Chapter Nineteen

Lachlan stared at the piece of paper in his hand that had been delivered to him in his second floor library mere moments ago.  It was not written by Diana.  Of that much he was certain.  Yet it still bore Lord Westfield's seal and was written in a decidedly feminine hand.  That left the most logical of suspects to be Marie, Diana's maid, or Ursula Saintwood herself.  He thought he had a better chance at becoming the next Prince Regent than he did at winning over the heart and mind of Lady Westfield.  However there could be no other explanation.  He sincerely doubted the maid would be so bold.

The missive indicated that Diana would be attending Lord Devonmont's musicale that evening.  Lachlan had not planned to attend the fête, instead thinking that Diana would choose a far less scandalous and public location for the evening.  After all, the Devonmont musicale did have something of a reputation for creating scandals.  Given that most everyone was still gossiping about his little spectacle with Claire outside of Madame LaVallier's shop the other day, he would have thought she would be keen to avoid a place where she might be whispered about.

That seemed not to be the case, however.

Well, if that was where Diana would be, then so would Lachlan.  He loved her.  He wanted her back.  And he would fight whomever he had to in order to win her heart once more.

His thoughts were interrupted by Roberts, who cleared his throat rather loudly, making Lachlan turn.  "Lord Candlewood to see you, my lord."

Lachlan was not at all surprised to see the notorious duke lounging in the doorway behind the butler, looking rather bored and studying his fingernails as if they were the most fascinating things he had ever beheld.  By now, Lachlan had decided that much of Candlewood's behavior was all an act.  The duke's goal was to pretend he didn't care - about anyone or anything.  Except that Lachlan suspected the man did care.  Very much.

"Thank you, Roberts," he sighed and waved the duke inside.  He had to prepare for the evening.  He needed to gather his thoughts so that he might somehow manage to win Diana back.  He did not need another dressing down from the Bloody Duke to make him feel worse than he already did.

"Very good, my lord."  Then the butler was gone, leaving the two men alone.

Candlewood, it seemed, was anxious to get directly to the point.  "I have news of your erstwhile stepmother.  She is not, I can say for certain, the motherly sort, if you take my meaning."

"Do tell."  Lachlan waved Candlewood into a seat as he poured them both a good, stiff scotch.  "I cannot wait to hear what sort of devilry she is up to now.  Let me guess.  It involves Lord Fontaine?  The man does seem to get around rather a lot."

The duke shrugged as if the man involved did not matter and perhaps it didn't.  "Close.  Lord Meriweather."  He took the glass from Lachlan with a nod of thanks.

"That old lecher?"  Lachlan thought that even Claire had some standards.  "That man must be older than my father."

"He is a marquess."  Candlewood took a sip of his scotch, savoring it for a moment with a small, satisfied smile.  "He is old.  He is wealthy.  And he is not likely to die before your father, despite his advanced age.  If she is careful, she might be able to wed him just after she is out of mourning and a few weeks before the old man dies himself."  Then he raised his glass to the light.  "Excellent scotch, by the way."

"If you help me fix this with Diana and get rid of my stepmother, I shall send you an entire case.  Several, in fact."  If Candlewood could do something about Claire, Lachlan would gladly hand over all of the scotch in Scotland.

"The chit has been a pest, I take it?"

Lachlan grumbled into his own glass.  "Every day she beats on my door, begging to be allowed inside to see me.  So Roberts allows her in, mostly to get her to quiet down for a time, and then the footmen escort her right out the back door and into the mews.  It's either that or allow her to continue to cause a scene."  He shook his head.  "I am uncertain why I fascinate her so.  I am a marquess, but there are others."  He inclined his head.  "I am not even that handsome, really."

"You are a challenge," Candlewood replied quietly as he sipped his drink.  "You are the only man to ever refuse her, at least from what I can gather.  Therefore, this has become a game to her.  A rather sick game, but a game all the same.  I think that in her mind, she feels that if she annoys you enough, you will eventually give in to her demands.  That you will somehow see her worthy to be your lover."

"That is insane."  In fact, it was one of the most insane ideas Lachlan had ever heard in his entire life.

"Madness often is."  Candlewood shrugged.

