My Reckless Surrender (5 page)

Trembling with fear and the quaking remnants of her climax, Diana pressed closer to Ashcroft. Stupid to seek his protection even if it felt so natural. But he seemed the only solid object in a world that had become alien.

“By Jove, Ashcroft, take the trollop somewhere private.” The voice was loud, slurred with drink, and unmistakably upper-class. “She must be a treat. You're not usually so eager for Covent Garden wares that you poke them in the street.”

Diana cringed, and a distressed murmur escaped her. Shame tasted rusty in her mouth. Her stomach knotted with nausea.

Dear heaven, had she gone mad? She'd been ready to let Ashcroft take her in an alley.

“Bugger off, Belton,” Ashcroft growled without turning.

Diana's heart beat out a wild demand to run. She was desperate to leave, but she couldn't go while there was a chance the interloper might see her face and remember it.

“Who's the jade?” Belton, whoever he was, didn't heed the threat implicit in Ashcroft's snarl. He continued with a tipsy good humor that lifted gooseflesh on Diana's skin. “If it's a fresh wench, I'll take my turn when you're done. I've got nothing against a buttered bun, and you always have the pick of the doxies. Never rogered one of your leftovers who wasn't pure gold. You surely know how to warm up a slut.”

Behind Diana, the brick wall was clammy and the stink of her surroundings was rank in her nostrils. She couldn't blame the unknown Belton for assuming she was a tart.

She acted like a tart.

By all that was holy, what had Ashcroft done to her mind? Except she couldn't blame him. She'd fallen into his arms like a leaf tumbled from a tree when winter gales blew.

No wonder he was such a devil with the women.

Ashcroft's hand settled hard behind her head and he pressed her face into his coat. Black filled her vision even as humiliation choked her. She tried to struggle, but she couldn't shift that implacable hand.

“Belton,” Ashcroft said pleasantly, “you have two choices.”

“Jolly good, old cheese.” Belton's laugh was thick with anticipation as he shuffled closer. “Her and me? Or you, her, and me?”

“No.” Even through her churning misery, Diana listened to the snap in Ashcroft's voice.

Belton however was too far in his cups to notice. “Something better?”

“Belton, you can leave now and continue your pathetic life untroubled, or you can meet me tomorrow morning over the barrel of a pistol.”

Shocked disbelief held Diana rigid against Lord Ashcroft. Had he just challenged a friend over her honor? An honor that after tonight she could no longer claim? Her hands clenched in his coat.

“Steady on, old man. Not worth losing a chum over a bit of muslin.”

“So you choose the second option?”

Belton sounded considerably shakier—and more sober. “Good gad, no. I've seen you shoot the club out of an ace at Manton's.”

“Then I suggest you choose the first option.”

“First option?”

“Leave. Now.”

“Oh. Right. Assuredly.” Diana heard bootheels scrape across cobblestones as Belton beat a hurried retreat. “No offense meant to you or your lady, old man. No offense.”

Over the noise from the street, Diana listened to the drunkard's stumbling departure. She assumed it was safe to look up, but still she kept her head buried against Ashcroft. Beneath her cheek, his heart thumped steadily.

She was all kinds of a fool to trust this embrace. His arms
promised safety and security. Lying promises. Those were the last things Ashcroft could give her. Those were the last things she wanted from him.

But she couldn't forget how quickly he'd shielded her. When she deserved no such consideration.

Her heart contracted in miserable denial of everything she'd learned about Ashcroft tonight. She desperately wanted him to be a pig of a man. She wanted him to treat her badly. She didn't want to like or respect Tarquin Vale.

Because then she might need to feel guilty about what she did to him.

H
e's gone.” Lord Ashcroft's whisper was a breath across the top of Diana's head.

“I won't…” Her unsteady response was muffled against his shoulder. A woman who had just shuddered to completion in public shouldn't be backward about voicing her wishes, but forcing the words out was impossible.

Shame crushed her in a grip of steel. Her belly cramped with a vile mixture of fear and self-disgust.

After tonight, there was a stain on her soul. One could wash a soul clean, surely? Good works, prayer, repentance. But with every minute in Ashcroft's disconcerting company, her certainty of eventual salvation faded.

I'm not a whore.

The emphatic declaration lacked conviction when she remembered how she'd yielded to his caresses.

“It's all right. He didn't see your face.” Ashcroft's voice was a deep rumble under her ear, and his arms tightened around her. She fought unsuccessfully against deriving comfort from his embrace.

“I won't…” She jerked her head up and gulped in a lungful of air. She felt like she hadn't taken a breath in an hour. “I won't let you have me against a wall.”

She read reluctance in the way he withdrew, as if he derived strength from their embrace just as she did. Oh, how she deluded herself. She stood trembling while he removed his coat and slung it over one broad shoulder.

“Contrary to what that blundering fool indicated, I usually restrain myself from rutting in backstreets.”

“He said…” She flinched to put Belton's assumptions into words. That any trull would do for Lord Ashcroft, and tonight the trull was Diana Carrick. Although the Lord Ashcroft she'd imagined was just such a profligate lover.

When had she started to think of him as more?

