Chapter Twelve

"I cannot believe the bollocks of that man," Lachlan growled to Candlewood.  "He has been monopolizing Lady Diana all evening.  As if they are courting.  Which they most certainly are not!"

"The man is attempting to salvage his reputation," Candlewood drawled lazily from his seat in the supper box he had rented for his family and friends in the famed Vauxhall Gardens.  One conveniently - and not completely surprisingly - located next to the box rented by Lord Henry Fontaine where Lord Hathaway was currently paying court to Diana.  How or why Candlewood had known to request that specific box, Lachlan would not dare to guess.  "Though God knows he is going about it all wrong.  He's simply making himself look worse, the poor sod.  He rather looks the fool.  And a desperate fool at that."

Lachlan growled.  "You were right to tell me to leave my dueling pistols at home."  He could not explain this sudden tendency towards violence where Hathaway was concerned.  A week ago, he had thought the man a bore and of little consequence.  But that was before Diana.  Before this all consuming desire for her that flared inside of him whenever they met.

"Messy business, dueling," Nicholas yawned as he looked around the gardens slowly.  It was clearly meant to be an innocent gesture, perhaps one of a rake taking note of the women available to pursue that evening, but Lachlan knew the duke did nothing without purpose.  "Blood does stain so.  I would hate to ask the staff here to scrub out both boxes before we could have supper.  It is just not well done, even if it is their job."

That made Lachlan laugh, the first time he had done so since arriving at the pleasure gardens.  "If you had asked nicely, Candlewood, I would have met Hathaway on one of the dark walks and had it out with the man there.  I'm part Scottish, remember.  I have excellent eyesight in the dark."

"I shall remember that in the future," Nicholas said with a dismissive nod, his eyes still flickering about the crowd.  "Just as you need to remember that Lady Trowbridge wants a grandchild and is not picky about what gentleman provides it.  You would do well to steer clear of her.  And her devil's spawn of a daughter."

"Noted," Lachlan replied, thankful that his friend had warned him about the title-grasping mama and her far-too-obedient daughter.

Lachlan had been planning to attend Lady Trowbridge's small but exclusive gathering, guessing that was the most likely event for Diana to attend as well.  It had been something of a shock when a messenger had delivered a note to his home, franked by the Earl of Tottenshire no less, informing him that Lord and Lady Westfield, along with their family, would be attending the spectacle at Vauxhall that night instead.  Written, he had delighted to note, in what he suspected was Diana's flowing hand and smelling of her favorite perfume mixed with the scent of sunshine and lemons, two scents he frequently associated with her.

It had taken little effort on his part to secure an invitation to join Lord Candlewood in the box he planned to reserve for the evening.  When Lachlan happened to mention that the Saintwoods would most likely be in the box rented by Lord Fontaine, however, the man had muttered something about stupid, arrogant dukes who thought they knew better than their friends and ought to leave well enough alone when told to do so.  However, Nicholas had extended the invitation that Lachlan had hoped for, along with the warning not to be late, but not to bring his dueling pistols either.

The comment had not made much sense until Lachlan crossed the bridge and entered the famed pleasure gardens only to find that Lord Hathaway was already there and attempting to woo Diana, so much so that he was making a great spectacle of himself.  

For her part, Diana rather looked as if she might take more pleasure in bashing Hathaway over the head with one of plates of sweetmeats before her.  However, with both of her parents present, it was clear she was being forced to endure the man's company.  On the other hand, the expression on her father's face gave Lachlan hope.  The man did not seem to be at all impressed with the duke's relentless fawning over Diana.  Her mother appeared to be somewhere in the middle regarding Hathaway, though it was clear she was not nearly as enamored of the man as she had once been.

