many people at the ball, especially not if his was a last minute invitation. "I am willing to forgo the strict proprieties if you are, my lord. I can assure you that you will not offend my tender sensibilities if you introduce yourself to me." Her mother might disagree, of course, but then her mother was not present. And Diana desperately wanted to know the name of the man who had captured her attention in so short a time. "Despite my words just now, I am not that much of a ninny."

  "Very well." He smiled and she could tell that her answer had pleased him, as had her refusal to simper before him when it became obvious he was a nobleman. "I am Lord Lachlan McKenna, the new Marquess of Hallstone. My father is Laird Duncan McKenna, the current Viscount Gladston." He sketched a low bow, and Diana could not help but notice once again the powerful slope of his back that tapered down to a narrow waist.

  When he rose, she dropped into a deep curtsey. "And I am Lady Diana Saintwood, daughter of the Viscount Westfield and niece of the current Earl of Tottenshire." For once she was thankful that Patience knew much of the current gossip of the ton. Otherwise, she might have made an even bigger fool of herself than she already had. So this was the mysterious marquess that had society all abuzz.

  "I am much pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Diana," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a brief kiss. Between the kiss and his lilting accent, she did not know which one made her more weak in the knees, but it was a lovely feeling. Different. Good. "It is especially pleasing, as I do not know many people in town."

  "But your English is perfect." She winced again at her poor choice of words. "Not that it shouldn't be of course. I mean, why would it not be? That is to say..." Then she clamped her lips shut for a moment and then sighed. This was not going well at all. "Forgive me, Lord Hallstone. I am not usually this feather-brained. I do not know what is wrong with me this evening." Well, yes she did, but she wasn't about to admit that to him of all people. Never had a man's mere presence affected her thus. She was usually made of far sterner stuff.

  Brazenly taking her hand, the one that he still held gently in his from their introduction, he squeezed it gently, letting her know she had not offended him. "I take your meaning, my lady. Do not worry. I am used to the odd reaction to my person." He shrugged before releasing her hand. Diana had barely noticed when he had held her within his powerful grip, but she did indeed notice when he let her go, much to her annoyance. Immediately, she missed the heat from his body that had somehow managed to seep into her skin even with the layers of fabric between them. "My mother was English, my father Scottish. I grew up in London almost as much as I did in the Highlands. So while I do use the occasional Scottish turn of phrase and my voice does have an accent, I am more English than Scottish, I fear." Then he twisted his lips in a grimace. "Much to my father's dismay, I'm afraid."

  Something in his tone as well as his choice of words told her that he was not nearly as unaffected by what was obviously a complex family relationship as he pretended. Standing there facing her, he seemed, well, a little lost was the best way she could describe him, even though that made no sense at all.

  Still, Diana did not know quite how to reply so instead she said nothing. She did not know this man, knew nothing really beyond the fact that he was devastatingly handsome. And that he made her legs weak and her tummy make an odd sort of flipping sensation. Patience had been correct on that count, it seemed. She was also well aware that they had been alone together behind a closed door for a very long time. Nothing good could come of that, yet she was also loath to let him leave.

  Finally, Diana decided she needed to say something. "I would offer an apology, my lord, and beg you to forgive me for being so bold, but I am not certain you would welcome one."

  This time when Lachlan laughed, it was no polite chuckle but a deep, resounding laugh that seemed to bubble up from inside of him. "Ah, my dear Lady Diana. You are a joy! I hope that whatever man holds your affections knows what a treasure he has. Beautiful, polite, and intelligent. I can give you no greater compliment than that, lass."

  At his words, a warm glow suffused Diana. She knew she was pretty, perhaps prettier than most ladies of her age or younger. She had been trained from birth to be unfailingly polite. However no one had even mentioned before that she was intelligent. "Thank you, my lord. I think. However there is no man who holds my affections, contrary to rumors otherwise. I do not even have a suitor at the moment." Then she offered him her most dazzling smile to prove that she had accepted the compliment in the spirit that it had been given.

