My Reckless Surrender (14 page)

Diana's voice was warm. “No need to apologize, Lady Charlotte. The ensemble is a favorite of mine too.”

The countess gave a humph of disapproval, and her voice was icy. “Mrs. Carrick, may I present my daughter Lady Charlotte Goudge?”

Diana dipped into another of those intriguingly self-possessed curtsies. “Lady Charlotte.”

“We have an appointment, Tarquin,” his aunt said. “Mrs. Carrick.”

Another curtsy. “Your ladyship.” Her voice remained firm and polite.

As his aunt marched away, Charlotte lingered and smiled at Diana with a shy pleasure that made him wonder if he'd underestimated her. “I hope we meet again, Mrs. Carrick.”

“I'd like that,” Diana said. “But I'm in Town only a short while.”

Charlotte spared Ashcroft a nervous glance. He could guess the terrifying tales she'd heard about him from the family. He wouldn't be surprised if his relations featured him as the monster in their bedtime stories. “Mama holds a musicale next Thursday. I'm sure she'd be delighted if you attended.”

The fleeting wryness in Diana's expression indicated she knew the countess would be anything but delighted to have a woman of unknown pedigree infiltrating her house. To her credit, she responded calmly. “I'm already engaged Thursday next. Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“Charlotte!” His aunt paused in the doorway and shot a gimlet glance in their direction. Charlotte blushed, curtsied to Diana, and hurried after her mother.

“That performance was completely unnecessary,” Diana hissed, at last looking at him. Her face was pale, apart from a flush of color high on her slanted cheekbones. “What if she fathomed I was your mistress?”

“I wouldn't introduce my mistress to her,” he said with an equanimity born of his drunken pleasure in being with her.

Oh, he was in sad straits. Poor Ashcroft, slain by a pair of brilliant gray eyes. And who would think gray eyes could scorch? Yet unquestionably they did as they leveled on him.

“Yet you did,” she said implacably.

She didn't budge. He'd be disappointed if she had. So far, she'd never disappointed him. He couldn't imagine that continuing—experience indicated she would sooner or later.

“Tarquin!” His aunt still stared at them.

He ignored the summons of family authority. The countess should be used to that. Beatings had made minimal difference to his younger self. A sharp word to the man would have no more effect.

He bent closer to Diana, inhaling more of her delicious fragrance. “Does one encounter make you my mistress?”

“Clearly under your definition, not.” She made an angry sound deep in her throat, not that different from the sounds of pleasure she made when he took her. A molten surge of desire turned him blind to his surroundings.

“
Tarquin!
”

“I have to see you tonight,” he said urgently, desperate to continue the argument but knowing it was impossible. How tragic he found squabbling with Diana more rewarding than any other conversation he remembered.

“I said I'd send you word.”

“You didn't.” Vaguely, he was aware of her friend stepping closer, but his attention was all for Diana.

“No.”

“Wait here.”

Her lips tightened with displeasure. “I'm not a hound, Ashcroft. I don't do your bidding without question.”

He broke his rule about never begging. “Please.”

“You have to go. The countess is waiting.” She started to wheel away, but he grabbed her arm, using his body to shield her from his aunt's curiosity.

“One minute. That's all I ask.”

She sent him a straight look under her marked brows. They were dark for a woman of her blondness, adding an intriguing severity to her face. “But that isn't all you ask, is it?”

“Diana…”

She released an impatient sigh. “I want to see the antiquities. I'm not going home yet.”

With that, he must be content. He gave a sharp nod and snatched her hand. He pressed a brief kiss like a brand of possession on the back of her glove. For one tantalizing instant, he felt the living heat of her flesh through the thin kid. He watched with satisfaction as her pupils dilated in helpless response, in spite of her defiant words.

She tried to play games with him. That was fine. He could play games with the best of them. Nothing could make him doubt the genuine attraction drawing them together.

