My Reckless Surrender (21 page)

“I'll inform the staff.” Laura turned away, then paused when a sharp rap resounded at the front door.

Consternation brought Diana to her feet. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Laura's lips flattened in displeasure. “I know nobody in London.”

Diana tensed in sudden fear, ignoring the unspoken complaint. “Could it be Burnley?”

Dear God. Not now.
Not when she was distressed and confused and looked like a slattern. Not when she smelled like a woman who'd spent all day under a man.

Laura met her eyes. “I doubt he'd knock.”

The imperious summons sounded again, echoing through the house with unmistakable demand. Where on earth were the servants?

As if he heard her silent question, James the footman dashed up from downstairs. He was chewing and buttoning his coat. Clearly he'd been enjoying his dinner. Why not? This house wasn't exactly inundated with callers. He hardly needed to be on duty every minute.

Diana turned urgently to Laura. “I can't imagine who it is, but if they want to see me, I'm not at home.”

Her friend nodded and left, shutting the door after her. Surely their visitor must have the wrong residence. The only people who knew Diana's London address were Burnley and the few servants of unimpeachable reliability he used.

She waited by the mantel, staring blankly into the unlit grate. Voices rumbled outside, but the house was remarkably soundproof.

When Laura opened the door a few seconds later, Diana lifted her head, expecting to hear that their visitor had left.

Diana frowned in puzzlement. Laura was pale, and her features were set. Her hands twisted in her skirts in an uncharacteristic display of nerves.

When Diana peered past her friend's shoulder, her heart staggered to a horrified stop.

Lord Ashcroft had found her.

A
shcroft…” Diana's chest constricted with agonized denial.

All her schemes and stratagems closed in and threatened to crush her. Now he was here, he'd inevitably discover what she did.

He'd never forgive her.

Ashcroft surveyed her from unreadable dark green eyes. His face was a magnificent mask. She had no idea what he felt or thought. Was he furious? Puzzled? Impatient? Triumphant?

“What are you doing here?” With an unsteady hand, she clutched the back of a chair.

Ashcroft sent her an insouciant smile that made her hack-les rise. He looked reckless and arrogant and more handsome than any man had a right to be.

With a nonchalance she both envied and resented, he prowled past Laura and set gloves and hat upon a table. “I was passing.”

“Liar.”

His attention dropped to the head of the cane he carried, and his voice emerged quietly but implacably. “I've shot men for saying less.”

She straightened, suddenly not needing the chair's support. Damn Ashcroft. Damn him to hell. He'd broken their agreement. He knew she didn't want him to invade her life outside what they did in bed.

“So shoot me,” she said flatly.

“Diana!” Laura gasped.

She darted a glance at her friend. “Why did you let him in?”

Ashcroft had rattled the usually imperturbable woman. “He wouldn't…”

Diana was stirred up enough to speak over Laura. “He barged in without permission? What was James doing while Ashcroft stood on the front step? Picking his teeth?”

“Your footman recognized a hopeless battle,” Ashcroft said grimly. He turned to Laura. “Miss Smith, I suspect this is turning ugly. Perhaps you should retire.”

“Perhaps
you
should—right back to Mayfair,” Diana sniped.

Ashcroft gestured toward the door. “Miss Smith?”

“Laura, don't you dare go!” Diana leaped forward.

Laura dodged her and backed toward the door. “I'm sure you want privacy.”

“I'm sure we don't!”

It was too late. Laura had rushed down the hallway and was halfway up the stairs.

Diana couldn't bear to stay and face Ashcroft. She set off after Laura at a determined march, only to come to a trembling halt as he lifted his stick and swung the door shut in front of her.

Seething, she whirled on him. “Let me pass. I have no wish to speak to you.”

Keeping the cane pressed to the door, he leaned back against the delicate desk. “You know, I find your temper exciting.” His low drawl scraped across her nerves. “But then I'm sure you've guessed I find everything about you exciting.”

She sucked in a breath, fighting to come up with something to make him realize how he'd betrayed her. He seemed to consider what he did a lark, a joke, just another game they played.

For Diana, Ashcroft's arrival was unmitigated disaster. If he'd found his way to Chelsea, surely he'd trace her back to Burnley. Then it wouldn't take him long to unravel the whole sorry plot.

He'd hate her. He'd despise her. He'd believe she'd lied to him with every word, every caress, every sigh.

Why hadn't she taken precautions to keep her location secret? In the early days, she'd been careful, but she'd grown lax. She'd trusted him, confound the man.

