My Reckless Surrender (15 page)

“Are you going to torture me tonight?”

She'd regained enough of herself to react with amusement.
Where had she learned that low, sensual chuckle? “Only if you ask.”

He laughed and pressed his mouth to hers in another intoxicating kiss. “It's torture having you here and not being able to do more,” he said, confirming her assessment of his intentions.

His reputation indicated he was a man without honor, he might even believe that was true. But she came to the realization that Lord Ashcroft followed a code of ethics as immovable as any biblical morality that guided a fire-and-brimstone preacher.

A sardonic smile twisted his beautiful mouth. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

The question surprised a startled cough of laughter from her. “I'm sure there's a lot I'm not telling you.”

He didn't smile. “Something I need to know. Are you sure you're not married?”

“I'm not married.” At least this far, she could be truthful.

“God help me, I don't think I care.”

He speared his hands in her hair and tilted her head. She waited for his kiss, but instead his eyes ravished her features.

“Don't look at me like that,” she whispered, distress constricting her throat.

He groaned and rested his forehead against hers. Briefly, their breaths mingled before he straightened without releasing her.

Heaven help her, she never wanted him to release her.

“Diana, will you come to me tonight?”

She panted as if she'd run a mile. Her heart thundered in her ears. There was only one answer. She gave it because she needed him, not because of any collusion.

“Yes.”

She felt his deep sigh of relief. Tension drained out of him. Only now did she realize how on edge he'd been. “Thank you.”

Her hands formed talons in his coat. “Where?”

Suddenly she was aware how relentlessly time passed. They didn't have long to make arrangements. If she could, she'd run off with him now and snatch at pleasure like a child snatched at a new toy.

“Your house?”

“No.” She had to stop him learning where she lived. As it was, he'd discovered her name and that she came from Surrey. Small concessions, but a clever man like Ashcroft could use them to expose her whole life.

And she couldn't bear to lose him yet.

Not yet.

Although a grim voice in her heart reminded her that losing him was inevitable.

“Perry's still away.” His voice was ragged. Desire bubbled like lava beneath every word.

“I'll meet you there.”

“When?”

They spoke quickly, in whispers, like conspirators.

“I'll get away from my aunt as soon as I can.”

He pressed a hungry kiss to her lips and stepped back. Straightaway, she missed his touch. “Ashcroft…” she began, not sure what she meant to say but unwilling to let him go.

“Oh, topping, here are the mummies.” A boy's voice smashed through the searing intensity between them.

Automatically Ashcroft moved to shield Diana. She clutched his shoulders, praying they'd remain unnoticed. It was an echo of the moment she'd clung to him in the alley outside the ballroom. Strange how natural it was to seek shelter in his arms.

“Nasty, smelly things,” said a young girl in a superior tone. “Miss MacCallum, I don't want to stay here.”

Ashcroft's hand curled around the back of Diana's head and he hid her face in his shoulder. It was such a protective gesture, her heart clenched with guilt. And unwilling warmth.

If he knew the truth, he wouldn't feel protective. He'd feel used and deceived. He'd hate her. As was his right.

“You never even looked at it, Kate,” the boy said with justified irritation. “It's shut away in a case. You can't smell it.”

“I don't care. It's dead. I hate this place. It's full of dead things.”

“Children!” a woman said in a distinctly Scottish accent. “Stop your squabbling.”

“Kate's just a silly girl,” the boy said.

For all her nervousness, Diana was inclined to agree. She sidled closer to Ashcroft's big, powerful body. Stupid to think he could save her. Stupid to trust him. Nonetheless, she couldn't help herself.

“I am not,” the girl said in a sulky voice.

“Are too,” the boy predictably responded.

“Children, I promised your mother we'd look at the Roman galleries. If you're good, we'll stop for a cake on the way home.”

“I want to see the mummy,” the boy whined.

“Next time, Andrew. The wee mummy will be there tomorrow. It's not going anywhere.”

The voices faded as they left. Diana released the breath she'd held for what felt like forever and subsided into Ashcroft in blessed relief. Her heart raced so fast, she felt giddy. His arms tightened in what she foolishly read as comfort and security.

Poor, brainless Diana.

“They've gone,” Laura said softly from the other side of the sarcophagus.