He let a confident smile curve his lips, partly because he knew it would make her seethe. Without another word, he turned on his heel and followed his aunt into the next room.

D
iana sucked in a shuddering breath and collapsed against the case behind her. The edge of the glass dug into her back, but she wasn't sure her knees would hold her if she tried to stand unsupported. One shaking hand lifted to press against her breast as she tried to quiet her heart's wild race.

“So that's Ashcroft,” Laura said softly, coming forward.

“Yes.” Anything further was beyond her.

Only five days since she'd seen him. How had she forgotten his physical impact? The way her senses flared in response to his voice or the touch of his hand. The spark in the air when he was with her.

“He's…impressive.” Laura's voice was neutral. Which was odd, given how strongly she opposed Burnley's scheme.

Diana fought to regain her equilibrium. She was a mature woman of twenty-eight. She was a widow. She'd run the Cranston Abbey estate for the last ten years. She wasn't a silly green girl in a flap after her first encounter with an attractive man.

“I'm sorry I didn't introduce you.” Her voice was unsteady.

Her friend's lips curled in a wry smile, and her dark eyes were alight with curiosity. “You were otherwise occupied.”

Diana straightened, drew another shaky breath—she kept forgetting to breathe—and flexed her tingling fingers. He'd kissed her hand. Given what else he'd done, that should hardly register. Something about the gesture's possessive gallantry pierced right to her heart. Nor could she forget the brief heat of his mouth, burning even through her glove.

Laura paused thoughtfully. “He isn't what I expected.”

Diana released a short, unamused laugh. Gradually, the world stopped wobbling and returned to its normal orbit. “He isn't what I expected either.”

“I thought he'd be cold, vain, self-obsessed. I thought he'd treat you with contempt. That's far from the truth.” Again she paused, as though considering whether to continue. Her voice lowered. “He's besotted with you.”

Dizziness returned with a vengeance. For a second, the room revolved before Diana remembered to gulp a breath. “Don't…don't be ridiculous.”

Laura shrugged. “I know what I saw.”

Diana tried to adopt a careless tone. “He's a rake. He's had more women than I've had hot breakfasts. I'm just one more.”

“If you say so. After all, you know him better than I.” Laura's eyes focused on a spot over her shoulder. “He's back.”

Diana whirled, her heart hammering wildly. Ashcroft stood in the doorway, watching her. He was dressed in the height of fashion in a dark blue coat and biscuit-colored trousers. He carried his stylish high-crowned hat in one hand, and his hair was disarmingly ruffled. As there wasn't a hint of breeze inside or out, she guessed he'd run his hand through it in frustration at dealing with that fearsome aunt. That shouldn't strike her as endearing, but somehow it did.

“Besotted,” Laura murmured
sotto voce
at her side.

“You waited,” he said softly, striding toward her and stopping a few paces away.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The words they spoke belonged to a different world from the silent communication flowing between them. She resisted the overpowering urge to step forward and fold her arms around him, rest her head on his shoulder.

It seemed beyond belief that their sexual encounters, however torrid, created this intensity. It was like her heart beat at his command. Her head swam, and she forced air into her lungs.

Still, the silent conversation continued, incessant as waves against the seashore.

I want you.

Touch me.

Take me to your bed.

Never let me go.

She gasped in distress and faltered back as if she'd spoken the last words aloud.

What was wrong with her? She used Ashcroft for her own ends. She lied and cheated and treated him little better than a stud bull. Nothing existed between them except sex.

Although that wasn't how it felt right now.

If she was honest, that wasn't how it had felt when he held her in his arms through a long, hot afternoon either.

She did him enough injury without risking an emotional connection. What she'd planned had always been predicated on his feeling nothing beyond passing sexual interest.

Laura's certainty plagued her, set up an ominous drone in her head. One word.

Besotted.

No, he couldn't be. It was outside the realms of possibility. He was a man of the world, and she was a country bluestocking. He was just caught up in the excitement of a new affair.

