My Reckless Surrender (19 page)

In Ashcroft's company, she became a different person, sensuous, confident, teasing, witty. She'd miss that Diana when she went back to her old life. Or when she became the respectable Marchioness of Burnley.

But not as much as she'd miss her daring and ardent lover.

She suppressed the thought. She was with him now. She refused to ruin the present by contemplating their inevitable parting.

He laughed, and she couldn't stem the warmth that seeped through her when she heard the appreciation in the sound. “Not by a long shot, my love.”

His love…

Diana spoke quickly before the endearment could take root in her heart so deeply that she could never eradicate it. Although she suspected it had been too late from the first time he called her his love. “That sounds promising.”

His eyes narrowed and focused on her with a harder, more concentrated regard. A hot tide of unadulterated lust coursed through her.

“Come here,” he said in a low growl.

Poor dazzled fool she was, she didn't hesitate. His arms lashed her to his body, and his mouth pressed hot and hard on hers. He only lifted his head when she was dizzy, and her heart pounded so crazily, it made her deaf to any other sounds.

“Why did you wait so long to come back?”

She closed her eyes in agony and fought to come up with some reasonable answer. She'd left his bed late this morning and spent the remainder of the day in a restive haze, waiting to return to him. The pretense of having a life separate from
his grew so thin, it threatened to rip asunder. “It's only…it's only been a few hours.”

“Years.”

Oh, God help me.

She glanced away from his gleaming jade eyes toward the cluttered desk. “Did you find something interesting among Lord Peregrine's books?”

He kissed her briefly before he let her go and wandered across to a side table. “No. He can sell the lot at auction with my blessing.”

“Then what is it? Is there something in that box?” She'd noticed a small wooden crate on the desk. The piles of books had hidden it from her when she first came in.

He poured two glasses of claret and passed her one. “There is indeed.” He took a sip. “Open it.”

His eyes gleamed with pleasure, as if he offered her a special treat. She tried not to find his enthusiasm endearing. It was a losing battle.

She swallowed a mouthful of wine and set it aside. She knew Ashcroft watched her with an unwavering stare, but she kept her gaze on the box. The lid was loose. Beneath it, she found straw.

Carefully, because she'd seen boxes like this at Cranston Abbey, she shifted the straw to reveal something hard and round wrapped in light blue silk.

Ashcroft balanced one hip on the side of the desk with an elegant insouciance that made her heart beat faster. “My dealer sent it over this morning.”

Trying to ignore her lover's attractions, she lifted the object from its packing. It was heavy and about the size of her hand. Slowly she drew away the silk.

And gasped in wonder.

“She…she's beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.”

The alabaster head stared back at her with sightless eyes.
The face was perfect, unmarked, although it must have been many centuries since the unknown artist had carved it. Diana had the same feeling of complete rightness she got when she saw Cranston Abbey. The sculpture was a flawless work of art.

“Is she Greek?”

Ashcroft stepped closer and reached out to run a finger across the elaborate pattern of plaits that formed the woman's coiffure. The tenderness of his touch was so familiar, Diana trembled as if he touched her instead of the carving. “A Roman copy, I think. First century, my dealer says.”

“She has an extraordinary expression.” Diana couldn't take her eyes from the sculpture. The stone lips were parted on a breath. The wide eyes under their defined lids surveyed eternity with unstudied poise.

“It's as if she's about to speak.”

“And she speaks the truth,” Diana whispered.

Unlike the living woman in this room. The statue's pure beauty was a silent chastisement.

Diana blinked away tears. Stupid to be so moved by a carving. But her emotions were so close to the surface these days. She was trembling, and, for safety's sake, she passed the sculpture to Ashcroft. Something about the way his big, graceful hands closed over the head, holding it safe, stabbed at her heart.

Good Lord, she needed to snatch some control. She drew a shuddering breath, hoping Ashcroft wouldn't notice how on edge she was.

“Thank you for showing her to me.” She was grateful that her voice emerged with only a slight wobble.

“The minute I saw her, I had to have her. Whatever the price.” His gaze fixed on Diana and seemed to convey a message that went further than his words.

“She's a worthy addition to your collection.”

In the still hours of the night, he'd told her about the wondrous objects he'd amassed. He'd tried to coax her into
visiting his house to view the artifacts, but she'd resisted, although her heart had ached to see the collection. More, she'd longed to share his pleasure in the beauty. A pleasure she heard in his voice whenever he discussed some ancient artwork.

It always came back to one thing and one thing alone. Her endless fascination with the man she deceived.

A smile she couldn't entirely interpret curved his lips. “She's more than that.” He held the head in front of her. “Don't you see it?”

