Page 1 of The Duke and the Hellion Bride (Duchesses of Convenience #7)

Chapter One

“H ere he comes,” Diana’s mother, the Dowager Viscountess of Langham said eagerly. “Diana, straighten up, will you? And smile – but not too much. You do not want to look simple. Nor do you want to look too eager. Yet, you do not want to appear standoffish either. Make sure you ask plenty of questions, albeit not too many. And please, whatever it is that you do, do not --”

“Mother,” Diana sighed. “Will you please calm yourself. I worry that you might have a stroke.”

Beside the two, Diana’s cousin, Evelyn, burst into a fit of giggles.

“Do not start!” her mother snapped at Evelyn, only to then turn her rancor on Diana. “That tongue...” She shook her head. “See that you mind it. The marquess is a proud man, and he will not appreciate being made fun of.”

“Even if he deserves it?” Diana chided her mother.

Again, Evelyn began to giggle.

At twenty and three, Evelyn was a year older than Diana, but the two were close, almost sisters. Albeit, their personalities were not as sisters were, because where Evelyn was somewhat of a spinster with no desire to meet a man or any indication that she ever would, Diana was at least accepting to the idea.

Her mother widened her eyes at her in warning. “Do not test me, Diana. Not today.”

“It was a jest, mother. That is all.”

“Save the jokes for your cousin.”

“What did I do!” Evelyn cried.

“This is serious business,” her mother continued. “And it should be treated as such.”

“I am aware,” Diana said, and then muttered under her breath, “You have made that perfectly clear.” To that, Evelyn smirked.

“You have no idea the strings that I had to pull so the marquess would even look in your direction. All that will be for nought if you do not behave yourself. The time I put in. The effort!”

“Oh well, I would hate to have wasted your time.”

Never mind my own time. Never mind how much of that has been wasted on this nonstop parade of suitors and hopefuls who, were the circumstances even slightly different, I would not be expected to throw a bucket of water on them were they on fire. Let alone marry.

Diana sighed at the thought. Such was the way of things, she supposed. Worse that there was little she could do about it.

It was a garden party that Diana had been dragged to today. Not that she was aware of who it was exactly that was hosting the garden party. Although now that Diana thought of it, she wasn’t entirely certain that she had been told. Really, it did not matter. What mattered was the reason that her mother had insisted that she come.

That reason was quickly making his way toward where Diana and her mother and cousin loitered expectantly by the fountain at the garden’s center. He was tall and strapping in stature. Blonde of hair, confident of stride, his face was slightly pinched, but he wore it proudly, aware that it mattered little how he looked because who he was, was all people cared for.

Lord Herrod was a man whom Diana had heard a lot about these past twenty-four hours, the most recent suitor whom her mother very much expected to be the last. For years now, Diana had suffered under the weight of expectation, forced to meet and court what felt like a dozen men of similar ilk in her mother’s never-ending quest to finally see her wed.

It was getting to the point where threats were starting to be levelled her way. Those being, if you don’t find a man soon, desperate measures would be taken. Whatever that might mean.

“Lord Herrod,” her mother purred as the marquess reached them. “Might I say, it is an honor to see you again.”

“The honor is mine,” the marquess responded in kind. He took her mother’s hand and gave the back of it a wet kiss. “Lady Langham, as the day is long you are all the more beautiful for it.”

“Oh, my,” her mother giggled.

“Ah, and this must be your daughter whom I have heard the world of.” He turned his attention on Diana. “Your mother has told me of you, Miss Goldsmith. I only wish now that she had warned me.” He looked at her expectantly.

“Warned you of what?” Diana asked.

“To take an extra breath, of course,” he chuckled. “Because I find myself losing my first, such is your own beauty.” He flashed a wickedly handsome smile and reached for Diana’s hand. Diana had to force herself not to groan, holding her hand out for the marquess to take and kiss... very wetly.

“You are too kind,” she said.

“And lucky to boot,” he said, releasing her hand, to which Diana had to force herself not to wipe it on her dress. “It is my hope that you might do me the honor of a dance, Miss Goldsmith? Thus, making me the happiest man in all of England.”

Another suppressed groan on Diana’s part.

They were all the same. The feigned compliments. The excessive flirtations. That sense that what was said was merely performative, because this little rendezvous had been set up in advance and it would not be Diana’s choice if the marquess chose her as his mate.

Diana was not opposed to marriage. She, like most women of the ton, spent their young lives thinking to the future and what that might look like. She, like most, wanted to meet a man whom she could fall in love with, grow old with, raise a family with and be happy. Why ever not?

The problem was her mother. With five daughters to rear, she had done well to see Diana’s older sisters married off to dukes – a true accomplishment which she spoke of often. And now with Diana as the last to worry about, she had made it her mission to ensure the same. Maybe not a duke, but a man of standing, respectability, one whom she could brag about to anyone unlucky enough to ask.

It was a level of expectation that did not sit well with Diana. She wanted to please her mother. She really did. But she did not want to do it in lieu of her own happiness.

And so it was that she had no choice in her response to his question.

“A dance? Nothing would please me more,” Diana said to the marquess. “Mother, if you do not mind?”

“Please, please. You cousin and I need a refreshment. Is that not right, Evelyn?”