She blinked and forced herself into the present. Laura stood silently at her side, avidly watching the interaction. Her friend, so perceptive, would divine something of what ran through Diana's head.

Pray God she didn't divine everything.

Another quivering breath, and Diana made herself speak, act as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. “Lord Ashcroft, allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Laura Smith.”

She found little satisfaction in noticing Ashcroft took a fraction too long to return to reality as well. He bowed low to Laura just as he'd done to her, as if he addressed women of rank. “Miss Smith.”

Laura curtsied. “My lord.”

“Are you enjoying your visit to Town?”

“I must admit I prefer the countryside.” Laura made no attempt to mask her inspection of him.

Nor did he conceal his interest in her. Perhaps he subjected every female to this detailed appraisal. Perhaps he sized Laura up as a bed partner. The man Burnley had described wouldn't hesitate to seduce another woman while in a current mistress's presence.

Diana didn't think that was what Ashcroft was doing.

There wasn't a hint of the sensual assessment she'd read in his eyes from their first meeting. Laura and Ashcroft weighed each other up as adversaries before a fight.

“Has your aunt gone?” Diana asked, forcing a steady tone even as her heart dipped and leaped with excitement.

He shook his head. “They're a few rooms ahead. I told them I forgot my gloves.”

“Did you?”

“No, they're in my pocket.” A faint smile slanted his lips. She wished she didn't find it utterly beguiling.

“If you delay too long, she'll suspect something.”

He grabbed her arm, his hold unshakable. “Give me five minutes alone with you.”

He couldn't mean what she thought he did. Not here. And not in five minutes.

“We're in a public place,” she protested, although the thrill of his touch through her silk sleeve surged across her skin like flame.

“Well, let's find somewhere less public.”

“I'm not going to…” She cast a frantic glance at Laura, who watched as if observing a theatrical performance.

He laughed softly, and said under his breath, “Wait until you're asked.”

She might take his dismissive response seriously if she couldn't smell his desperation. He was fired with lust and frustration. She'd recognized that from the second she'd seen him today.

She wasn't in a much better state.

“I'll go into the next room.” Laura sent them a surprisingly conspiratorial smile.

Ashcroft chuckled. “You're an angel, Laura Smith.”

“I'm unfailingly loyal to my friends, my lord.” Even through rising excitement, Diana heard the warning in the words.

“I admire that,” Ashcroft replied without a trace of mockery.

Even more surprisingly, Laura graced him with one of her lovely smiles. She was a pretty girl and would be considered a local beauty if she wasn't so self-effacing outside her immediate circle. “Just remember it, my lord. Five minutes.”

Without sparing them another glance, she walked toward the second door. Diana's attention immediately focused on the man towering over her. She fought back a foolish feminine feeling of safety.

He was about as safe as a cobra.

“What do you want, Lord Ashcroft?” she asked with completely manufactured bravado.

“Don't be a fool, Diana. You know what I want.” His voice lowered to a purr. “I want you.” His fingers tightened, and he dragged her toward a large alabaster sarcophagus propped against the wall.

“Ashcroft!” She tried and failed to summon any real resistance. He was mad to consider seducing her in the hallowed halls of the British Museum. “You will not do this!”

“Oh, I will damn well do this,” he muttered, shoving
her into the corner behind the monolith. The stone coffin shielded them from the doorway, although if anyone came into the room, they'd immediately notice the couple embracing in the shadows.

“Your aunt…”

“Bugger my aunt.” Roughly, he pressed her against the wall, gripping her arms above the elbow.

She was such an idiot. She should scream for help. She should kick him in the shins until he let her go. Instead, a torrent of anticipation crashed through her veins, making her heart dance and her breath catch.

She forced a calmness she didn't feel into her voice. “Laura said five minutes. She'll return even if your aunt doesn't find us. Someone else could come in. There's enough scandal in the two of us being seen together in a crowd, let alone caught
in flagrante delicto
behind some pharaoh's coffin.”