No, he was a man who treated women as casually as the scythe sliced a blade of wheat. One moment of thoughtless kindness didn't compensate for a lifetime of sin.

With unsteady hands, she tugged her bodice up. She must appear an utter slattern. Humiliation prickled her cheeks, and she fumbled.

With an efficiency that irked because such coolness was completely beyond her, Ashcroft tweaked her dress into decorum. His hands were adept, and little trace remained of the desperate, shaking man of a few minutes ago.

His control made her feel even more of a trollop. Satisfaction still swirled through her veins. His taste was rich in her mouth. Her breasts ached from his touch.

His voice was clipped. “Belton and I were young idiots together at Oxford. Good God, that was half a lifetime ago. I've learned a little about finesse since. Difficult as you'll find that to believe.”

She did find it difficult to believe. A strange, compelling madness had overcome her. She didn't flatter herself he'd been similarly affected. His aplomb now indicated his desire was easily conquered. “Then why…”

“Let's get out of this alley.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. Even in the dim light, the gesture was endearing.

Diana, be careful.

“Keep your head down. I was precipitate in discarding your mask.” He wrapped his coat around her, lifting the collar so it shadowed her face.

Again he guarded her honor. He left her completely befuddled. What sort of debaucher demonstrated such care for a lady's reputation? Especially when the lady behaved so unwisely.

“My carriage isn't far away.”

He'd drawn her halfway down toward the street when she came to enough to register what he said. “No.”

He stopped and glanced down. The unsteady light revealed puzzlement instead of annoyance in his expression. She couldn't blame him for taking her consent for granted. Shame tightened her belly.

“I still have the right to say that,” she said in a low, throbbing voice. “Or did I relinquish that along with my honor?”

“I have no call on you beyond your willingness, madam.”

He'd used the same cold tone when he sent her from his house. She shivered. She'd hoped never to hear that tone again. After his unexpected kindness, the abrupt change cut like a whip across her face.

She jerked back and tried to free her hand, but his hold turned firm just before she attempted escape. He looked at her fully for the first time since he'd wrapped her in his coat. She stifled the traitorous softness the memory of that tender, protective action evoked.

He drew in a jagged breath, and his broad shoulders relaxed. “Diana, I'm sorry.” A soft, self-derisive laugh. “I'm usually not such a bear. Blame it on frustration.”

Understanding descended like a dousing bucket of cold water. She'd left him hungry. His calmness formed a thin veneer over a seething volcano of arousal. Now they were close to the light, she noticed a muscle flickered erratically in his cheek.

It couldn't have been easy for him to stop when he did.

Without Belton's interruption, they'd be lovers now. In a
sordid encounter in an alleyway. She should be grateful the clodpole had burst upon them and dragged her out of her daze of sensual joy. Except the sensual joy had felt more real than anything since William's death.

Her voice was subdued, and she huddled into his coat. “I'm sorry too.”

“Come home with me.”

The soft demand's potent lure was warning in itself. She stiffened against the request, as if his will alone could make her relent. Her body demanded she go with him, test the limits of desire. Her mind remained in control—barely. Her mind insisted she had to reinforce her defenses before she saw Ashcroft again, before he placed those skillful hands on her yearning flesh once more.

She'd undoubtedly gained his interest. Although there had been little calculation in her success. So little calculation that every nerve tightened against going with him now. Her surrender when she was so vulnerable would be too complete, too honest.

I am not a whore.

A couple paused at the mouth of the alley, arms around each other, and peered into the darkness. As quick as sound, Lord Ashcroft stepped before Diana, shrouding her in shadow.

Her heart clenched in anguished response. Why did he act like a knight in shining armor when she needed him to be a heartless devil?

The longing to cede to blazing passion tugged at her. He was close enough for her to feel his warmth. That radiating heat was its own invitation. She'd been cold for eight long years.

Once, she'd basked in a husband's love and care. Then death had ripped William from her arms, and she'd been lonely ever since.

The reminder of her husband propelled her back to reality. For her sanity's sake, she couldn't afford to lose her
self in passion. “I want an affair, not a quick tumble then good-bye.”

“You do yourself an injustice, Diana,” he said slowly. “And me.”

“So you accept my proposal?”

The word hung between them, with its connotations of permanence, virtue, wedded bliss. Eventually, he lowered his head in a sharp nod. “I accept.”

She waited for hallelujahs of triumph to ring inside her. But instead her heart beat a preternatural warning that she should end everything now. She should flee London and return to the woman she'd been last week, yesterday, an hour ago.

The woman she was before she'd succumbed to a rake's touch.

“Thank you.” What else could a woman say when she consented to surrender her honor?

He reached for her hand. Even through her glove, his touch scorched. “Now for pity's sake, come with me before I lose my mind.”

He jerked her against him and slipped one hand behind her head. He kissed her thoroughly. Her toes curled in her brocade slippers, and pleasure flooded her veins.

When sensation threatened to overwhelm her, she wrenched her head back. In the darkness, she couldn't read his expression. His breathing was tattered, and his heart raced under the hand she rested on his chest.

