My Reckless Surrender (8 page)

This was something else she hadn't expected, that she'd have to explain herself to an intelligent, perceptive lover. That he'd invade more than just her bed. The Lord Ashcroft of her imaginings had been happy to use her body and leave her secrets intact.

His eyes narrowed. “You're an anomaly, Diana. I don't like anomalies.”

She stiffened, and her hand tightened on the cup. “Don't like?”

His brief laugh indicated he was amused despite himself. “Don't trust, then. You know how much I like you. You've known from the first, even when I threw you out of my house.”

Had she? Some bond had immediately linked them. Something strong enough to send her stumbling out of that ballroom last night and into the alley. Strong enough to make her unhesitatingly obey his command to take him today.

He raised the silver flask in an ironic toast, then drank. She tried not to stare in fascination at the working of his strong throat.

Back in Marsham, she'd pictured a rake as wan and etiolated from never seeing daylight. Lord Ashcroft looked like he could take on a team of wrestlers and win.

“Perhaps you like a challenge,” she said with a lightness she didn't feel. “Although my resistance hasn't been noticeable.”

“Amen to that and praise the Lord.”

“You must be used to women flinging themselves at your head.”

He shrugged. “Modesty forbids a reply.”

In spite of her disgust with herself, she couldn't resist smil
ing. She took another sip of wine, letting the rich flavors fill her mouth and slide down her throat. Curiosity about him was a fever inside her. Something else she hadn't prepared for. “Do you always say yes?”

The carriage slowed and stopped. A deep shiver ran through her as she realized they'd reached Lord Peregrine Montjoy's house. Which meant Lord Ashcroft would touch her again.

She shouldn't want him to. But she did, oh, how she did.

In the last eight years, she'd forgotten passion's power. Except even in the first dazzling rapture of marriage, she couldn't remember being so focused on physical pleasure and the man who provided it. Perhaps it was because that was all she and Ashcroft shared.

His gaze remained cryptic. “Not always.”

“So availability isn't your only requirement in a lover?” Nerves made her voice quake. Nerves and a simmering need.

Oh, she was a sad, sad case. He wasn't touching her, and still she burned. In his company, her body became something alien, beyond her control.

He burst out laughing. “Diana, do you have any idea how insulting your questions are?”

Her color rose again. “I'm trying to understand.”

He shrugged. “Attraction is always mysterious.”

 

Ashcroft watched as Diana digested his remark.

For all her beauty, he didn't completely fathom what drew him to this particular woman. She wasn't his usual style. His lovers were polished and sophisticated and accustomed to society's sexual games.

Diana wasn't like that. Diana was an intriguing mixture of passion and reticence. Diana fought to keep him at a distance even while she surrendered her delectable body. And succumbed to pleasure with wholehearted delight.

During his restless night—alone, damn her—he'd told himself her fascination would fade. It was just another symp
tom of this strange mood that gripped him this hot summer. Once he had her, she'd lose her allure.

How wrong he'd been.

He took her cup. She looked uncertain and absurdly young, although he recognized that she was past first youth. Her skin was clear and unlined, but her gray eyes held a knowledge of sorrow that indicated this was no green girl.

To his relief, she no longer appeared utterly devastated. When he'd pulled out of her, she'd looked as though he crushed her heart. Was it some lingering grief for her dead husband? It was clear she'd loved him dearly, and taking a lover must prompt poignant memories. She wasn't comfortable with what she did with Ashcroft. He'd known that even before he'd invaded her painfully tight body.

Ashcroft watched her cover her disheveled hair with the bonnet and lower the veiling. He knocked on the ceiling and pushed up the blinds. They were in the mews behind Perry's mansion. He tipped out the rest of Diana's wine—she hadn't drunk much, he noticed—and recapped the flask, slipping it back into its pocket.

Tobias opened the door. Ashcroft stepped out and reached in for Diana's hand. It trembled in his, and he fought the urge to gather her up and carry her into the house away from prying eyes.

Hell, what was this continual urge to protect her?

She bent her head and walked docilely by his side as they entered the garden. She looked neither right nor left.

“Take off your bonnet,” Ashcroft said, remembering he'd used exactly the same words before they'd come together in his carriage. The echo fed his stirring arousal.

If he didn't get her into a bedroom soon, he wouldn't be able to walk. As if to confirm that thought, they passed a Herm with a massive erect phallus. Assorted ancient statuary punctuated the garden. All male, all intact, all unadorned with fig leaves.

“Goodness gracious!” Diana paused to remove her bonnet.
Her face flooded with pink as she stared at the lewd statue.