The rest of Diana's family clearly did not want to be bothered with whatever else was going on, preferring to be locked in their own little world of drama.  It was clear that Oliver, Lord Tottenshire, was foxed again, and that this time, his father had noticed, much to the older man's displeasure.  Patience was, of course, doing her part to add to the misery, prattling on about her looks and her most recent shopping expedition to Bond Street, all while hanging onto Lord Fontaine's arm while presenting Lord Hathaway with an abundance of décolletage to ogle if he was so inclined.  Given the way the duke's eyes kept straying from Diana's face to Patience's chest, he did seem to be at least mildly interested with what was on full display.  If Lachlan didn't know any better, he would think the Saintwoods were giving the McKennas steep competition in the family dramatics competition.

With a sigh, Candlewood pushed himself out of his chair, as if moving took far more effort than he wished it to.  "Ah, well, it is time to end this little farce.  Lord Hathaway has had his fun for the evening.  I grow weary of his antics and the fire eater show is about to begin.  I do not wish to be distracted from that.  I have been looking forward to it all day."

Then, without so much as a goodbye to Lachlan, Candlewood picked himself up and ambled over to Fontaine's box.  Or at least he appeared to amble, though upon closer examination, Lachlan could tell that every movement was precise, every step well planned to give the illusion of carelessness while still allowing him to remain alert.

Somehow, Candlewood managed to wedge himself in between Hathaway and Diana, all while keeping his back to Patience so that she would not have a chance to ply her wiles on him.  Then, Hathaway was gone, disappearing into the night with Candlewood.  Nicholas did stop for a moment to give Lachlan a rather jaunty wave but nothing more.  Then the two men were gone, moving in the direction of the Moorish-style tower where the fire eating demonstration would take place within the hour.

That left Diana alone - relatively speaking of course.  Which meant that Lachlan was free to join her.

Diana let out a silent sigh of relief when Lord Candlewood came to collect Lord Hathaway from the supper box.  She wasn't aware that the two men knew each other well enough to wish to take in the fire eater spectacle together but she did not much care either.  The man was gone.  Gads!  How could she have ever thought she wanted to marry the man?  He was a bore!  Not to mention altogether too sure of himself.  Perhaps she had been better off when he was ignoring her.

When the annoying man had inserted himself between her and Patience in Lord Fontaine's box, Diana expected to exchange a few pleasantries with him and then he would be gone.  Instead, he had hung on, much like Lord Wright had in her drawing room before Lachlan had chased him away.  Diana had looked to her parents for help, but despite their odd expressions, they did not seem any more inclined to dislodge a duke from his preferred position beside her than anyone else did.

It occurred to her that Lachlan would not be afraid to do so, but she didn't see him - at least not at first.  Then she had caught a glimpse of him in Lord Candlewood's box, looking as if he would like to murder someone.  Mostly likely Hathaway.

Then, someone had arrived who could finally pry the duke from her side, namely another duke.  One known as the Bloody Duke of Candlewood whom no one with any amount of good sense wished to cross.  Especially when he was unhappy.  Given the glower on his face when he had spoken to Hathaway, he was deeply unhappy at that precise moment.

Then, in an instant, he had become jovial once more, laughing and teasing, but more importantly, leading Lord Hathaway out of the box and down the darkened path towards the area where the fire eating spectacle would occur.  Diana had to applaud the man.  Really, he was nothing short of brilliant.  Diana herself had employed similar tactics at the Weatherby house party to keep Lady Lydia Parham away from Lord Weatherby while Amelia worked her wiles on the man.  It had worked beautifully but it had not been easy.  Therefore, Diana quietly acknowledged the duke's skill in that regard.

She was about to suggest that she find someone to accompany her to help her locate Eliza and Sophia, neither of whom had arrived as of yet, when Lachlan had appeared before her, offering both her and her parents a deep bow.  Diana had not seen him move from his position in Lord Candlewood's box, but then she had been so distracted that she hadn't particularly been looking either.

Now, as if he had been charming the likes of her parents all of his life, Lachlan somehow secured permission to escort her to view the fire eater show as well, since the view from Fontaine's box was obstructed by the overly large crowd that had gathered for the opening night of the gardens.  Before she could utter much more than a garbled assent, Diana found herself on Lachlan's arm strolling down the lantern-lined path as the crowd ebbed and flowed around her.