“What?” Evelyn hadn’t been paying attention. Her mind tended to wander, and she was gazing across the garden, likely at a gentleman who had caught her eye. “Oh!” her eyes went wide when she saw everyone looking at her. “Yes... I think?”

“Come, girl,” Diana’s mother sighed and took her hand. “Let us leave them be.”

With little choice in the matter, Diana allowed the marquess to lead them across the garden where a small space set aside for dancing had opened. There were eight couples currently in the throes, and with their addition it made nine.

“I find the waltz a tantalizing dance, don’t you?” The marquess purred as he pulled Diana into his body; his hand found her waist... a little lower than what was expected. “Ordinarily, I do not partake. Leave it to the French,” he chortled, his grip tightening. “But just this one time.”

What else could Diana do but allow herself to be led? And with so many eyes now on her and the marquess, she had little choice but to act as if she was enjoying herself. Which she most certainly was not.

Before meeting with the marquess, Diana had promised herself to be open minded. With her mother’s incessant hounding, she had wanted to be swept off her feet. Sadly, a few moments of conversation and a few more moments of dancing and she knew without a shadow of the doubt that the marquess was not for her.

A shame the same could not be said of the marquess.

“You are quite the dancer,” he complimented her as they moved across the floor. His hand was held far too tightly. His body pressed too closely. And as he spoke, he leaned in as if to whisper into her ear. “My oh my, you are trouble .”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Come now,” he chortled. “Do not play games with me. I wish to be blunt with you, if I may?”

She said nothing, knowing it would make no difference.

“When I saw you earlier, I was captured in ways I knew not possible. I was told that you were a beauty, but I knew not how much...” He pulled away a little, enough to get a better look at her. Typically, his eyeline fell south toward her chest where it lingered inappropriately. “And now that I have seen you, I know that there is nothing in this world that will stop me.”

“St -- stop you?”

“From making you mine.”

“That is...” Diana felt her face pale. “Very forward of you.” She had no idea what else to say.

The smile that reached his eyes suggested he took her comment as a compliment. “I often am, when it comes to getting what I wish.”

The two continued to dance, the marquess eyeing Diana seductively the entire time. He seemed to think that she was as keenly interested in him as he was in her; the smile he wore was as sickening as it was confident. Through the crowd, Diana spied her mother watching them, and she could not have looked happier with herself.

It was all too much. Unfair. Typical, because of course this was bound to happen. A dozen men had been paraded before Diana in the past few years, none anything special, but none as forward and obvious and sleezy as the marquess.

When the dance finally came to an end, Diana was quick to speak. “I am afraid I need to rest a moment.”

“Oh...”

“If you do not mind?” she said with a polite smile. She could see his expression harden and she added, “I will find you once I return. I promise.”

That did it. He smiled broadly, took her hand, and gave it a wet kiss. “I will wait like no man ever has.”

She forced a smile, fluttered her eyelashes, and then hurried away before he could change his mind. Through the crowd, she made sure to go in the opposite direction of where her mother was standing in wait. Where she was going, she had no idea. So long as she could not be found.

Diana found such a spot a few moments later.

It was around the side of the great manor, technically not a part of the back garden, rather a pathway that connected the front drive to the back garden. It was a narrow maze of hedges, and she was happy to sit herself in a small alcove that they made while she pondered what she was going to do.

I cannot let him get his way. No matter what, I will not give in to the marquess.

Easier said than done. The marquess was clearly a man who got what he wanted. Worse, her mother was through being patient and if he insisted on courting her, even marrying her, she knew her mother would jump at the chance.

This meant that Diana was going to have to do something brash. Something that would turn the marquess off completely. A risk, she knew. But desperate times...

A chance presented itself a moment later.

As Diana sat hidden in that small alcove of hedges, she heard footsteps approaching. They were heavy, so they must have been male. In her mind, it was the marquess, coming to see where she had gotten herself off to.

This was her chance. Alone, so there would be no social embarrassment. If she was to... strongly turn him down, perhaps that would be the end of it? Not something that Diana wanted to do, but something she must do.

The footsteps came closer.

She was crouched down, but she got to her feet, bracing herself. An idea suddenly came to mind, a means by which she knew that she could turn him away while claiming that she was simply trying to defend herself – she was being followed, she was fighting for her life! It was not her fault, and she was simply acting accordingly.

Through the hedge she spied a thick stick, and she snatched at it, holding it above her head as if she meant to hit who came for her. Which she very much did.

Her breathing rose. Her heart began to race. Flashes through her mind of what her mother would say when she found out, pushed down because the footsteps were upon her. A shadow rounded the small alcove and without stopping to consider the consequences, she acted.

Diana swung the stick with all her might and --

A pair of strong hands caught her arm in a firm grip.

“What on earth are you doing?” spoke a voice she did not recognize, belonging to a man she had never seen before.

Diana gawped at the stranger. From his dark mane of hair to his dark green eyes to his square chin to his indomitable presence, she found herself completely in his thrall.

Her heart was still racing, but it was for a different reason than what had set it off earlier. It was... confusion? Excitement? Embarrassment because she could not believe what she had just tried to do. And to a man such a this! Someone so gorgeous as he.

Who is this man?