Ashcroft released Diana with a reluctance she recognized because she shared it. He stepped away from the coffin and bowed to her friend. “Miss Smith.”

“You'd better find your aunt,” Diana whispered, straightening.

He leaned down to feather a kiss across her lips. Laura's presence didn't seem to bother him at all. “I'll be there at six.”

“I'll see you then.”

She tried to hide her dazed response to the touch of his mouth. Surely, this overwhelming physical reaction would fade. Surely, it was the result of too many celibate years. She refused to believe her reactions stemmed from the fact that Ashcroft drew her more powerfully than any man she'd ever met.

That same carping voice in her mind scoffed at her sophistries.

He paused before he left and sent her a straight look. “No more games?”

He worried she wouldn't show up, that she teased him. She wished she could blame her behavior on a cause as frivolous as teasing. Instead of something that felt like life or death.

If this afternoon taught her anything, it was that she was helplessly snared in the net of attraction. She wished she'd never started this cruel deception. She wished she was at home helping her father run Cranston Abbey.

It was too late.

Even without Burnley's ultimatum ringing in her ears, she'd go to Ashcroft tonight. For one reason only. Because she couldn't stay away.

“No more games,” she said softly and wished to heaven she told the truth.

I
wasn't sure you'd come.”

Diana jerked with surprise when Ashcroft spoke from the shadows, and he felt an unworthy pleasure in his fleeting advantage. He flicked away his half-smoked cigar and slid off the marble Roman altar buried in Perry's dark shrubbery. Around him leaves rustled in the erratic night breeze.

“I said I would.” She sounded on edge, almost hostile.

The passionate woman who yielded to his kiss behind an Egyptian coffin had regrouped her defenses. No matter. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. That gave him weaponry to demolish any barricades.

He suspected she knew it. Which explained her prickliness.

Odd to think they'd started this affair at her invitation. No question he was now the one in pursuit. Even when she lay in his arms, she was still so damned elusive.

The volatile encounter in the museum had provided him with much food for thought. Her melting surrender. The information she'd provided, however unwillingly. The fact that Miss Smith was undoubtedly the Gypsy companion Diana had mentioned. Perhaps that ramshackle tale about arcane potions might actually have some basis in truth.

He hoped to hell it did.

He prowled toward her, careful to stay under the trees while she remained on the path. Wearing shirt and breeches, he felt wonderfully cool. Or at least he had until Diana arrived to send heat crawling inexorably over his skin.

Moonlight illuminated her face now she'd thrown back the concealing hood of her cape. She looked guarded, and her body was tight with wariness.

Definitely elusive.

For hours, he'd waited in the garden, as sultry afternoon turned to dusk, turned to night. For all his confidence now, he hadn't been sure of her. With each minute, his doubts had grown, devil take her.

His voice remained neutral. “You're later than you said.”

She sighed with impatience and peered through the darkness. “Lord above, Ashcroft, you do go on. I may be a bit late. It hardly matters. I'm here now. You're turning into an old woman.”

He laughed softly, recognizing her tactic from previous skirmishes. She liked to use offense as a defense. “I'm not accustomed to being uncertain of a lover.”

Her tension increased. He wondered what he'd said to perturb her. So many secrets. So many mysteries. What did she hide?

He burned to grab her, continue the afternoon's delightful explorations. He held back. Partly to build anticipation. Although after five days without her, anticipation was nearly killing him. Partly because he knew once he touched her, any chance of discussion vanished.

And he badly wanted to talk to her.

When she'd disappeared so effectively, he'd experienced his first genuine fear in years. His dream lover had deserted him after one explosive encounter. He had no idea how to find her. It was all his fault. When she came to him, he could have delayed and found out about her.

Who was he fooling? From the moment he'd dragged her into the carriage, he couldn't hold back.

He'd promised himself tonight would be different. Tonight, he'd act the civilized man and not the barbarian. Tonight, he'd unravel some of those secrets.

At least he'd damn well try.

“What did your aunt say?”

“She rang a peal over me.”

“I'm sorry.”

He shrugged, before realizing she couldn't see him. “It doesn't matter.”

“I don't want to cause trouble with the people who love you.”

He gave a dismissive snort and answered before he thought to stop himself. “Believe me, that's not anyone in my family.”