Puzzled, Diana inspected the marble carving. She saw a beautiful young woman with a high forehead and large, wide-spaced eyes, a straight nose, a voluptuous mouth. Her jaw was delicate but firm and her neck long and slender until it ended in a brutally jagged edge. Once she had been complete. She was no longer. But what remained was breathtaking.

“She's a fragment.”

“Yes,” he said with a hint of impatience. “But look more closely.”

“At what?”

He turned the face in his direction, then turned it back towards Diana. “She's you.”

“No…” Diana stepped back as though a physical distance would erase what he'd just said.

He didn't seem to register that his statement had perturbed her. Which was odd when he was usually so in tune with her reactions. “Look again. I saw it immediately.”

“I can't see it,” she said sharply, even as she fought to deny the emotion she saw in his striking face.

Laura had told her he was besotted. Ashcroft had told her he was in thrall. Now she couldn't mistake the glowing warmth in his eyes as he glanced from the beautiful ancient head to his mistress, then back again.

She was going to hurt him, and she couldn't bear it. And it was too late to retreat now. Too late for her and too late for him.

She bit her lip and turned away, reaching blindly for her wine. She was frantic to hide her extreme response to what was in reality just a small moment. A small moment that conveyed so much about the unforgivable damage she wreaked.

“Diana?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him place the head on the desk with a care that cut her. She'd seen that expression on his face before, when he touched her with such sweetness that he pierced her to the soul.

She raised her glass and emptied it in one gulp, hoping the wine would dull her anguish. She turned to face him. “Take me to bed, Ashcroft.”

He frowned. “What's wrong?”

Her voice was brittle. “Nothing's wrong. You're here. I'm here. I want you.”

She didn't lie. She always wanted him. But on this occasion, the shaking urgency stemmed from her need to shatter the rapport he seemed determined to establish.

Except, she admitted, when he made love to her, he inevitably fortified the bond between them. She was doomed whatever she did. Inch by inch, she sank into quicksand.

This time, when he looked at her, his expression was assessing, probing. He knew she was upset. He was even smart enough to work out why if she didn't distract him first.

She waited for him to challenge her, but instead, a devilish smile tilted his lips. “Sometimes I think you only want me for my body.”

She forced herself to respond lightly while every instinct urged her to run away and never look back. Her heart wouldn't be whole again. But perhaps if she left now, he had a chance of emerging without lasting damage from this entanglement. “It's a very nice body.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment, although his glance remained sharp. “Thank you.”

“Come upstairs and remind me just how nice.”

With pleasing alacrity, he abandoned the Roman sculpture, and Diana's heart began to race with genuine excitement. As he stalked toward her, she tried to tell herself she exaggerated the significance of the sculpture, that nothing important had happened in Lord Peregrine Montjoy's elegant library this afternoon.

But however much she lied to Ashcroft, she never lied to herself. With every day, she veered closer to damnation.

I
n their rooms in Perry's house, Ashcroft lolled naked amidst the chaotic bedding and watched Diana dress, hating that she left him. Even if only for the evening.

It was almost three weeks since he'd waylaid her at the museum. Weeks packed with surprises, not all welcome.

One of the least welcome was that every time she went away, he had to battle not to insist she stay. No matter how long they were together, whether they made passionate love or argued some intellectual question or talked quietly about inconsequential matters, it was never long enough.

It just seemed…wrong when she wasn't with him.

Like the world turned in the opposite direction or a waltz played with four beats to the bar instead of three.

Her back a graceful arch, her full bosom pressing impudently against the sheer white shift, she rested one stockinged foot on a chair and bent to tie her garter. The picture was enchanting, alluring. He crossed his arms behind his head and enjoyed the view. He couldn't remember a woman who captivated him just with her presence the way Diana did.

She turned, catching him. That could hardly discomfit her—he constantly stared at her. Her eyelids lowered, and
a smile lengthened her lush lips, reddened from the kisses he'd pressed on her during the eventful afternoon.

He loved all her smiles. The wry twist of her lips when she expressed her characteristically dry humor. The tender, dreaming smile after they made love. The teasing smile she couldn't hide when she used her mouth on him. The wild triumphant smile when she reached her climax.

Oh, yes, he loved that smile.

This one was inquiring. She was sharp, perhaps the sharpest person he'd ever met. He needed to be careful, or she'd guess he was up to something. Today he took matters into his own hands. He couldn't wait any longer for her to capitulate into trusting him.

When he met her curious gaze, he kept his expression blank. He would have tried for innocent, but he knew when he was beaten.

“What?” she asked softly, her hands pausing on her shapely calf. Her shift hiked, revealing her leg to the thigh.

He swallowed and told himself he'd only had her an hour ago. It was uncouth to fall on her again as if she were a juicy sirloin, and he hadn't eaten for a month.

He arched his eyebrows. “Can't a man admire a beautiful woman?”

