My Reckless Surrender (16 page)

Diana was so still, he wasn't even sure she was breathing. She stared at him out of eyes mysterious in the darkness. He couldn't mistake her expression.

She looked utterly desolate.

Could she care so much?

She looked as though he'd broken her heart. He stifled the betraying words that welled up, begging for her comfort, begging for her regard. He'd made enough of a fool of himself for one night.

He was an adult, not a sniveling child.

This woman had come to him for sensual experience. That he could give her. So much sensual experience that she'd forget this difficult moment where he felt he'd sliced open his veins and bled out every mortifying secret.

“I want you,” he growled, prowling closer.

“Ashcroft…” she faltered, sidling back. The desolation lingered.

He couldn't bear to see her so open and defenseless. It made him yearn to be a different man, a better man. The kind of man who could offer her forever and not just a tawdry affair. A man she'd respect instead of just desire.

Although desire offered its own rich bounty.

“Enough,” he said in a guttural voice. Without giving her a chance to flee, he swept her up into his arms, turned, and strode toward the open doors facing the fragrant garden.

 

As he hoisted her high against his chest and climbed the shallow steps, she trembled with need. It had been like this from the first. Ashcroft touched her, and she was lost. But for once hunger wasn't paramount. Anguish was.

His reluctant, excruciating confession had stabbed her to her sinner's soul.

And not just because he proved her instincts right. In spite of his own unruly life, he'd never forgiven his wayward mother for breaking her marriage vows. If he discovered how Diana deceived him, he'd never forgive her either.

But compared to what he'd suffered and overcome, that hardly counted.

“I'm too heavy,” Diana protested without force.

“You're a feather.” His breathlessness gave the lie to his gallantry. In a commanding motion, he shouldered the door wider and carried her inside.

She smothered a creaky laugh against his shirt. “Hardly.”

She recognized he sought to distract her from the fraught conversation. He didn't need to say he'd sealed that confession inside him since his unhappy childhood.

Yet he'd told her.

Guilt tasted like bile on her tongue. After tonight, she couldn't pretend her only importance to him was as a temporary mistress.

Somewhere in the last days, her life had meshed with his. Passion was a bright golden thread in the tapestry, but it wasn't the only color in this rich weave. There was liking and shared humor and mutual, unacknowledged loneliness.

Her pain when he told her about his mother was a terrifying sign of how profoundly she was involved. Pain worsened by proof he trusted very few people, and now he trusted her—and she was as fated to betray him as the sun was to rise on the morrow.

The urge to confess her misdeeds rose like a tide. She dammed the impulse. What did she expect him to do if she told him she used him for her own selfish purposes?

If she delayed the revelation of her perfidy, she had a chance at brief happiness. Except what lurked in her heart didn't feel like happiness. It felt like treason. She hated that she was such a coward.

He carried her up the magnificent staircase, past leering plaster cherubs and smug young men staring out from huge paintings. Her hand tightened around Ashcroft's neck as they approached the room where five days ago she'd sampled paradise. For all her turbulent self-hatred, excitement pounded like a drum with every step closer.

He kicked open the door so it slammed hard against the wall. So swiftly that her surroundings became a blur, he crossed the sitting room into the candlelit bedroom.

The unseen presence of Lord Peregrine's staff was everywhere. In the vases of sweet-scented lilies on each flat surface. In the turned-down sheets, waiting in crisp readiness. In the windows open to the garden, catching any phantom breeze that offered relief from endless heat.

Panting, Ashcroft slid her onto the bed and followed her down. Automatically, she parted her legs so he settled between them, trapping her skirts. He raised himself on his elbows and stared at her as if she were the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

Still, he didn't kiss her.

She'd die if he didn't kiss her soon.

Tenderness ran beneath hunger like rich harmony under the melody of a symphony. She smoothed his black hair from his brow. His hair was thick and soft. Softer than William's. He closed his eyes as if savoring her touch.

His revelations burned her mind, stabbed her heart.

She'd known love. Her father. Her mother. Laura. William.

Ashcroft had never known genuine affection.

That made her want to cry. And cherish him forever.

She ached for the ostracized child. A piercing mixture of pity and pain coiled inside her. She tried to stifle her futile yearning to make everything better, cure the ills of his past.

How could she save him when she was so utterly irredeemable?

He opened his green eyes and smiled. Not his usual worldly, cynical smile. Something sweet and dear that made
him look ten years younger. Her susceptible heart lurched with agonized longing.

“I told you I was too heavy,” she said, her voice cracking.

She wanted him to tell her more of his past, so she could try to heal him. But when he found out the truth, he'd think she pried these confidences from him to forward her deception.