He growled low in his throat. “Diana?”

Something in the way he said her name halted her tirade. She sucked in a breath and gazed into his face. He was pale, and a muscle flickered in his cheek, a sign of extreme emotion. His green eyes were brilliant and focused unwaveringly on her. He shifted one hand to hold her face, his thumb beneath her chin, his fingers warm against her jaw.

“Y…yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Wha…”

Her outraged question died on a muffled moan as he bent his dark head and placed his mouth on hers.

Her anger, her confusion, her guilt, her piercing loneliness, all coalesced into white heat. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, inviting him in. It no longer mattered where she was or who might discover them. What mattered was that Ashcroft touched her.

For the first time in five days, she felt whole.

His tongue tangled with hers as she sagged against the wall. He made a sound of unmistakable satisfaction and
swept her up against him, devouring her with rapacious concentration. She countered his blazing passion with her own, no longer pretending she didn't want him as much as he wanted her. Her arms circled his back, drawing him closer.

She wanted him closer. She wanted him inside her. Primitive need was like a mallet pounding on her heart.

Just as she thought her legs would fold under her, he raised his mouth. He sighed and pressed his cheek against hers.

She gasped for air, lost in the wild memory of the kiss. She felt the faint roughness of his beard. She smelled the fresh warmth of his skin, the heat of his desire.

“Why didn't you send me a message?” His voice grated like stones across gravel, his breath brushed her ear, stirring tendrils of hair. “Why did you make both of us wait?”

She swallowed and opened her eyes and strove to put two words together. He was hot and hard against her skirts. She stroked his back in a rhythm that soon developed suggestive momentum.

She closed her eyes again and basked in the quiet, glorious communion. So stupid to feel she belonged here, in Ashcroft's arms.

“Diana, tell me why,” he whispered.

Why hadn't she contacted him? She should have. Lord Burnley insisted she go to Ashcroft's bed as soon as she returned to London. The marquess would be furious to know what little use she'd made of the last days. Given he had her watched, he probably did know.

She'd left Cranston Abbey determined to bring this snarled scheme to an end. That meant spending every hour with Lord Ashcroft in the hope his seed took root.

With a man like Ashcroft, out of sight meant out of mind. If she didn't entertain him while he expressed interest, he'd likely look elsewhere. She was an idiot if she expected him to wait in chaste expectation like Sir Galahad praying for the appearance of the Grail.

Yet still she hadn't pursued her conquest.

On the first day, she'd claimed a headache and retired to her room. Not completely a lie. Guilt and emotion had tormented her all the way back from Surrey.

Then at her suggestion, she and Laura had set out to sample the delights of the capital. She knew it was childish to avoid her task, but she couldn't bear to fling herself back into the sea of deceit.

Desperately, she searched for some lie to explain her tardiness in contacting Ashcroft. Instead, she found herself answering honestly.

“I can't tell you,” she replied, hating the sadness in her voice. She settled more closely against him. He was so big and strong, he made her feel no harm could befall her while he held her. “Don't ask me.”

How could she admit that sheer terror stopped her contacting him? Terror of this overwhelming joy she felt holding him, touching him, kissing him. Terror of how helpless she was against her unwelcome fascination. When she'd made her devil's deal with Lord Burnley, this wasn't what she'd bargained for.

Five minutes, Laura had promised. If not Laura, the countess would appear with her stentorian voice and cold eyes.

He'd been careful of her reputation with his aunt. Now her brain functioned again, she knew he wouldn't compromise her here where discovery was so likely. She smothered the insidious warmth that filled her at the knowledge.

Slowly he drew away. Only far enough to look into her face. He framed her cheeks in his palms and stared into her eyes.
Dear heaven, let him not see the falsehood there.

“Were you torturing me?”

“No!” she said before she thought that the role she played, of a woman learning worldly games, supported such a claim. Her hands dropped to his hips. She yearned to feel his bare skin under her palms, test his heat and power.