Unable to stop herself, she smiled a ridiculous smile, one far too large and inappropriate for the mixed crowd she was in.

"Do you find something amusing, lass?" Lachlan asked as he helped her skirt around a man selling meat pies to the lower classes who were also partaking of the fine evening to celebrate the garden's opening for the season.

"No," she shook her head as she watched a mother and father guide their young child through the crowd, careful not to lose sight of him.  Something deep inside of Diana tugged at the scene but she brushed it aside.  "I was merely thinking how much I am enjoying myself now that I am away from Lord Fontaine's box."  Then she cast Lachlan a sly look.  "You received my note, I gather?"

"You mean Lord Tottenshire's note?" he teased gently.  "Of course.  Had no idea your brother wrote in such a feminine hand."

Diana cast him a sideways glance.  "Lout.  You tease, yet had I not sent the note, you would not have known where to find me."

"True enough," he conceded, "though I had hoped to call upon you today so that ascertaining your whereabouts in that manner would not be necessary."

They walked in silence for a few more moments, Lachlan tipping his head in greeting to those he knew as they passed.  Beneath her hand, Diana could feel the coiled strength in Lachlan's muscles and wondered what he looked like without clothes.  She had satisfied her curiosity to taste him but until that moment, she hadn't quite considered what he might look like naked.  Well, that wasn't precisely true.  She had imagined him naked on occasion, particularly when they were kissing, but beyond a few gauzy images, she had not considered the realities of the male body.  Now she did.  And she began to feel very, very warm as images and possibilities danced through her mind.  Her current line of thinking was positively decadent - not to mention extremely indecent - but she could not summon up the moral rectitude to care.

"I had a visitor today," Diana said, attempting to take her mind off thoughts of a naked Lachlan.  "Lady Weatherby stopped by for a visit during calling hours.  She was on something of a mission."  Briefly, Diana filled Lachlan in on her visit with Amelia.  "I informed her that Lady Covington has nothing to fear from you."

"Indeed she does not."  Even after nearly a fortnight of paying calls, Lachlan had not been able to visit Lord Covington in order to return the funds the man had sent Lachlan's father.  Now he knew the reason.  "I have set up a meeting with Covington's solicitor two days hence.  Perhaps the earl will join us, or perhaps not.  In any case, that is the last of my father's debts that I have to settle.  It has taken much less time than I had anticipated.  I expected it to take until at least the end of May, if not well into June."

In an instant, Diana's happy mood vanished.  If the debts were settled, would Lachlan leave London?  He had not said any such thing, but that was the reason he was in town.  It was not her.  She was...well really, she did not know what she was to him, other than a woman he desired physically.  They were courting, yes, but was there more to whatever was growing between them?  She wanted to believe so, especially given the way he kissed her, as if in that moment, nothing else existed except for the two of them.  But what if he was merely toying with her?  Heaven knows that Hathaway had done so often enough.

Then Diana reminded herself that Lachlan was not the duke.  He was sincere.  He did not lie.  At that, she felt a modicum of relief.  Still, she did not have all of the answers she wished for.

"Something worrying you, lass?" Lachlan asked as they approached the Moorish tower.  When she did not answer right away, he pulled aside slightly, into the shrubbery where they were out of the way of foot traffic and away from prying eyes.  "If it is anything I have done or not done, love, you can tell me.  You know that, correct?"

Something in his direct gaze convinced her because before she could change her mind, Diana gave voice to her fears.  "Other than Lord Covington, your father's debts have been settled.  Then what will you do?  Will you return to the Highlands?  Go back to your family?  You father is dying, after all.  He needs you."

"Ah, you are worried that I might depart town in the coming days, is that it?"  Lachlan gave her hand a firm squeeze.  "Fear not, lass, for I've no intention of departing for Scotland any time soon.  There is still much to do in London yet.  Including courting you, aye?  My family can hold their own for a bit longer."