In spite of the desire eddying through his veins, Ashcroft couldn't help laughing. He was surprised he found her provincialism charming. Naïveté wasn't a quality that usually appealed. “He's a fertility god.”

She released a breath, half amusement, half shock. “Believe me, I can see that.”

She reached out and slowly stroked the stone projection from base to tip. Heat blasted Ashcroft. Sight faded to black.

When he returned to reality, she wandered ahead as if she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Her audacity intrigued him. It proved such a contrast to her diffidence after they'd made love.

Now they were alone, she seemed more at ease.

More at ease? Great Jehovah, she'd just done one of the most provocative things he'd ever seen. Any more at ease, and she'd be tupping him in the bushes.

She glanced back and, for the first time, sent him a genuine smile. Just a slight lift of those lush red lips, but enough to propel his heart into a drunken gallop.

Good God, but she was exquisite.

Tall, deep-breasted, long-legged. She was created for his pleasure. Once she'd taken him and adjusted to his size, they'd fit together perfectly.

He gritted his teeth and battled for control. He was thirty-two years old, an experienced man. How lowering that a country bumpkin turned him into this slavering, desperate supplicant.

He was desperate for no woman, damn it.

His eyes fixed on the subtle sway of her dark green skirts as she sauntered along the gravel path. Now he looked more closely, she couldn't quite carry off the careless confidence. Her gait was slightly uneven, reminder of how he'd ravished her in the carriage.

Delicious memory.

How he loved her desire. It was honest and real.

He hadn't realized until these last days how he'd itched for something deeper than superficial flirtation. What happened with Diana held a rawness he hadn't experienced in years.

If ever.

“Ashcroft, are you all right?” She tilted her head in inquiry. The late-afternoon sun caught her, transforming her to pure gold.

Ashcroft's breath snagged. The moment seemed to hold a significance beyond the present.

Then a cloud covered the sun. The strange preternatural feeling vanished.

A bewigged footman appeared at the doors leading from the garden. Like all Lord Peregrine's staff, he was young and handsome. Diana spared him hardly a glance. Instead, her gaze clung to Ashcroft. He knew she had no idea she betrayed her attraction with every breath. And she had no idea how her unfettered hunger fed his.

He strode after her. It suddenly seemed a sin not to touch her. He caught her hand and drew it around his arm.

“Lord Peregrine has unusual taste in statuary.” She fell into step beside him.

Ashcroft gave a grunt of laughter as they passed naked Hercules wrestling a well-endowed lion. “Wait until you see inside. Spare my blushes and promise you won't measure every appendage.”

Another delicious wash of color marked her cheeks. “My father says curiosity is my besetting fault.”

“Curiosity has its uses.”

This time her glance held no shyness. The gray was deep and dark, and excitement stirred to life in her face. “Oh, I look forward to satisfying my curiosity, my lord.”

Her purring response raised the hairs on his skin. Ashcroft stumbled, scuffing his soles on the gravel path. The wench had the nerve to laugh. She swept into the luxurious mansion as though she marched into lavish town houses as a matter of course. Again, she proved an enigma.

Ashcroft burned with such desire, he scarcely cared.

She paused just inside the room and stiffened with surprise. He couldn't blame her. Lord Peregrine, the younger son of the Marquess of Farnsworth, did much of his entertaining in the long salon. Even to Ashcroft, who knew the room well, the gold on every surface was blinding.

“You're right.” Her breathless undertone of amusement threw coal on his flaming need. For the moment, the shy, almost hesitant woman from the carriage had vanished. “It is rather…spectacular.”

Behind them, he heard the footman close the door. “This way, my lord.”

Diana and Ashcroft crossed the polished marble floor, avoiding the shrouded furniture. Ashcroft had been to so many parties in this salon, it was disconcerting to see it empty. As if disapproving of his lustful intentions, the sulky faces in the huge painting of Zeus and Ganymede frowned down from the far wall.

Ashcroft and Diana approached the impressive staircase with its gilt railings. He noted that she looked around with interest but no awe. Even members of the ton were rendered speechless when confronted with the spectacle that was Perry's home. Diana treated her expensive and luxurious surroundings like a diverting trifle.

He couldn't quite place her in the social scale, which was intriguing as he'd learned in leading strings how to assess people's stations. She spoke with cultured accents and had practiced manners. Yet something hinted at fancy dress, as if playing the fine lady wasn't her normal occupation.

Devil take her, she was nothing but shadows and secrets.

And temptation.

Her warmth curled out to lure him as he escorted her up the staircase, past the floor with the huge ballroom. Finally, they stopped outside a closed door.