  She had no idea why she had felt the need to add that she was not betrothed or that no one was courting her. She was not so silly as to think that he would be interested in her. Yes, she was a viscount's daughter but she was also almost always connected to Lord Hathaway in some fashion. And the marquess would no doubt hear every last salacious detail about how she had waited for years in eternal hope of marrying a man that did not want her. He would see her as the foolish chit that so many others did. If that did not change his good opinion of her, nothing would. Strangely, she prayed that it would not.

  "Then that is truly a pity for the other men of London," he said, a flash of something lighting his eyes from a midnight hue to something closer to cobalt. "But then again, if your affections were held elsewhere, we would not be speaking at this precise moment, would we?

  "Doubtful, my lord," Diana replied, feeling a warm glow suffuse her. What on earth was wrong with her? She was never this much of a ninnyhammer! "And that would be a pity as well."

  He raised a single eyebrow, a wealth of comment in that single gesture. "Would it now?"

  "Yes." She leaned toward him a bit, well aware that she was being completely improper and not caring a whit. If she was to be foolish, then she would indulge completely. "For I have a confession to make. I am enjoying myself far more this evening than I have in quite some time. More than even the Weatherby house party a few months ago when I played matchmaker."

  That made the marquess laugh, though again it was not a cruel sound. Rather, it was more like one of delight. "And you like playing matchmaker, do you? That is a bit odd for an unwed young lady with no suitors. I would think you would be doing everything within your power to snare a husband for yourself."

  "I am a bit of a puzzle in that regard, my lord," Diana tossed back, amazed at how freely she spoke her mind with this man and realizing that she probably should hold her tongue. Still, she continued on when he showed no sign of being in the least offended. "The truth is, I am a romantic at heart. If that makes me a foolish female, so be it. However if I see two friends who are obviously in love, yet refuse to act upon those feelings, I do enjoy giving a little nudge where I can." She shrugged again. "Inappropriate perhaps, but there you have it."

  "We are not so different then, my lady," he said inclining his head. "Unfortunately, while I believe in love, I also believe that sometimes duty must come first. I also do not believe that it is an emotion meant for me. History has taught me to be wary."

  "Why can you not strive for both?" Diana challenged, knowing she would do well to hold her ton
gue before it got her into trouble. All she needed was for the marquess to mention this conversation to someone - anyone really - and her mother would pack her off to the country before the season even fully started.

  For a moment, Lachlan appeared to want to say something more but then he shook his head. "Though this conversation has been nothing but delightful and enlightening, my dear, I am afraid that I must leave on that rather vague note, your question to remain unanswered, I fear. We both know what would happen if we are discovered, and I do not wish to damage your reputation, as we have been in here a rather long time. I do not know you and you, alas, do not know me. I could be a rake and wastrel of the worst sort for all you know. I would not force you to unknowingly bear that burden."

  "Somehow, I very much doubt those things are true, Lord Hallstone," she replied but did not stop him from leaving when he reached for the door's handle. He was correct. For as delightful as this interlude had been, one of them really did need to depart - and quickly. "In fact, I think you are most likely every bit the gentleman."

  He inclined his head to her once more. She was correct, in a sense. He was a gentleman. At least at the moment. "And for that bit of confidence, I thank you." Then he was gone, leaving Diana alone in the library, the flickering light of the fire casting long shadows across the room. Without thinking, she sank down onto the couch, her legs no longer able to support her.

  The room changed when he departed, Diana noted as she leaned back into the comfortable couch. Though the fire was still bright in the hearth, it was as if some of the light went with him and most certainly all of the warmth. It was a silly notion and she well knew it, but it seemed true, nonetheless. He was also correct when he said that they did not know each other. He had hinted that he might be a rake - or worse - though she doubted that was true. She usually had very good instincts about people and every part of her truly believed that Lachlan McKenna was a good man. Probably very complex, given his parentage, but still a good man.