"And when Claire arrives?  For you know she will soon and you will not be able to avoid her."  Diana was not so foolish and innocent as to believe that the other woman would simply trot on back to Scotland when she arrived in London and found Lachlan courting Diana.  In fact, Diana suspected something rather the opposite.  The other woman would likely stay and fight for what she believed to be rightfully hers - namely the McKenna heir and the right to claim the title of his marchioness.

Lachlan acknowledged that with a tilt of his head.  "Then I shall deal with her.  I know what she wants and I am not without friends upon whom I can prevail for help where she is concerned."  Then he slowly began to lead Diana down one of the dark walks and away from the more well-lit paths.  Silently he prayed that no one noticed his actions or that Diana did not protest.  "But enough about Claire and my leaving and all the rest of it."  Once they had rounded a small bend and were illuminated only by the faint light of a handful of far-off lanterns, Lachlan pulled Diana to him and inhaled her scent, allowing it to fill his body and mind.  "Ach, I missed you today, lass."

Diana believed him.  Even if she hadn't, his deepening accent confirmed his statement.  "I missed you, too," she confessed, her voice husky.  "I know I shouldn't feel this way.  We are still only courting after all.  But I felt as if I was incomplete without you today."

Slowly, Lachlan ran his hands over her bare shoulders.  Oh, how he wanted her.  He wanted her beneath him as he took her, sheathed himself inside of her waiting heat.  He wanted to take her innocence and give her his heart in return, for while he could still not quite term what he felt for her as love, it was far deeper than any emotion he had ever experienced.  It might not be love, but it was close enough.

If Lachlan thought she would agree, he would ask her father to allow their betrothal now.  Tonight.  But he was also aware that Diana had spent so long being caged within the confines of Lord Hathaway's tangled web that she needed more time.  She wasn't ready.  Not yet.  And he was not about to add to her fears.  As long as he could keep the duke away from her - preferably far away so there was no chance the other man might compromise her just to be done with things - Lachlan could wait.  He had not always been a patient man, but he was now.

"Do not worry, Diana, love," he finally said as he kissed her forehead, fearful that if he took her lips, he would not be content to stop with a kiss, at least not as hard and painful as his cock was at the moment.  "I will not leave London yet.  Perhaps not ever.  I have duties to Hallstone as well, in case you have forgotten and at present, they are more important than anything my father or my cousin already have well in hand.  There is still much I need to learn about being a marquess.  That might well take all season.  Remember, after my mother passed, I was raised to be a Scottish laird, not an English marquess."

That was part of the duality of his nature, one that Lachlan could not hide.  He was equal parts English and Scottish.  In truth, he did not quite fit in anywhere.  It was one of the reasons he had lived as a libertine in Edinburgh, at least at first.  If he was a rake, he knew precisely where he belonged, no matter the setting.  Not to mention it was exactly where his father thought he belonged as well.  Yet over time, Lachlan had grown bored with that life.  Then, he had become Hallstone and the English part of him, the one he had never truly acknowledged had taken over his life.

"Do you regret it?" Diana asked softly.  "Becoming Hallstone, I mean?  It can't be easy for you.  After all, it is not as if you can hide the fact that you're Scottish."

Lachlan paused.  Out of all of his friends, including Candlewood, no one had ever asked him that question.  In the dim light, he found a small bench, indicating that on some evenings, this pathway was most likely lighted.  Tonight he was thankful for the darkness.  "Not so much, no," he finally replied after thinking over his answer for a moment.  "I regret that after my mother passed, I did not do more to discover this part of myself, waiting for so long to consider that I was the grandson of an English marquess and not just the wild Highlander my father wanted me to be."  Then he smiled, though he was certain she could not see him in the darkness.  "Do you know, love, that you are the first person to ask me how I felt about being Hallstone?  It has always been assumed that I welcomed the title, but the truth is, I was not raised to it."