“Lord Peregrine made these rooms available for your use, my lord.” The footman opened the door as calmly as if host
ing his employer's friends and their lovers was a normal part of his duties. Perhaps it was. Perry had a huge number of disreputable acquaintances, with notable names and without. “He also requested we keep the library ready.”

Unlike the rest of the house, the room spoke of charming, almost feminine, simplicity. A small dining table perched under the large window, and on the sideboard, an elaborate supper waited, including champagne in melting ice.

“Thank you.” Reluctantly, Ashcroft released Diana and moved inside. She remained poised on the threshold, as if unsure whether she stayed.

Stay…

“What is your name?” Diana asked their guide.

“Robert, madam.” He bowed with a respect that seemed incongruous, considering he must know why she was here.

Or perhaps he, like Ashcroft, noticed her natural distinction. Could she come from a great family? Somehow that didn't fit. Neither did his original assumption that she was a tradesman's wife out to spend her husband's copious blunt.

“Shall I show you through the apartment? Beyond this sitting room, there's a bedroom, a dressing room, and a bathroom.”

Diana's eyes settled on Ashcroft and something in the gray depths told him she read his burgeoning hunger. “No, thank you, Robert. We have all we require.”

“Madam. My lord.” He bowed again. “The staff are at your disposal.”

Ashcroft hardly noticed him leave. Instead, his eyes followed Diana, who strolled across to drop her bonnet on a low mahogany chair. The air swirled with unspoken desire.

She sent him a faint smile, and while her color was higher than usual, her eyes didn't waver. She knew as well as he what would happen in this elegant room.

She flicked back her untidy tumble of hair. “Alone at last.”

D
iana felt like a cat on top of a stove. She wanted Ashcroft to touch her again. She wanted it more than she wanted to live to see the sun rise tomorrow.

How quickly she'd adopted a mistress's role. The change would have terrified her, if she hadn't been so edgy with need. Her heart battered her chest, and craving pricked her skin.

He pushed the bedroom door open. “Come with me.”

Diana trailed after him as he prowled across to lean against one bedpost. Behind him the huge four-poster bed loomed large and ornate, like everything else in this house. In contrast, even Cranston Abbey's baroque excesses seemed restrained.

The room must overlook a rose garden. Sweet fragrance lay heavy on the air. The perfume was heady, almost as heady as the desire flowing through her veins.

His green eyes settled unwaveringly on her. There was something predatory about Lord Ashcroft. She shivered with anticipation as she imagined him seizing her and devouring her.

Oh, yes, please.

She licked parched lips. His eyes glinted as they dropped
to her mouth before returning to meet hers. It was as if he'd kissed her. Her heart, already galloping, kicked up a notch.

He untied his neckcloth, his tanned hand dark against the snowy white linen. What had happened in the carriage had been wild, fiery, overwhelming. What happened now promised to hurl her into a new world.

She wasn't sure she was ready. With every second, it became clear she was no longer in charge of the ship of her life. The winds of passion pushed her far from harbor. Now she drifted, lost in turbulent seas of desire.

Ashcroft dropped his neckcloth to the rich red-and-blue Turkey carpet. His shirt gaped, allowing glimpses of his throat and the crisp dark hair on his upper chest.

He'd brought her to climax twice, and she was yet to see more of his body than she would in a ballroom. Her eyes fastened feverishly on that revealing vee. Her lips parted as if she already tasted him there. The prickly sensation on her skin heightened. Air pressed against her.

Still with that casual air—an air the banked fires in his eyes contradicted—he tugged his coat from his shoulders and tossed it on the chair behind him.

Diana swallowed to ease the dryness of her mouth. She wished he'd say something. Anything to snap the building tension.

He unfastened the beautiful gray waistcoat with its delicate embroidery of vines and fruit. With the pull and release of each button, her heart crashed against her ribs. He shrugged off the waistcoat and dropped it to lie next to the unraveled neckcloth.

Her fists clenched in her skirts as she fought for control. What was happening to her? When she'd invited Ashcroft to be her lover, she hadn't wanted it to be like this. This threatened to take over her entire existence.

He stood before her wearing only his fine white shirt and dark trousers. Fully dressed, he was a magnificent figure of a man. In shirtsleeves, he took her breath away. Feverishly,
her eyes traced the straight shoulders, the broad chest, and narrow hips, down to his strong horseman's thighs.

Out of his elegant garb, he should appear more approachable. Instead, he looked hard and male and overpowering.

Her belly turned hot and liquid, and she shifted to relieve the pressure between her legs. Then blushed when he noticed her discomfort.

“Take off that dress,” he growled.