"I am not mad.  I simply know what I desire.  And what I desire is you, Lachlan, my love."

Annoyed, but again not completely surprised, Lachlan looked up to see Claire standing in the doorway.  No doubt she had somehow discovered a way past his footmen and the other guards he had placed around his town home.  His only saving grace was that the duke was here.  Somehow, he doubted that the Bloody Duke would allow one mad Scotswoman to run roughshod over him.  After all, they were friends.

"Back again, my lady?" Candlewood asked, as he rose, still sipping his drink casually.  "Have you not caused enough of a scene already this season?  Enough, in fact, to last several seasons, I would think."

Without a care for her safety or reputation, Claire stalked across the room to stand in front of the duke, the swish of her skirts the only sound other than their combined breathing.  "I shall continue to cause a scene each and every day until I have what I desire," she practically spat.  "What should already be mine by rights!"

"Yes.  Yes.  I know.  You wish to bed Hallstone and bear his bastard children."  Candlewood yawned.  "Do you have any new material, madam, or is this simply the only story you know?  It really does grow stale, you know."

With a screech, Claire launched herself at the duke, but he managed to catch her neatly and then trap her within his arms, his drink tumbling to the floor.  Clearly he had not been anticipating the attack, for Lachlan knew the man would be upset at the loss of his favorite scotch more than anything else.  

In front of Lachlan, Candlewood held Claire firm in his grip.  "Tut, tut, madam.  I will not have you flailing about while we speak.  It is unseemly.  Especially for a lady."

"Let me go, you brute!" she howled at the top of her lungs.  "Lachlan!  Tell him to release me this instant!"

"No."  When Claire had attacked Candlewood, Lachlan had risen to help his friend, but clearly, no help was needed.  "I grow weary of this, Claire.  I will win Diana back and you cannot stop me.  I do not see how you can expect this plan of yours to work.  Really?  A false pregnancy and whatever else that brain of yours is spinning right at this moment?"

Hissing and spitting like a cat, Claire attempted to get at Lachlan but Candlewood held her fast.  "It does not matter!  I want you and I shall have you!  I love you!"

"Love is not carrying on like a banshee, my good woman," Candlewood whispered almost seductively in her ear as he shifted her in his grasp.  For some reason, she seemed to settle a bit after that, though she did still occasionally struggle to get away.  "There.  Now that is better."

"I love you, Lachlan," she whimpered.  "It has always been you.  Not your father."

"Yet you married him," the marquess countered, still making certain Candlewood had a good, firm grasp on her.  "And I am sorry, Claire, but I do not love you.  I never have and I never shall.  I love Diana.  You know this."  Admitting that love aloud was a very freeing thing, Lachlan quickly realized.

"Bastard!" Claire screeched.  Candlewood must have let down his guard for a moment, for in an instant, she was on the offensive again.  Somehow, the two men managed to get her back under control once more.  This time, however, Lachlan suspected the duke would not go so easy on her.

"Enough of this," the duke growled, clearly annoyed, and pulled Claire so tightly against him that she whimpered - though with fear or pain, Lachlan did not know.  "I tire of this game, my lady, and my friend here has a woman to seduce.  One," he continued on easily when Claire would have interrupted him again, "That is most certainly not you.  So here is what is going to happen."

There was a calmness to the duke's voice that Lachlan envied.  Then again, with his stomach all tied up in knots at the prospect of losing Diana forever, he wasn't certain he could even manage a calm tone.

Once more, Claire attempted to kick herself free and once more she failed, earning her a place more tightly pressed against the duke's chest.  "You do not dictate to me, you bloody bastard!  I am Lady Gladston!"

"And Lady Gladston you will stay," Candlewood said, a deadly tone in his voice that somehow even managed to finally penetrate Claire's madness.  "So long as you do as I say.  For if you do not?  I am certain that I can convince certain influential members of Parliament to grant your ailing husband an annulment."

"On what grounds?"  Yet there was a note of fear in her voice that had not been there mere moments ago.