With the dim light cocooning them, Diana felt that she could be bold, or at least bolder than she would normally be in the light.  "Then it is their loss, Lachlan.  For I find that the more I know of you, the more I wish to know.  You are a complex man."

"Not nearly as much as you credit me with being, lass" he replied, pulling her to her feet and urging her to continue walking.  He was afraid that if he had her seated in the shadows for too long, he might give in to his increasingly strong desire to possess her.

"And I think you are modest."

Then they slipped into companionable silence, wandering the dusky paths, staying away from the brightly lit ones, but never venturing too far into the darkness either.  They were careful to stay just out of the light, preferring to remain in the shadows where their identities could be concealed.

Eventually they made their way towards the Moorish pagoda, taking in the fire eater show, as well as a man who walked on stilts and juggled at the same time.  He wasn't very good, but Diana laughed at his antics anyway, just happy to be in Lachlan's company.  From time to time she glanced at him, his midnight hair catching the light just right so that deep blue streaks appeared, ones that matched the deep blue of his eyes when he was looking at her with what she now knew to be desire.

For now, she was happy, Diana decided.  She was living the life she had imagined for herself only a few short weeks ago when she had determined that this would be her last season.  She hadn't sought Lachlan out, but somehow, he had found her just the same.  She did not want to read too much into that, not the way her friends would have.  For now, Diana knew that she was content and that was enough.

She also knew that once the night ended, she would be faced with the very real dilemma of the duke.  Diana had no earthly idea how to be rid of him, especially now that he had decided that pursuing her was the best way to make his reputation appear unblemished again.  As if that night in Miss Banbrook's company had never occurred.  Clearly the idea of another man, a marquess no less, did not seem to have any effect on Hathaway or his intentions.  If anything, it made the man more determined.  Then there was the matter of Claire McKenna - if and when she ever showed herself in London.

Suddenly, Diana did not want the night to end.  Instead, she wanted it to go on forever.  With a gentle tug on Lachlan's arm, she eased them both back into the shadows, noting that he followed her willingly, trusting her implicitly to guide them both to their destination.  He did not question.  She liked that about him.

"Have something on your mind, do you lass?" Lachlan asked when they were safely away from the prying eyes of society, the dim light from the lanterns barely penetrating through the thick hedges that lined the walk.

"I just...  That is, I mean to say...  I do not wish...."  Diana struggled for the right words, which was unusual for her.  Usually, she knew precisely what she wished to say and how to say it.  She had been told she had an easy way with people and a calming charm.  Yet tonight, she felt as if the ocean and its rough waves were churning inside of her.  Talking a deep breath, she attempted to articulate her feelings once more.  "I am sorry, Lachlan.  I do not know what is wrong with me.  I feel adrift tonight, as though I do not wish for this night to end yet at the same time, I know that it must."  She closed her eyes.  "You must think me a goose, or worse, a flighty female, and that is not how I wish for you to view me."

Slowly, he tugged her towards a bench, this one a little wider than the previous one had been and offering a bit more comfort.  "And how is it that you wish me to view you, lass?" he asked, feeling his body stir to life as Diana's breasts heaved beneath the thin silk of her gown.  Gods above, he wanted her.

She settled beside him before reaching out to take his hand.  "I wish you to view me as a strong, capable female.  One who is not so silly as those you have known before.  I wish you to see me as...different."  Diana could not explain herself, nor was she quite yet willing to admit that she wanted him to see her as special, as something more than just another woman seeking to warm his bed.  She wanted to mean more to him.

"Different?" he asked quietly, reaching out to stroke her cheek.  "Or special to me in a way that no other lass has ever been?"  He thought he had his answer when she closed her lovely eyes.  "For if it is the latter, then aye, lass, I can assure you that you are.  No other woman - and I will not lie, for there have been others, perhaps more than there should have been - makes me feel as you do."