She shivered. In eight years, she hadn't been naked for a man. Now she'd reveal her body to an acknowledged connoisseur. She was no longer a lissome girl, and this man was used to diamonds of the first water.

She shot him a defiant glare. “Are you always this imperious with your lovers?”

He laughed. “Only when they drive me as mad as you do.”

The humor cut through her fleeting insecurity like a hot knife through butter. With surprisingly steady fingers, she began to undo her bodice. She'd chosen a dress fastening in front as she hadn't been sure she'd have the services of a maid.

The first few buttons loosened easily before Ashcroft's fixed regard made her falter. When she glanced down, her bosom swelled over the top of her short stays. She'd always been a regrettably overendowed woman although William had appreciated her assets. One look at Ashcroft's face, and she guessed he was another man who liked more than a handful.

“Don't stop,” he said hoarsely. His hands opened and closed at his sides as if he restrained the urge to grab her.

Three more buttons, and she wriggled out of the gown. Carefully, she laid it upon the mahogany chair.

Her hair fell about her face in a disheveled, heavy mass. She tossed it behind her shoulders. Lifting her chin in a proud gesture, she confronted Ashcroft. She forced words from her tight throat. “You'll have to help with my corset.”

“With pleasure.”

She presented her back and bunched her hair out of the way with one hand. A man of his experience must have undressed thousands of women. The thought stung, although she told herself she had no right to resent his former lovers.

Within seconds, he had her corset unlaced. No maid had performed the mundane task as deftly. He slid it from her shoulders and flung it across her dress. Without invitation, he untied the tapes holding her petticoats. Rustling softly, they dropped to the floor.

She stepped out of them, then slowly turned. Her shift was made of silk so fine, it was transparent. Fleetingly, perilously, she forgot the role she played, of eager, rapacious, heartless lover. Instead, she was just plainspoken Diana Carrick. Bookish. Lonely. Driven. Selling herself to gain a magnificent dream.

Her shaking hands rose to cover her breasts. Her nipples pearled so tight, they ached. The onslaught of desire left her floundering.

“Diana, don't be shy,” he said softly. He gently uncrossed her wrists. “You're glorious.”

“This is…this is more difficult than I expected,” she said in a shaky voice. Then bit her lip as she realized what she admitted.

Would he guess she seduced him for her own purposes? Although who was the seducer and who the seduced had become blurred since last night.

To her relief, he took her words at face value, and a smile of surprising tenderness curved his mouth. It made him look younger, less cynical, more vulnerable. She struggled to close the rift that opened in her heart.

“Don't do anything you don't want to, sweetheart,” he said softly, and raised her hands to his lips, placing a kiss in the center of each palm.

The brush of his mouth was warm and sweet and set a
long slow pulse beating low in her belly. The problem wasn't whether she wanted to make love to him, the problem was how very much she wanted it.

But she was too rapt in enchantment to wrench free.

He released her and tugged his shirt over his head, ruffling his dark hair. The shirt drifted down to lie in a crumpled heap next to his other clothing.

“Oh, my heavens,” she whispered, any more eloquent expression eluding her. Almost in a daze, she drank in the smooth golden skin of arms and chest, the scatter of dark hair across his pectoral muscles, hair arrowing down to his waistband.

He was utterly irresistible.

Hesitantly, she placed a trembling hand in the center of his chest. He was like sun-warmed rock under her palm. Her lips parted in sensual delight as she stroked downward, stopping just short of where she knew he wanted her.

With brief amusement, she recalled how she'd assumed a rogue of his decadent reputation would be pale and weak from too many late nights, too much brandy, and too many women. If that regimen resulted in this superb specimen, every doctor in the country should recommend it.

He surveyed her out of lazy dark green eyes. “You look like the cat who got the cream.”

“The cream is still waiting.” Distantly, she wondered where the confident woman came from. This siren couldn't be busy, clever Diana Carrick, virtuous widow from Marsham.

“Does that mean you'll lick away every morsel?” The hint of laughter didn't hide the gruffness in his voice.

Diana's heart slammed against her ribs. The prospect of licking him all over intensified the throbbing between her legs. “Only if you beg.”

His laugh trickled down her backbone like fine wine would slip down her throat. “You're suddenly very cocksure.”

“So are you.” Her attention focused on where he pressed against his trousers. No mistaking his heavy, seeking arousal.

His impressive chest rose on a deep breath. “I'll make the pleasure last this time.”

Reluctantly she stopped ogling him and met eyes that held a rueful light. “An admirable ambition,” she said, with a coolness she was far from feeling.

“If you look at me like that, it's an ambition fated for failure.”

How she enjoyed this subtle push and pull of wits between them. She ran a questing finger down his chest. “You're stronger than you think.”