“Oh.” She blushed and looked away.

One of the many things he liked about her was her lack of conceit. She had no idea how spectacular she was. When he mentioned her looks, she always acted as though no man had praised her.

Her husband had obviously been a blundering dunderhead.

Perhaps he still was. That was one mystery he intended to solve today.

He laughed, and even he heard fondness in the sound. “Particularly a beautiful woman several feet away and half-naked.”

Her blush deepened. He found her confusion charming. She was an intriguing mixture, his Diana.

Except, damn her, she wasn't his Diana.

That implied a level of intimacy he was yet to achieve. In spite of their wild antics in bed—and out of it, he recalled two hectic sessions on the rug and another explosive occasion against the heavy armoire near the window—she'd kept him at a distance in every way except the physical.

He'd tried several times to get her to confide in him. He'd tried direct questions, he'd tried tricking her into revealing her secrets, he'd tried using the soft intimacy after sex.

All to no avail. He knew little more now than he had when they'd met. Most of that he'd surmised from hints she dropped, not because she trusted him enough to tell him anything, devil take her.

Frustration and curiosity spoiled his sleep, disturbed his waking hours, gnawed at his peace. He was unused to elusiveness in a lover. The other women he knew desperately wanted him to know about their lives. The other women he knew took sharing confidences, or at least forcing them on him, as a sign he was interested. When generally, he wasn't.

Perhaps this torment was the Deity's way of punishing him for a misspent youth. And a far-from-spotless record in his maturity, he regretted to admit.

He tried not to think of another way the Deity could punish him. When it came to protecting his lover against pregnancy, he'd been fatally careless.

Diana tugged a rich green frock over her head. He hardly cared what she wore. The woman could prance about in a sack, and he'd still believe her the most glorious creature in Christendom. He was in real trouble here, and he knew it. Worse, he couldn't see how to resolve that trouble. If he broke with her, he'd feel even more like a starving dog, chained and howling at the moon.

He felt like that now when he had her. Or at least her lissome, responsive body.

The subject of his discomfiting musings sauntered across to the wreck of the bed and presented her back. “Stop loafing and be of some use.” She lifted her disheveled blond hair. The gesture was so naturally sensual, a bolt of desire sizzled through him.

Yesterday morning, after she'd stayed all night—she rarely did that—he'd used breathless kisses to persuade her to remain through the day. The idea of doing that again crossed his mind before he reminded himself of his plans. The sooner he put them into action, the sooner he'd be out of his misery.

He hoped.

He sat up and started to lace her gown, pausing only to place an occasional kiss on her shoulder. She'd washed after she crawled out of his bed, but she still smelled deliciously warm and womanly. Sweet like green apples.

Apples had become the scent of paradise.

The urge to lure her back for play strengthened, but he stifled it. He had to break this impasse, or he'd lose his mind.

“If the Ashcroft estates ever fail, you'll have no trouble finding work as a lady's maid.” Her voice was warm with amusement.

Because his thoughts were elsewhere, he answered before he remembered he never talked of those dark days. “They almost did fail. Before I reached my majority, my uncle's mismanagement brought me to the brink of bankruptcy. And with me, the rest of the family.”

She stiffened and turned to study him. “You're rich now.”

Her gaze was troubled. As usual, he wasn't sure what perturbed her. She was such a bundle of mysteries. It drove him insane.

He adjusted her stance so he could finish lacing her up. “Now.”

“You're not what I expected,” she said softly as if she continued a long conversation with herself. She didn't sound particularly pleased. “You must have worked like a demon to get everything back on an even keel.”

“Stand still, or I'll never get this done,” he said absently.

Silence fell as he concentrated on getting her into her clothes. Ironic really when all he wanted was to get her out of them.

“Ashcroft?”

He finished and looked up as she turned to face him.

“You did work hard, didn't you? And you still take responsibility for the Vales, although they nearly ruined you.”

He frowned, not liking the direction of the conversation. It always niggled that she found it so easy to unveil his secrets while she was so stingy with her own. “That makes me sound rather lily-livered, my love.” The endearment tripped easily off his tongue now and felt as familiar as the touch of her silken skin.

She smiled, although shadows lurked in her eyes. “You're a man of surpassing grit. And generosity. Even if you do operate under false pretenses.”

She cupped his face. Like calling her his love, the gesture was familiar. It never ceased to stop his heart. She brushed her thumb across the sensitive corner of his lip. “You need a shave.”

Undoubtedly he did. He'd shaved before she arrived this morning, but it was now late afternoon. The hours in between had been perfect happiness, which worried him. Usually, he found himself wishing a lover gone once the interesting stuff was over. He'd never felt like that with Diana.

He forced his muzzy mind to follow what she said. “Pretenses how?”