How she wanted him. Desire should ease her way. Instead, it made everything fiendishly difficult. She hadn't expected to navigate the rapids and ravines of emotional involvement.

Untold danger lay ahead unless she controlled her responses and remembered she did this monstrous thing for purely selfish reasons. She wanted something from Lord Ashcroft, and once she got it, he was no more use to her.

He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in the space between, almost more inti
mate than his kiss. “You torture me. Damn it, Diana, I must have you.”

“Not tonight,” she forced out, even as the urge to yield, to run away with him and never look back made her shake with longing.

For all her harsh reminders of why she was here, it was impossible to forget what they'd shared tonight.

She wanted one last memory to carry home. Her kiss was soft, tentative, unlike the earlier passionate ravishing. His lips were soft, too, like warm satin. She clung for a sweet moment that whispered innocence. She glanced swift kisses at the corners of his mouth and along the hard line of his jaw.

His scent filled her head. Musk and clean skin and some essence that was Ashcroft himself.

Temptation drew her on. She feathered her mouth across his commanding blade of a nose, hearing his sharply in-drawn breath. Almost as if she were blind, she glided her mouth over his cheeks, felt a hint of bristle. This evidence of masculinity made her toes curl again.

She cupped his face between her hands and returned her attention to his lips. His hold tightened at her waist, and he opened his mouth. Any hope of restraint evaporated in incinerating heat. He took control, lit the kiss to flame.

She was lost to the world before something, the whicker of a horse or the rattle of a carriage, pierced her flaring madness.

He speared his hands through her hair in a rough gesture that scattered bright shards of desire through her veins. His voice was rough too. “My house. Tomorrow.”

Diana struggled to muster her thoughts, difficult when his kiss still tingled on her lips. She couldn't mistake his urgency. His urgency fed hers.

“No. Someone might see me.” Whatever tonight's excesses, she couldn't compromise her reputation.

“You came to me before.”

A wry smile crooked her lips. “The risks were equal to the rewards.”

“Your house?”

“No. Someone might see
you.
”

The greater danger was he'd learn where she lived. When she abandoned him, as she would once she'd conceived, she didn't want him tracing her in London or even worse, back to Marsham.

“Hell, Diana…” A thoughtful expression crossed his dark face. “There's somewhere. Where do you live? I'll collect you in my carriage.”

“I'll meet you,” she said hurriedly, noticing the way his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “The Serpentine in Hyde Park at four.”

“Three.”

Poor fool she was to find his eagerness flattering. Poor fool she was to capitulate so readily. She wanted to say it was because her scheme promised to reach fruition all the sooner. But in her heart, she admitted it was because she ached to see Ashcroft again.

She needed time apart from this rake before she forgot what was at stake.

“Three then.” He leaned forward and kissed her. A brief, uncompromising salute expressing frustration and desire. “Are you sure you want to go home alone?”

“Yes.”

She wasn't sure at all, part of the reason she must leave. Her mind was topsy-turvy. Her blood still thundered with the echo of pleasure. She needed to remind herself she hadn't embarked on this cause to become a whore in her soul as well as her actions.

“I'll take you home.”

A trip through dark streets offering Ashcroft opportunity to demonstrate his disreputable skills? Far too appealing. And she still had to keep her address a secret.

Hurriedly she shook her head. “I brought my carriage.”

“You mean to leave me unsatisfied?”

She remembered his inflammatory comment earlier and teased him with repeating it. “I mean to build the anticipation.”

She wondered if he meant to drag her up for another kiss, but instead he drew her head into his shoulder. “Tomorrow at three.”

“Tomorrow at three.” She wondered if the words augured heaven or hell.

 

“And naturally you'll host dear Charlotte's coming out at Ashcroft House, Tarquin. It will be the event of the season.”

Ashcroft frowned. His aunt Mary, Countess of Birchgrove, was as encroaching as ever. He surveyed the family gathered for the christening of another Vale offspring and tried to think of one relative who wasn't encroaching.

He couldn't come up with a candidate.

“That's impossible, Aunt Mary,” he said in a clipped voice.

He'd learned long ago that unless he scotched his father's sister's schemes at the outset, life became a nightmare. He shuddered to remember her imposing upon him to host a country house party years ago, when he'd been too young and naïve to refuse. He'd still been tripping over strangers three months later. It had been like having the place infested with cockroaches.

The countess drew herself up to her full six feet and produced a delicate lace handkerchief that looked completely ridiculous in her platelike hand. “You have no gratitude, Ashcroft.” She always used his title as a mark of displeasure. She dabbed at her eyes. “I've given succor to a reptile.”

It wasn't the first time she'd called him cold-blooded, and it wouldn't be the last. “Snake or not, Aunt Mary, my home isn't at your disposal,” he said crisply. “Birchgrove House has a perfectly adequate ballroom.”

She patted again at dry eyes that now glinted with annoyance. “Your ballroom is twice the size of ours, and you never use it.”

“Nonetheless, my decision stands.”

He let her vociferous complaints fade into the background. Instead, he sipped his champagne and considered the family gathering with the cynicism born of a lifetime's acquaintance with the Vales.