Page 1 of The Duke and the Hellion Bride

ChapterOne

“Here 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.”

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