"Attempted.  Murder."  The duke's words were low and hissed with something decidedly deadly mixed into them.  "You see, my lady, after we last met, I sent one of my men to Scotland.  There he learned the most interesting thing.  Your husband?  He has shown marked improvement in his health since you have departed for London.  So I had them continue on in their search, with Lachlan's blessing, of course."  Candlewood glanced up at Lachlan who only nodded briefly in return.  "Do you know what they found?"

Claire screeched something unintelligible.  Then, "I don't care!"

"But I do."  Suddenly, Lachlan found a calm he did not know he could muster at this point.  "What did you do to my father, Claire?"  Lachlan had no great love for the man but he did not wish to see him murdered, either.

"Nothing."  Suddenly, the woman was shaking within Candlewood's grasp, fearful now.  "I didn't do anything."

The duke smiled, but there was no humor in his expression.  "I have a vial of poison that says you did."  Then he pulled her tighter still until Lachlan wasn't certain the duke was not cutting off her air supply.  Not that he much cared.  "Not to mention witnesses."

"I only wanted him out of the way," Claire cried, much of the fight leaving her.  "I did not want him dead!"  Her eyes leapt to the marquess.  "Lachlan, you must believe me!  I swear I didn't want to kill him.  I just wanted you."

Candlewood shrugged.  "No matter.  The end result would have been the same."  Then he shoved Claire away from him and into the waiting arms of Harry Grier.  "So here is what will happen, Viscountess.  You will remove yourself from London without saying a word to anyone.  Not even that delightful French count you are trying to get a child by.  You will return to Scotland where you will make your apologies to your husband.  Then you will go away, preferably to a convent that my men have already selected for you.  And you will never go near the McKenna family again."

"And if I don't?"  There was still enough spite left in Claire that she would not give in quite so easily.

"Then I will make you disappear.  Permanently."  Candlewood's words were icy cold, his expression bland.  And Lachlan believed he meant every word he said.

Clearly, so did Claire.  "Lachlan, please," she pleaded one last time.  "No!  I cannot live without you!  You must see that!"

"Actually, I see nothing of the sort."  Lachlan knew he needed to be as ruthless as the duke in this moment.  He needed to be the libertine that had once ruled Edinburgh.  But just this once and never again, at least not if he could help it.  "What I see is a woman who has tried to ruin my life and hurt the woman I love.  Pray that I am able to win her back, Claire, or you will not have to worry about what Candlewood's men will do to you.  I will snap your neck myself and be glad of it.  And no one will be any the wiser."  A raised eyebrow was the only sign that the duke approved of Lachlan's plan.  "Now go.  And do not come back."

Claire was still screeching as the Bow Street runner dragged her from the room, kicking and screaming.

"She is not well," Lachlan sighed as her screams echoed down the hallway.

"No, she is not," Candlewood agreed as he straightened the cuffs on his jacket and went to pour himself another drink.  "Which is why I have made arrangements for Claire to stay at a nice little asylum outside of Edinburgh for a time.  She may have the French pox, in which case her lovers will need to be notified.  Or she may simply be mad.  Until she can be examined - and even after - I do not want her running free to cause more havoc."  

That was more than Lachlan thought Claire deserved and he said as much.  "You do her a kindness I would not."

Candlewood shrugged.  "I am not as heartless as I often appear.  I am not a beast either, contrary to most rumors.  Lady Gladston is not well and does deserve some consideration, especially since all is not yet lost with Miss Saintwood.  Diana does love you, Lachlan.  She is angry with you at the moment, true, but it will pass."

"I pray that you are right."  The knot of fear rose up inside of Lachlan again.  "I cannot bear the thought of living without her."

"Then let us make certain that you do not have to."  There was an odd smile now on the duke's face, one that Lachlan had not seen before.  He did not know precisely what it meant, but he was hopeful.  "I have a plan, you see.  One that I think you will like very much.  But if we are to succeed, you must get dressed.  Evening clothes, other than your own skin of course, are the best way to seduce a lady, as I am certain you well know."

As the two of them set off in search of Lachlan's valet, Candlewood outlined his plan.  By the end of it, Lachlan was smiling.  All was not lost and for the first time since that terrible day outside of Madame LaVallier's there was a ray of hope in his life.  Not a big one, mind you, but a ray nonetheless.  And however small it was, Lachlan was willing to cling to it and hang on for dear life.