“Desperation lends me strength.” Laughter bubbled in his voice like champagne.

“Not the answer I wanted,” she retorted without venom. She lifted her other hand and began a gentle exploration of his face. Tracing the arrogant black brows, the blade of his nose, the slashing cheekbones, the hard angles of his jaw. “Mmm, you've shaved since I saw you this afternoon.”

He laughed softly, pressing into her touch with a naturalness that sent another jolt to her heart. “I needed to pass the time before you deigned to arrive.”

“You could pass the time now by kissing me,” she murmured in amused reproof, loving the playful give-and-take.

Every second's delay built delicious expectation. In spite of lies and betrayal, she was happy. And happiness, especially since William's death, was rare enough for her not to dismiss it, however unexpected, however undeserved.

More than anything, she wanted to share that happiness with her lover. She suspected that pure, unfettered happiness was a fleeting visitor in his life too.

“You're a demanding baggage,” he said with equal lack of heat.

She stretched, and through the layers of clothing, she felt his body tighten. She loved that he desired her so unstintingly. “Oh, yes, I am at that.”

“You're also wearing far too many clothes.”

“That's something I can fix.”

Her fingers slipped to his mouth. Almost reverently, she traced the sharply cut upper lip, dipping down in the center, lingering at the corners. She gently pressed on the full lower lip.

His mouth hinted at so much. His surprisingly ascetic streak, the intelligence, the perception, the stubbornness, the determination. The rapture of his passion.

He parted his lips and sucked her middle finger into his mouth. She shivered as hot wetness surrounded her flesh. He flicked the tip with his tongue, and voluptuous pleasure flooded her.

“So?” she asked in a shaky voice.

He rolled onto his side, watching her. His glinting eyes made her feel more desirable than any courtesan. He drew her finger from his mouth.

“So?”

“I thought I was to torture you tonight,” she said huskily.

“It's more fun if we torture each other.” He slid a pin from her hair. With a concentration that made her belly tighten, he smoothed the fallen lock. “You have beautiful hair.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I plan to explore everywhere. That's why I shaved.”

She muffled a snort of laughter. “I have a better idea.”

His attention shifted from her hair to her face. “Now I'm interested.”

She sucked in a nervous breath and summoned her courage. “Why don't I seduce you?”

T
hat should take you about five seconds. Including the four seconds I need to shove up your skirts.”

Ashcroft stroked Diana's hair with a visible pleasure that made her shake with desire. And something else that cut deeper than desire, something she couldn't let herself acknowledge.

She leaned over him and insinuated one hand behind his strong neck. “You know, I didn't arrive on your doorstep without serious preparation. Before I came to London, I read some interesting books.”

“Did you indeed?” A spark of curiosity lit his eyes to jade although the unloved little boy still lurked like a ghost in his gaze. That solitary child made her want to cry.

She'd been so tragically, wickedly wrong about Ashcroft. His life hadn't been easy and shallow, although for the sake of his pride, he strove to give that impression. No wonder he was so ready to defend the defenseless in Parliament.

“Oh, yes. But my knowledge is theoretical. I'd like to develop practical skills, test my researches in the real world.”

His expression softened and became alluringly sensual. His beautiful mouth quirked in a way that made her yearn
ing heart slam against her ribs. “Heaven forbid I hinder your education.”

“I thought you'd see it that way.” Diana struggled to adopt his light tone. It was difficult when she burned to wrap her arms around him, rail at his thoughtless, uncaring family, make up for every slight he'd suffered.

“So you intend to push me around.”

“Only in directions you'll enjoy.”

She longed to do something just for him, something that didn't advance her ambitions, a gift freely granted to a man who gave her so much and whom she betrayed so egregiously.

He lay back, that smile still teasing his lips, and studied her. She slid off the wide bed and rounded the elaborately carved base. His gaze, brilliant with interest, followed her every movement.

“You're still wearing too many clothes,” he pointed out in a prosaic voice that contrasted enticingly with the fire in his eyes.

Her hand rose to the silver clasp fastening her voluminous black cloak. “Who's giving the orders?”

That taunting brow rose again. “I just wasn't sure you knew how to start, your knowledge being purely theoretical and all.”

Her lips twitched. “I'm sure I'll muddle through on my own.”

“On your own? Surely not!”

Laughter bubbled up like a pure stream. Strangely, when this was over, she'd miss the laughter as much as the passion.

Then she remembered the taste of his mouth. The hot saltiness of his tongue. The deep thrust of his body.

Maybe not quite as much.

Her avid gaze roamed his long, strong form, the alert, intelligent features, the elegant hands lying loosely at his sides on the white sheets.