“Every man has his breaking point.”

“Hmm, I'd like to see that.”

His muscles bunched and firmed beneath her touch. “I guarantee you'll see it.”

A few weeks ago, she wouldn't have understood what he meant. But in preparation for her trip to London, Burnley had lent her some naughty French books. The detailed illustrations had kept her and Laura giggling and horrified for a week.

“Not yet,” he said in a rough voice. “Later.”

Startled, she glanced up, catching the excitement in his eyes as he obviously read the wicked direction of her thoughts. The way he followed her reactions so closely was thrilling. Her nipples beaded with longing as she imagined him devoting that attention to her pleasure.

“I…” She lost track of what she meant to say when he tangled his hand in her hair and tipped her face toward his.

“You're a very beautiful woman,” he said hoarsely.

Before she could respond, his mouth descended. He hadn't kissed her for what felt like an eon. Terrifying, really, how quickly she'd become addicted to his kisses. She sighed and gave herself up to his skillful mouth.

His tongue invaded her mouth, and her bones melted. She'd missed kissing more than she'd missed marital relations. Odd to realize it.

She closed her eyes and sank into velvety darkness. Her
knees buckled, and her head swam with pleasure and lack of breath. He shifted his attention from her lips to the sensitive skin of her neck. She moaned and rocked her hips, testing his hard masculinity.

He groaned and drew apart from her. She made a wordless protest before she realized he'd only moved to tug her chemise over her head. As the silk slid away, reality intruded on her sensual dream.

She was naked. At his mercy. This encounter promised to be deeper, purer, more dangerous than what had happened in his carriage. Ruthlessly she reminded herself why she was here. It wasn't to lose herself in Ashcroft's attractions.

She couldn't yield to her desperate craving. She could cope with a coldhearted seduction where both of them took what they wanted. There was nothing coldhearted in how she felt right now.

But how could she keep herself apart from him?

His eyes blazed as they ran over her body. The tips of her breasts tingled as his gaze lingered. His attention slipped lower to the damp triangle of dark blond curls. The insistent throbbing built, and she felt another liquid surge. She moved restlessly. The awareness between them was animal-like in its intensity.

“What's wrong?” he asked softly, tilting her chin to see her eyes.

Dear heaven, she needed to be careful. She bit her lip before she realized how that too betrayed her nervousness. With sudden recklessness, she risked honesty. “This is more…powerful than I expected.”

He arched a sleek black eyebrow, and his voice was steadier than she'd imagine possible, given the need sparking in his eyes. “You're full of preconceptions, Diana. You speak as if you and I are machines. Wind us up, put us into motion, pack us away when the performance is over.”

Her color rose, not because she was naked, although that was discomfiting enough. He made her feel so tawdry.

“Diana?”

She still stared helplessly into his face. Like a besotted chit mooning over her first love. She quashed the thought as soon as it arose. Love had nothing to do with this. “I've lived a quiet life since my husband's death.”

That much was true. Tragically true, she realized. How many years she'd devoted to her duties as her father's diligent assistant and Burnley's loyal servant. The woman Diana had disappeared in the efficient, hardworking, endlessly reliable Mrs. Carrick.

The woman had awoken tonight. In a rake's arms.

Ashcroft's warm hand cupped her jaw. She tilted her head in a subtle movement that rubbed her cheek against his palm. “This is my chance to take a share in life. I wanted…I
want
some excitement.”

The curve of his lips and the white glint of his teeth sent another jolt of arousal through her. She was so hot, she'd ignite any second.

“I can definitely give you that.”

She took the step that brought her flush against his powerful body. As she'd guessed, his calmness was deceptive. Her senses filled with the scent of aroused man. His heart pounded in a furious gallop.

“Prove it.”

 

Ashcroft's heart soared in admiration as Diana reached out to snatch what she wanted. Especially as what she wanted seemed to be him.

Unclothed, she took his breath away. Juno. Venus. An Amazon. All woman.

Grabbing her naked hips, he drew her hard against him and kissed her. He couldn't get enough of the taste of her mouth. Like wine. Like honey. He could hardly wait to taste the rest of her.

In a smooth step like a waltz, he turned her toward the bed. He flung back the blue brocade bedspread to reveal
snowy white sheets and plump pillows. Another step, and he slid her onto the mattress.

Bless Perry. For all the woeful decorating, everything here was the latest word in comfort. Tumbling Diana in this bed would be like floating to paradise on a cloud. Although to speak true, Ashcroft was so rampant, he'd take her on the bare floor if he had to. “Patience” entered his lexicon as a synonym for “torture.”