He felt her sudden stillness like a physical blow. Her voice sounded studiedly calm. “Why do you say that?”

What the hell had got into him? He never talked about these things. “It's true,” he said curtly.

“Perhaps she doesn't approve of your way of life.”

Diana wasn't taking the hint that this subject wasn't welcome. “Oh, that's true too.”

“Your aunt brought you up?”

Every muscle tensed in repudiation of her questions. How had this conversation become about him? He wanted to reveal Diana's secrets, not plumb years of painful family background. “Mostly. Now, let's talk about you.”

“No, you're much more interesting.” Before he mustered a protest, she went on, stepping closer to where he skulked in the shadows. “Where were your parents?”

This strategy was fatally flawed. He should have leaped on her as soon as she arrived, distracted her with pleasure. He abhorred the idea of swapping confidences in the moonlight.

His plans for the evening had been perfectly clear, reason
able. He wanted her to answer his questions, then he wanted to take her to bed.

“Diana, this is ancient history.”

God help him, the sweet, low sound of her laugh disarmed him, sapped stirring anger. “Believe me, I want to hear.”

“My mother was thrown out in disgrace when I was a child.” He spoke stiffly, quickly. “My father died not long after.”

“I'm sorry.” Did his ears deceive him, or did she genuinely regret his unhappiness?

Feeling like the biggest sapskull in London, he emerged into the revealing moonlight. He wasn't making much of a fist of concealing his reactions while he probed hers. Like so many of his games with her, she still held the advantage. Perhaps because she didn't care, and he, much against his will, did.

“Don't be.” He wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but instead he found himself admitting the truth. “It was hardly the happiest of marriages in the first place. By all reports, my mother was a wanton who never spared her husband or her child a thought once she left. My father disliked me intensely. I remember that well enough.”

“How old were you when he died?” Her voice was still artificially even.

“Four.”

“Old enough to feel the rejection.”

“Oh, yes.” Talking about his childhood revived all the dark unhappiness.
Damn it, couldn't she leave it alone?

She drew a shaky breath. His instincts had already told him she wasn't as calm as she tried to appear. “You speak so harshly of your mother. She may have had good reason for what she did.”

Her voice vibrated with sincerity. Against his will, he moved closer to that sound. Then he realized what she said, and he straightened in resentment. “Good reason to chase after a dozen men in London while her husband cowered at
home and bore the humiliation of being a public cuckold?”

“What happened to her?”

The question emerged with such sadness, it made him want to hit something. He thought with fulminating regret of his sensual expectations, drowning now in a sea of maudlin emotion.

How had she done this to him? Diana Carrick was dangerous. She affected him like no other woman.

His voice was harsh with control. “She became some rich man's slut, then sold herself to another after her first keeper tired of her. She died in the gutter, rotten with gin and disease.”

“That's terrible.” She sounded shocked, devastated.

“She deserved her fate,” he said flatly.

“You judgmental bastard.” Her voice vibrated with feeling.

He took a moment to register what she'd said. And an extra, crucial moment to realize she'd turned on her heel and headed toward the gate.

“Diana, wait!”

He, who never pursued any woman, lunged after her. The first time he grabbed for her, all he caught was a handful of cape. With a savage movement, she twitched it free and kept going. She'd reached the gate before he gained a decent grip on her arm.

“Let me go,” she snarled, straining against his hold. She was a tall, strong woman, and he needed to exert a surprising amount of force to stop her marching off.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing.”

He'd had enough experience to know that when a woman spat “nothing” like an expletive, something was indeed wrong. She trembled under his hand.

Good God, what had he said to send her into such a taking?

“I apologize for upsetting you.” He tried for rueful charm. A pity he couldn't quite carry it off. Her questions had veered
too close to memories that still rankled. “I usually don't descend into such blatant self-pity. Or at least not publicly.”

She whirled around, and moonlight shone bright on her face. When she'd tried to run, he'd wondered whether she was upset or angry. One glance and he immediately knew. She looked like she wanted to kill him.

Such vivid passion in her. No wonder he found her irresistible.

“How can you speak of your mother like that? So smug that she came to grief. You don't know what drove her. Perhaps she was in love. Perhaps your father was cruel. You were a child. You couldn't have known anything about her.”