He groaned and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, green shone like emeralds between his thick black lashes. “Whatever you're doing, do it soon, or I won't be responsible for my actions.”

“If you get too unruly, I'll tie you down.”

The glint became more pronounced. “Informative books indeed. Where does a chit like you find literature like that?”

Fleetingly, the specter of Lord Burnley darkened her world.

No, she wouldn't think of that evil old man now, not when she was about to grant her lover unconditional pleasure. “In the cabbage patch,” she said lightly. “Should I tie you up?”

“Only if turnabout is fair play.”

Dizzying images of lying splayed and helpless flooded her mind. What a disgrace she was. Only a few weeks in the decadent capital, and she became completely depraved.

The ribald picture didn't disgust. It excited.

“Maybe next time,” she murmured, knowing Ashcroft noted her interest and filed it away for later exploration.

“If you don't take that cloak off, I'll rip it away.” The words were ragged.

Her breath jammed in her throat.

Under the seductive playfulness, desire surged, dangerous, barely contained. It swirled around her in wild currents. It made her skin prickle under the heavy clothing. It lured her to acts unthinkable a week ago. It turned this room into something outside time. Where only Ashcroft and Diana existed.

Before this affair, she'd blithely underestimated the power of desire. Now she paid a terrible price for that mistake by becoming its slave.

Her fingers teased the clasp. Touching it and moving away, touching it and moving away. “So impatient already?”

His powerful chest heaved as he sucked in a lungful of air. “Already? It's been a damned eon since I touched you.”

Nobody had ever wanted her like this. It made her giddy, like drinking too much claret or swinging off the highest branch of a tall tree. “Seconds only.”

“Diana…” he growled.

She should stop tormenting him. Except she intended to torture him much more before she was finished. He'd taught her the power of making a lover wait.

The question was whether she could wait.

His ardor inflamed her. With unsteady fingers, she released the clasp. She shrugged and the cloak slithered to the floor in a whisper of sound. Underneath was her favorite gown, a dress of surpassing glamour she hadn't imagined she'd ever wear. Red silk that clung to every line of her body. It must have cost Burnley a fortune.

It was raiment fit for a queen. A sultry, wanton queen set to make gibbering fools of her subjects. The bodice, supported by jeweled straps, scooped low, leaving most of her bosom bare.

The dress was gaudy, shocking, spectacular. Completely inappropriate for an audience of one.

Except Ashcroft was the only audience she wanted.

When she put on this dress, she'd felt daring. Now, standing before Ashcroft arrayed like an expensive whore, nerves made her link her fingers at her waist in shaking uncertainty.

She braved a glance in his direction. He was utterly still, and his eyes scorched her. The flutter of a muscle in his cheek indicated his tension. Her gaze darted over his body. His rod pressed eagerly against his breeches. She swallowed to moisten a suddenly dry throat.

“You're superb,” he said hoarsely.

Confidence surged, and she straightened. “I wore it for you.”

“Thank you. It's beautiful.” His smile was ferocious. His hands opened and closed at his sides, revealing his hunger. “Now take it off.”

A husky laugh escaped. “You forget who's in charge.”

“I'm completely in your power. Now shed that spectacular rag and come to bed.”

She read the craving in his face. And decided to torment him a little longer. “Later.”

He propped himself on his elbows. Her power was complete illusion. He was large and strong, and he could leap up and grab her anytime. Another of those bone-melting thrills shivered its way through her.

She smiled. “If you get off that bed, I'm going home.”

He immediately stilled. “You wouldn't.”

No, she wouldn't. “Try me.”

“You're a ruthless witch.” He stretched back against the mattress and crossed his legs with unconvincing nonchalance. He looked magnificent reclining against the sheets.

“And you're a barbarian, Ashcroft. Lolling around in someone else's bed wearing your boots.”

“Then help me get rid of them.”

“In this dress?”

“You're welcome to remove it. I remember making that suggestion.”

“That wasn't a suggestion, it was a demand.”

He arched one expressive eyebrow. “A demand you've had no difficulty ignoring.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to tug at his boots. She darted forward and knelt before him. “You win.”

“You're going to jump on top of me?”

“No. But I'll help you with your boots.”

“Pity.” However, he readily raised each foot for her attention.

For a charged instant, she held his bare leg, feeling the roughness of hair, the strength of his calf. She pressed a kiss to his shin. He leaned down and plunged his hands into her hair, disturbing the elaborate arrangement.

She looked up and fell captive to deep green eyes. A sigh escaped her, and he took advantage of her parted lips to steal
a kiss. As his tongue swept into her mouth in a teasing foray, she melted toward him.

There was only the heated pressure of his lips, the flickering response of her tongue. He made a rough sound of enjoyment and deepened the kiss. She raised her hands to his shoulders, clenching her fingers in the loose white shirt.

