As the buzz of conversation rose, and Josephine gave a loud wail—probably the only honest expression of feeling here—he lost himself in pleasurable contemplation of his plans for his new lover.
Beside the Serpentine’s dark green water, Ashcroft sat in a closed carriage and wondered if the enigmatic Diana had destroyed his sanity during their short association. Here he was, waiting for the woman. He never waited for a woman.
For the tenth time in half an hour, he checked his engraved gold pocket watch. The hands hadn’t moved much since last time he looked.
Ten to three.
He’d arrived before two, knowing he was ridiculously, mortifyingly early, knowing she wouldn’t be here.
His rational self loathed these games, this mystery. He didn’t trust Diana. There were too many questions and not enough answers.
His rational self loathed the way he behaved in her vicinity. He was unaccustomed to playing the supplicant when it came to sex. He was unaccustomed to feeling out of control, however much he relished the delicious pull of desire.
But it was always a desire he could walk away from.
Could he walk away from Diana? He didn’t know. That was the hell of it.
Self-preservation insisted he leave right now. Unfortunately, his cock didn’t care about self-preservation. His cock just wanted to bury itself between those slender thighs.
He checked his watch again.
Blast it. Only three minutes had passed.
If he had half a brain, he’d tell his coachman to return to Ashcroft House. If he had half a brain, he’d call on one of the many willing women he knew and work off the painful frustration Madam Diana had left behind last night.
God knew why he didn’t.
Except he’d caught her taste and scent, and no substitute would do. He couldn’t say he enjoyed the sensation. Life was so much simpler when any dish on the menu could appease his hunger.
Back in his formative years as the Birchgroves’ unwelcome ward, he’d learned wanting things was the sure route to misery. Better just to take what the world offered, then move on swiftly before the flavor cloyed.
Would the mysterious Diana cloy? Surely, inevitably she would.
He checked his watch. Just before three. Even if she meant to honor the appointment, he suspected she’d delay. She’d want to torment him.
He’d quickly discerned a layer of hostility in her reaction that should repel but somehow proved part of her fascination. She’d treated him like a whore when she presented herself at his house. Last night, she’d been too carried away to allow her disdain free rein, but it was still present.
That was the most worrying aspect of all. Her derision for his character cut him to the quick. He was the Earl of Ashcroft, careless, notorious, infinitely seductive. He had no illusions about what he was and what he’d done in his unruly life. Where women were concerned, he was a scoundrel through and through. His only genuine virtue was honesty, with himself and his paramours.
Yet he wanted Diana to stare into his eyes with the same melting expression she’d revealed when he’d wrapped his coat around her in the alley.
As if his chivalry caught her unawares, curse her.
Growling softly with frustration, he stretched his cramped legs until his heels bumped the back of the carriage. It was bloody hot. Thick air lay over London like a steamy blanket.
Tobias, his coachman, knocked twice on the roof. It was the signal they’d arranged if a woman approached.
His wayward heart beat a rapid tattoo as he opened the door and stepped out. He tried to tell himself the relief tightening his chest was merely anticipation of passion. Automatically he swept his hat off in a bow. “Madam.”
“My lord.” Diana didn’t curtsy, and she was veiled again.
The park was empty, a far cry from how crowded it would become later when the fashionable hour began. Nobody was there to see him take Diana’s hand and usher her into the carriage. He realized he’d never seen her naked hands. She always wore gloves.
Always? Th
ey’d only met twice before this.
He slammed the door and closed the curtains so dimness surrounded them. Gently he drew her down to sit next to him. Her hip brushed his, and the contact blasted him with heat.