She stopped to drag in a shaky breath, struggling to jerk free. He tightened his grip. He didn't trust her to stay if he released her. Even when she was angry, he'd rather be with her than without her.

What a lowering admission for the heartless rake Ashcroft.

One suspicious corner of his brain wondered why Diana took his mother's fate so personally. Because he couldn't mistake how vehemently his mistress sided with the faithless, flighty Countess of Ashcroft.

Did she worry that he judged Diana as equally flighty because she'd tumbled into a rake's arms? But the situation was completely different. Hester Vale had had a husband and child.

How do you know Diana hasn't?

“I heard all the stories about…” he began, but she spoke over him with such heat, his explanation faltered into silence.

“You've already told me your family have no affection for you. Even if they had, they'd hardly take your mother's part.” He sustained a blast of furious lightning from her eyes. “What right have you to condemn your mother? You consider an affair that lasts more than a night a major commitment.”

He drew himself up, stung by her contempt. And, much as he loathed acknowledging it, hurt. His voice slowed to a coruscating drawl. “Charming. But that's why you're here, isn't it? Because you heard I'll take any female into my bed.”

She flinched but didn't retreat. “Well, don't you?”

“No, I do not,” he bit out.

Abruptly, the fight ebbed out of her. “I don't believe you,” she said dully.

He slid his arm around her waist, feeling her lithe shape, even through the thick woolen folds of the cloak. The anger seeped from his voice. “I haven't touched another woman since I first saw you.”

“A few days' fidelity? Should I give you a resounding cheer?” Her sarcasm faded to reveal piercing distress. “How can you speak of your mother with such hate?”

“I don't hate her.” Again the truth slipped out before he could stop himself. Unless he knew better, he'd think he was in his cups. Whereas the only intoxication was Diana's tempestuous presence. His hold tightened, and he found himself telling her what he'd told nobody else. “It's the only way I can bear that she left me.”

He waited for a dismissive comment, scornful laughter. After all, he was a grown man. What his mother had done thirty years ago shouldn't matter. But the wound was inflicted early, and it had never healed.

Just thinking about his mother made his stomach knot in sick misery. She'd abandoned him. Far easier to hate her than confess he'd yearned for her all his life.

Apart from Diana's ragged breathing, the night fell quiet.

Ashcroft was devastated to realize she wasn't far from tears. He found himself continuing, his heart leaden with humiliation. “It's the only way I can bear my father's hatred and that my family mustered little but contempt for me. If my mother was a worthless harlot, I'm equally worthless. At least the explanation offers a modicum of sense.”

He stopped, his heart beating like thunder.

He'd said too much. Far too much.

Diana was a casual lover. Nobody special. Nobody he'd even remember when the short-lived affair was over.

But his lancing anguish at the thought of losing her told him that was pure bravado. Diana touched him in a way nobody else had. And he suspected nobody ever would.

Great Jehovah, he'd had enough of this.

Flinging away from her, he strode a few restless paces up the path. He kept his back to her, afraid of what his face would reveal. His gut cramped with self-disgust as he replayed his mawkish confessions.

He couldn't blame Diana if she left. Hell, he wished she would.

She'd intrigued him from the first, promising passion to lighten boredom and weariness. This affair, like all his others, offered mutual sexual gratification. That was all he asked. So how had it become so much more?

His devastation when she didn't contact him, his happiness on seeing her again, and now the way she bypassed a lifetime's defenses made him realize he risked something deeper. Something that would leave him in tatters when it finished.

Perhaps it finished now.

Perhaps that was a good thing. No more vulnerability. No more uncertainty. No more emotional turmoil.

No more Diana…

As a man waited for a death sentence, he waited for her to go. To flounce out that garden gate, never to return.

Even over the furious pounding of his blood, he didn't hear her shift. Clearly the foolish chit meant to stay.

Why? Surely she couldn't want any more vapid revelations from her lover.

Tense as a drawn wire, he prepared to endure some inane remark. Something about knowledge he'd lived with all his life being untrue. Sentimental pap about his family loving him all the same.

She kept silent.

For a long interval, the air between them thickened with everything spoken and unspoken.

Gradually, curiosity stirred, warred with shame. He turned, expecting to read derision or, even worse, pity in her beautiful face.