The elaborate system of defenses she'd constructed to keep her lover and her real life apart now seemed fragile as paper. Beneath her anger, sour fear churned. Fear fed her temper.

“You had no right,” she said in a shaking voice.

He arched his eyebrows in that damnably familiar expression. “You'll let me into your bed but not your front parlor?”

“Don't pretend to misunderstand.” His innocent act didn't gull her. He was aware what a crime he'd committed. “You know I wanted our liaison kept secret. I didn't go to your house. I definitely didn't want you to come here. I made all that clear at our first meeting.”

His smile, like his tone, was dry as dust. “You labor under the misapprehension you'll get everything your own way just for the asking.”

She took a trembling step toward him. “And what have you proven? Apart from that I can't rely on your word.”

A severe light entered his eyes. “I needed to know if you have a husband.”

Bafflement stole her breath. “Why would I lie? I told you from the beginning what I wanted. Whether I was married or not was of no importance.”

Displeasure compressed his mouth. “It seemed a rather
one-way bargain. In my favor. I needed to know what you got from the arrangement.”

“You accepted readily enough,” she said acidly. “You got a willing woman in your bed. I would have thought you'd appreciate my lack of demands.”

His jaw hardened into a stubborn line. He looked like a man who could conquer empires. He looked like a man who knew what he wanted and intended to make sure he got it. “That may have been true, but my requirements have changed.” His tone was inflexible, matching the diamond-hard purpose in his face.

He clearly meant to daunt her, but he'd chosen the wrong target. She glared back, wishing he hadn't done this mad thing, wishing everything remained as it was this afternoon.

No, even that was too complicated, too riddled with future unhappiness. She wished instead that this affair was the sordid, shabby, unemotional mating she'd planned.

Instead of…

Her mind shied away from describing how she felt in Ashcroft's bed. It brought her too close to heartbreak.

She met his uncompromising green stare with an uncompromising stare of her own. She forced out a stark answer. “My requirements haven't changed.”

“Too bad.”

“Did you follow me home? You must have dressed faster than lightning.”

He shook his head. Curse him, he didn't look remotely regretful or guilty. “Perry's people followed you. They reported back, and here I am.”

“Yes, here you are.” She shot him a scowl and flounced away in a rustle of skirts to stand by the window. Even as she strove for control, genuine distress seeped into her tone. “What got into you, Ashcroft? What did you imagine would happen when you arrived? A warm welcome and a glass of wine for your refreshment?”

He settled more comfortably upon the desk. Devil take him, he had no cause to look so at home. “Now there's a capital idea.”

She ignored his answer. He couldn't charm his way out of this. She spread her hands in helpless incomprehension. “What if I were married after all? What if my husband had answered the door? Would you have tipped your hat, wished him good evening, then asked for your mistress?”

He gave a short laugh. “Your staff assured Perry's men that two ladies live here alone, without the benefit of masculine supervision. You and Miss Smith.”

“Why, why did you think I'd lied?” Then even more pertinent, “Why would you care? You've had married women in your bed. What does it matter if I'm another?”

He lowered the stick from the door and set it on the floor, twirling it absently in his long-fingered hand. No need to bar the door. They both recognized she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. “You know you're more than that.”

She stared at him with utter dislike. At this moment, she sincerely wished she'd never met him. “Why would I know that?”

He shrugged as if he didn't say anything unusual or unexpected. “Because you're a frighteningly intelligent woman, and you don't miss much with those glorious gray eyes.”

She couldn't bear him to say it. If he said the words aloud, they could never pretend this affair was a passing fancy. For either of them.

She swallowed hard and wondered if this was the end. Where could they go from here?

Not long ago, she'd sat in this room and told herself she couldn't continue to deceive him. Now the time arrived, she couldn't endure the idea of never seeing him again.

Turning away so she couldn't watch his face, she summoned the lie she must speak. “Do you know why I selected you, Lord Ashcroft, out of all the men in the kingdom?”

He didn't reply, but she knew by his taut silence that he'd noted both her frosty tone and the way she'd called him Lord Ashcroft. She hadn't done that since their earliest days.

She stared out the window at the quiet square. Her voice was brittle with control. “I chose you because I'd heard you were a man who never mixed sentiment and sex. You've disappointed me.”

It hurt to force the words out, but to her surprise, they emerged clearly and evenly and coldly. She sounded like she meant what she said. She curled her hands in her green skirts before she realized the gesture betrayed her turmoil. She straightened her fingers out of their fists.