When Diana opened her eyes, Lachlan could see tears sparkling in her lovely blue gaze.  "Do not say such things if you do not mean them," she implored.  "For I find that I care for you a great deal, perhaps more than is wise.  If you do not feel the same..."  She trailed off, unable to give voice to the rest of that awful thought.

"Shush, lass," Lachlan assured her, pulling her closer so that she might feel the weight of his arms around her.  "I might not deserve you, love, but I do want you, Diana.  So much so that it frightens me."  When she shook her head in protest, he stilled her with a kiss on her forehead.  "I was not a good man back in Scotland.  Far from moral, at any rate.  Many of the stories circulating about me are undoubtedly true and I do not deserve someone as good and pure as you.  However, I do want you just the same."  He kissed her again, this time on her eyelids, his tongue tasting the salt of her tears.  He hated that he had put them there.  "And, like you, I cannot give name to what it is I feel for you, but I do know that it is more than I have ever felt for another woman."

"For the moment, that is enough," Diana reassured him.  "I simply need to know that I am not alone in this feeling that churns me up inside."  In truth, if Lachlan asked her to be his, Diana would not hesitate.  What she felt might not be love, but then she had never had any assurances that her marriage would be a love match.  She had been raised to believe that her match with Hathaway was political and that at best, they might share a light friendship.  But love?  Love was never a consideration and she was not quite able to allow herself to dream of it now.

"You are not alone, lass," Lachlan whispered softly, pulling her body closer to his so that he might feel the delicate press of her breasts against his chest, unable to help himself.  "I was raised to believe that I must marry for duty, choosing a docile, biddable wife of Scottish heritage.  Then I met you, and I began to believe that I could seek more."  In truth, the concept of a love match was new to Lachlan as well.  He had come to London to settle debts and, if possible, find a wife of noble birth that would stay out of his way.  Then he had encountered Diana and become enchanted.  After her, no other woman was likely to satisfy him.

At the moment, she was in his arms, warm and willing.  And he was a man, after all.  He could not allow the moment to go to waste.

"What about the duke?" she asked as Lachlan continued to dot her face with light kisses, heating her blood as he did so.

"The duke can go hang for all care," he replied as he placed a kiss to the delicate column of her throat.  When she did not immediately reply, he sighed, nuzzling the perfect spot at the base of her throat that he did so love on a woman.  "Do not fret over him, lass.  He will get over the loss of you the moment another pretty chit comes along."

Diana tilted her head to give Lachlan better access to her collarbone, which he seemed intent on nibbling.  "L...l...loss of me?"  She could not keep the slight stutter out of her voice.

"Aye, lass," he whispered as he kissed her shoulder, tugging the cap sleeve of her gown down a bit as he did so.  "Loss of you.  For he has lost you.  To me."

"Oh, Lachlan," Diana sighed and the wealth of emotion in those two words unleashed the desire he had kept restrained for so long.

Running his hands up the side of her ribcage, he buried his face in the side of her neck, drinking in the essence of her.  When she tentatively twined her arms around his neck, he pressed further.  "I need you, Diana.  Not all of you.  I would not do that to you, at least not here, but I would like just a taste."

When she murmured her assent, Lachlan let out a sigh of relief.  He was so hard for her that he was aching, but he would not seek his own release.  Not yet.  He was well aware that Diana was new to the world of pleasure and he refused to rush her.  However, there was no reason he could not give her a small taste of all of the things he wished to do with her.

Tugging lightly at her bodice, he freed first one breast and then the other from their silken prison.  "Ach, love.  What you do to me."

"Show me," Diana whispered, a note of desperation in her voice as she held him tighter to her.  "I want to know, Lachlan.  All of it."

Spurred on by her words, he traced a line of kisses from her lips down her throat and still lower.  Across her chest to the gentle slope of her breasts and then lower, until he found the very spot he was seeking - her already peeked nipple.  She gasped when he took the tight bud in his mouth and suckled her gently, but she did not pull away.  He knew she wouldn't.  His Diana was far too passionate.