She sank into a dark velvet world of the senses. A world where there was nothing but endless pleasure.

He lifted his mouth a fraction. “Come to bed.”

The invitation was soft, alluring. Through the fog in her mind, she remembered that if she yielded, she furthered Burnley's plot. And after what she'd learned about Ashcroft tonight, she couldn't bear the idea of cheating him again.

Her heart would crack if she didn't do something for him alone.

“Soon.” She rose and lifted her arms to slide the few remaining pins from her hair, loving the way he watched her so intently. Her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. “Take off your shirt.”

He obeyed with gratifying swiftness, tugging the shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. She paused, admiring the hard strength of his chest and arms. He really was a formidable man.

The way he looked at her made her feel omnipotent, commanding, a queen indeed. Worthy of the dress, not just a masquerader in borrowed plumage.

“Now your breeches.”

He cast her a suspicious look. “You want me at a complete disadvantage?”

“Oh, yes.” She drew the answer out into a long hiss of anticipation.

Hunger flared in his eyes, and he stood. Within seconds, his breeches followed the shirt to the floor.

He was wrong about being at a disadvantage. She cleared her throat and forced out the words. “Lie back.”

With surprising alacrity, he obeyed. Her attention glanced
across the birthmark that proved his parentage, then fastened on his penis, rising hard and ready. Moisture welled between her thighs. Curiosity tightened her throat and made her heart pound.

She couldn't remember wanting anything as much as she wanted to taste him. Somewhere in her checkered relationship with Ashcroft, inhibitions had vanished.

Her gaze never shifting from that pulsing length, she knelt on the bed.

 

Although Diana was yet to voice her intentions, Ashcroft had no trouble reading what she meant to do.

This was far from the first time a mistress had promised to take him into her mouth. He'd discovered that particular path to bliss in his teens. He'd lost count of the women who'd serviced him since.

So why did this feel so ravishingly different?

It was a mystery he didn't particularly want to solve.

Thought exploded to ash as her hand closed around his erect cock. Hot blackness overwhelmed him, and he shut his eyes.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed, as she rubbed her fist up and down his length.

He'd been hard all night. Hell, he'd been hard for her for a century. Amazingly, at her touch, he got harder, larger. He ground his teeth and battled for sanity.

The first time she'd touched him like this, she'd been hesitant, uncertain, fumbling. He'd needed to show her what to do. His lessons had clearly taken root. Stroke by tantalizing stroke, she built his blazing need to an inferno.

Feverishly, he caressed her thigh through her skirt. He cracked his eyes open as the silk slid under his hand. She knelt at his side in an uncharacteristically submissive pose. Except if anyone submitted, it was he.

She increased the pressure, and he released a deep groan.

A pleased smile curved her lush mouth. Her eyelids low
ered so her lashes were dark gold fans on her flushed cheeks. It was the most arousing expression he'd ever seen on a woman's face. The utter concentration. The undisguised enjoyment.

Arousal flared as she licked her lips. The gleaming moisture on her mouth made him think of other ways she could employ that busy, pink tongue.

Would she take him in her mouth? Or would her nerve fail?

Sizzling suspense conspired with pounding need to make him light-headed. His hand tightened on her thigh, crumpling her skirt, as his heart kicked into a headlong gallop.

Under cool silk, he felt warm, supple flesh. He wanted his hands on her skin without the barrier of clothing. He wanted to share the pleasure she inflicted with this slow seduction. And perhaps a modicum of the torment.

“Take off your dress. I'll touch you while you touch me.” His voice was harsh with restraint.

Instead of giving him his way, she lifted her hands off him. She looked directly at him, shaking her heavy fall of hair back. That evocative smile still flirted with her lips.

She knew exactly what she did, the darling jade.

His cock throbbed with frustration, his heart slammed to a stop. It was a warm night, but compared to the scorching heat of his skin, the air felt like ice.

Amusement sparked in her face. She didn't replace her hand where he wanted it, blast her. “You promised to lie still.”

As he looked into her lovely face, for the first time he wondered if he'd met a woman he wanted to keep for longer than a few weeks. Even more shocking, he wondered whether, in such company, monogamy might have its benefits.

Dear Lord, save him from such madness. He needed to get a grip before he started spouting romantic absurdities. Diana was only in Town for the summer, before she retreated to that confounded mysterious village in Surrey. And a dull
life as a respectable widow if he believed the tale she'd spun him.

Perhaps he could convince her to stay. Or visit the capital regularly.

Like every week.

Every day.

Every minute.

“I feel like a specimen at the damned Royal Society,” he said, not entirely joking.