Still he didn't speak.

When it became apparent he intended to make neither protest nor denial, she struggled to go on. “As you can't…” In spite of her best efforts, she stopped. The prospect of sending him away forever slashed like a knife. The blade pierced her heart and twisted. She braced as though she faced an enemy. “As you can't promise you'll make no emotional demands, we must reconsider our association.”

With every word, blood dripped from her split heart. What had she done? How was she to live without him? Even her glittering future at Cranston Abbey couldn't compensate for how she felt right now.

His lack of response made her speak more firmly. “Your presence here is the last straw. We must end our affair. Now.”

He made a stifled sound.

She frowned out into the dark, empty square. Surely she misinterpreted what she'd heard. Angry, puzzled, distraught, she turned.

She hadn't mistaken the sound. The cur had laughed at her. His face was still alight with amusement. “What a load of rot, my love.”

“You…” Speech failed.

“Diana, stop all this nonsense. You don't want to leave
me. You don't want to stop what we do. As to whether there's more between us than bed sport, we both know it's far too late to worry about that.”

She did know it. And she hated herself for bringing him to this pass. More than his pride would suffer when he discovered the truth. And with every second, she realized the chance became less and less likely of her escaping with her despicable secrets intact.

Damn her for a foolish, thoughtless, cruel witch.

Still she tried to make him see reason. “I want you to go,” she said stubbornly, clenching her fists and glowering into his striking face.

His smile flashed, strong, white teeth, lines of humor radiating from his eyes and bracketing his mouth. “No, you don't,” he said implacably.

He strode across the room. Grabbing the back of her head, he held her captive for a hard kiss. A host of familiar impressions overwhelmed her. The fresh scent. The spicy taste. The warmth of his skin. The way he loomed above her, so tall and lean and powerful.

She was on the verge of sinking into the kiss. Then she remembered how inevitably she'd hurt him if she continued the affair. She squirmed and made a muffled sound of protest.

He lifted his head and sent her a knowing look under his sweep of black lashes. Despite her anger, her uncertainty, her sadness, she shivered with sensual awareness.

Contradictory impulses vied inside her. She should send him away. She should beg him to stay. She should resist him. If only to prove he didn't have the upper hand.

Even if he did.

“Stop it,” she said stiffly.

Her lack of enthusiasm didn't discourage him. “If you're set on going, the least you can do is kiss me good-bye.”

Her mouth turned down in disapproval. “You don't think I mean to say good-bye.”

He laughed softly, his breath brushing her face like a caress. “So convince me you do.”

He looked remarkably happy for a man losing a mistress he claimed to value. Damn his overweening self-confidence.

Damn her for confirming his confidence by staring up at him in misty bemusement.

“I'll convince you when you reach for me, and I'm no longer there.”

“I hope that day never comes.”

That statement sounded uncomfortably like commitment. Even while her aching heart opened to his words, her conscience shrieked. He tilted her chin with his other hand. His eyes conveyed a message she didn't want to acknowledge.

“You don't mean that,” she challenged. “You'd say anything to win.”

He arched his sleek black eyebrows. “What do I win?”

“Your own way,” she snapped, jerking her chin without managing to break free. His hold was gentle but unbreakable.

“More than that, surely. You underestimate yourself, my love.”

How she wished he'd stop calling her that. Warmth trickled through her veins every time she heard those two evocative words in that velvety baritone. She told herself he'd whispered that sweet endearment to a thousand women and never meant it.

Hard to believe that when he looked at her as though she was more precious than gold.

Because she was so close to weakening, she made herself scowl. “Let me go.”

He laughed, and his hold didn't shift. They were both aware if she really wanted to escape, she'd struggle a bit harder. She doubted he'd hold her against her will. But her will was as pliable as a willow twig.

He knew it, the cocky scoundrel.

“You promised to kiss me good-bye.”

“I promised to show you the door.”

“Temper,” he whispered, and his mouth touched hers with a soft tenderness lacking in his earlier kiss. That had been all command, meant to demonstrate who was in the ascendant.

She kept her lips closed, even as the heat of that fleeting contact seeped into her bones, oozing like honey all the way down to her toes. He thought she'd collapse in panting desire after the merest encouragement. He wasn't far wrong, but she meant to fight all the way.

Then collapse into his arms…

Oh, Diana, what happened to sending him away forever for his own good? How did that determination turn into this silly, arousing game?