She hesitated as if searching for words. “You pretend not to care about anything. You pretend so well that the world believes it.” She bit her lip and looked uncomfortable. “You're far from the heartless, selfish rake I expected to seduce.”

This made no sense, the way so much between them made no sense. “Why would you want to seduce a heartless, selfish rake?”

Abruptly she straightened and retreated a shaky step. Her rosy color faded, leaving her ashen. Something that looked like fear flashed in her eyes. “Only a figure of speech.”

Every nerve tautened to alertness. She'd revealed something important. He just wished to Hades he knew what it was. “I don't think so.”

She shrugged and laughed. Unfortunately for her, he knew the sound of her real laughter. This wouldn't have convinced the biggest fool in England, and nobody had ever called him that.

“You make too much of this.” Her voice was pitched higher than normal.

With artificial insouciance, she faced the cheval mirror and began to pile her hair up. Her actions were no different than usual. Except this afternoon, her hands shook, and her reflection revealed lips flattened with distress and eyes shining pewter with emotion.

He settled against the headboard with studied relaxation, even as his contentment evaporated, leaving a sick feeling in his gut. “Do I?”

“Yes.” Her hair refused to cooperate. Perhaps because her fingers were so unsteady. “What is wrong with me today?”

He wanted to know that himself but didn't push it. He forced a lightness he didn't feel, not when his belly clenched in suspicion. “You suffer a surfeit of passion.”

The tense line of her shoulders eased at his mocking answer. “That must be it,” she said with equal lightness, and her laugh didn't sound so unnatural. She turned, having finally tamed her hair into an untidy chignon. “I must go.”

Did she indeed? Why?

His imagination ran amok as he rose and approached her. He stopped just behind her. She glanced up quickly, then as quickly looked away, blushing.

He brushed away the strands that escaped her disheveled hair and pressed a kiss to her sweetly scented nape. He breathed deeply. Her essence was strong here. The scent of heaven. The scent of Diana.

As he lifted his head, he caught a flash of guilt in her eyes before dark blond lashes veiled her expression. Occasions like this, his suspicions threatened to overpower his beguilement.

He'd always known she kept secrets. He prayed those secrets didn't promise disaster.

“Don't go yet. I want to talk to you,” he murmured.

“You've had my attention all day, and now you want to talk, just as I'm leaving?” Unexpectedly, her voice was sweetly amused. “You're like a cat, Ashcroft. When you're inside, you want to go out. When you're outside, you want to come in.”

“You know how to make me purr.” He brushed his lips across the crown of her head and wandered back toward the bed. He stretched out on the mattress again, draping a sheet across his legs to save her blushes.

She turned. “I'm not coming back to bed. We've been at it like rabbits all day. Haven't you had your fill?”

He smiled back, liking her description of their activities. “Never.”

Her lips twitched. “I see why you've been through so many women in your nefarious life. You wore the poor creatures out.”

He laughed, although he hated her talking about his raffish past. Compared to Diana, his previous affairs seemed shallow, base, unimportant. He'd never had a lover like her.

He patted the empty space next to him. “Sit here.”

The enchantress again, she flicked him a glance under her lashes. The brief awkwardness might never have existed. “You know what will happen if I come within a foot of you.”

He stroked the sheet again with a deliberately sensual gesture. “I only want to talk.”

As nervously as a young deer emerged from the forest at dawn, she stepped closer. “What about?”

“Sit,” he said softly.

She released a splutter of laughter. “I'm not your spaniel, Ashcroft.”

“Pity. I've got a juicy bone for you.”

Shock tinged her laugh. He loved how she reacted to ribald humor. He only had to make a suggestive quip to know she was a gorgeous innocent.

His joke coaxed her to cooperate. The mattress dipped, and her hip brushed his flank, but he resisted her nearness. He really did want to talk.

“Thank you, but I've eaten already.” Her smile was sly.

He burst out laughing. “Perhaps you'd like to bury it for later.”

She cast him an unimpressed look. “And perhaps not.”

“Wicked girl.” He picked up her hand and kissed her palm, feeling her tremble. “Sure you haven't got room for pudding?”

“You wanted to talk,” she said breathlessly, trying without enthusiasm to tug her hand away.

“I do.” He folded her fingers over her palm to keep the kiss trapped inside. He nipped at her wrist and felt her start. He soothed the sting with another kiss. If curiosity wasn't a tightening noose around his neck, he'd let this game reach its exultant conclusion.

“Ashcroft…” Her low warning was a seduction in itself.

He sighed. It was so delicious to tease her, titillating his desire with words. Whereas he was about to shatter the mood as abruptly as a brick pitched through a shop window.

He firmed his grip, so she couldn't run away. He drew in a breath, surprised at his reluctance to destroy the gentle warmth.

“Diana, why are you really in London?”