As he suckled at one breast, his fingers toyed with the other, rolling the nipple in between his fingers, tugging and pulling on her slightly until she swayed into him and moaned deep in her throat.  God, she felt so good against him.  So perfect.  So right.  His cock throbbed with need, almost to the point of pain, but he forced thoughts of his own pleasure aside.  In this moment, it was all about her pleasure.  Her needs.  Her desires.

"Lachlan...."  Diana's blood was racing in her veins and she was growing restless.  A deep ache had set up inside of her, one she somehow instinctively knew that only he could ease.  She shifted her legs, pressing her thighs together, embarrassed when she felt the dampness at her very core.

"Do not fight it, love," he whispered, his voice threaded with need.  "Let me give this to you."  He switched his mouth's attention to her other breast, plucking at the one he had just suckled, keeping the rosy pink bud taut and aching.  He could tell by the way she pressed into his hand, making little mewling noises in the back of her throat that she was close to release.  If he could bring her to this point merely by playing with her breasts, how strongly would she react when they were naked together?  There was a part of him that did not want to wait to find out, but he pushed that more animal side of his nature back down, deep inside of him.

He had been that man once.  No longer.  Diana deserved better from him.

"I need you, Lachlan," Diana moaned.  For she did.  She needed him inside of her.  She had enough married friends to know at least the general idea of what went on in the bedroom.  Not that she had ever so much as been kissed before this wild Scot had come to town and swept into her life.  However given the exquisite pressure building inside of her, she knew she was racing towards something, though she did not know what.  None of her friends had been very explicit about that part.

When he did nothing more but continue the maddening but delightful assault on her breasts, Diana grasped the lapels of his jacket, heedless now of who might hear them or stumble upon them.  All the better, for then they would be forced to marry.  At the moment, all she could think of was what pleasures of the flesh she would enjoy if she was Lachlan's wife.  If that made her a trollop or a doxy, well, then so be it.

"I did not wish you hurry you, lass," he sighed as he moved away from her breasts for a moment to kiss her deeply, their tongues tangling with pent up need, "but I can no longer wait to watch your lovely face as you come for me."

Diana bit her lip to keep from crying out as one of Lachlan's hands snaked below her skits and unerringly found her damp center.  "So wet for me," he breathed and there was something of awe in his voice, as if he could not believe that Diana desired him in that fashion.  She did.  She had from the moment they had met.  "You are beyond lovely.  And you are mine."

Then his fingers were teasing her down there, making her quiver in his grasp.  She pushed against him, unable to bear the exquisite pressure building inside of her, but he held her tight against him, the hard, muscled wall of his chest brushing against her overly sensitized breasts, the sensations flying through her body even though she could not feel his skin beneath hers.

"Lachlan, I..."  Then whatever else she was going to say was lost as he dipped a finger inside of her before removing it to tease the little nub of pleasure that she had discovered quite by accent some time ago.

Over and over he repeated the motion - dip and slide, pressing on that sensitive little nub before sliding his finger back inside of her again.  It was magical, these feelings he was evoking within her.  It was beyond anything she had ever imagined and in that moment, she wanted more.  She wanted all of it, him inside of her, pressing deep, filling her until she cried out with need.

Then, in a single, glorious moment, Diana's world shattered into a thousand shards of light, colors cascading around her as she found her release.  She must have cried out, for in an instant, Lachlan was there, capturing her lips with his and kissing her deeply, their tongues tangling as she rode out the final waves of pleasure until she felt herself go limp in his strong arms.

If there was anything better in this world than the feeling of complete and utter contentment that she was now experiencing, Diana did not know what it could possibly be.  This was passion and desire, or at least a taste of it anyway.  If she had married Hathaway, she would never have known that any emotion could be so sweet and yet so satisfying at the same time.  She was certain of it.  And now that she had tasted it, she wanted to hold this feeling - the very same one Lachlan inspired - deep inside of her.  Forever.