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Why, if no man waited at home? The wall she placed between them became more frustrating. He threw the sheet aside and rose to his feet.
He wanted to harangue her, demand she tell him everything, save him from having to discover the truth through subterfuge. Instead, he grabbed her and drew her up for a hard kiss. Her lips immediately opened, and the kiss became a long, passionate exploration. He tasted her desperation, her turmoil. When finally she pulled away, his heart thudded fit to burst, and his thoughts whirled like drunken sailors dancing the hornpipe.
She was the most delicious woman he’d ever known. God forbid she hid poison under the honey. Although he’d reached such a stage of enchantment he’d probably die happy even if she did.
“Tomorrow night? Nine?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Eight.”
Her voluptuous mouth quirked. “Seven.”
“Six.” He smiled back, in spite of the grim thoughts rocketing through his mind. “That’s my last offer.”
She nodded. “You drive a hard bargain. Six it is.”
He bit back the invitation for her to spend the day with him. He bit back the urge to grab her and keep her. He hated the uncertainty of this affair. But not so much as he hated the idea of her walking away, even for only a few hours.
“Until tomorrow,” she said softly. God rot him for a credulous numbskull, he heard similar regret at leaving in her voice.
She hid herself under the thick cloak and the ugly bonnet. One lingering glance from luminous gray eyes before she lowered the veiling. Then she was gone.
The door opened a few minutes later to admit Robert. “Madam has left, my lord.”
“Did you have her followed?”
The footman nodded. “Yes, two men are tracking her.”
In Chelsea, Diana shut the library door after her and collapsed shaking against it.
She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t.
Every day, her deception became more impossible. And today, today she’d come so close to betraying herself. Still wasn’t sure she hadn’t. Ashcroft had hidden his reaction, but she knew that formidable brain worried at her unconvincing answers like a terrier worried at a bone.
The mixture of lies and half-truths she’d fed Ashcroft this afternoon made her belly cramp with disgust. She could hardly bear to live inside her skin, she felt so dirty and fraudulent.
He said he’d never despise her. If he discovered the truth, he would. He should.
She despised herself.
She sucked in a shuddering breath. What should she do? What should she do?
Feeling a thousand years old, Diana pushed away from the door and moved forward to slump into one of the high-backed chairs near the desk.
Like most of the house, this room was on a feminine scale. Not at all like Ashcroft’s huge library, where she’d made her outrageous proposal. At the time, she’d regarded that room with contempt, as if the earl claimed an intellectual standing he couldn’t justify. Those rows of scholarly books, that imposing mahogany desk, the dizzying array of maps and globes and scientific instruments seemed pretentious, false. She’d since learned better. He was clever and interested in his world in a way she found increasingly attractive.
She desperately needed to find some facet of his character that didn’t appeal to her.
It was all such a horrible, tragic mess.
After spending hours in his bed, Ashcroft’s scent clung to her hair and skin. Ashcroft’s tangy taste lingered in her mouth. It was as if he’d branded her.
Blindly, she stared ahead. She should go upstairs, change out of this crumpled gown, order a bath. She had to write her bulletin, which became terser with each day, to Lord Burnley. She should also write to her father. She’d neglected him lately. Partly because she’d been occupied with her lover. Partly because she hated setting pen to paper with every word a lie.
Wherever she turned, she betrayed someone.
At least here she didn’t do active harm. At least here, she didn’t look into accusing eyes, even her own.
Although these days, her eyes held secrets beyond her plots with Lord Burnley. These days, she looked into her eyes and saw a woman hopelessly and endlessly in love. She’d battled against admitting the emotion for so long, but her strivings were useless.
