The rasp of Ashcroft’s breath as he leaned forward to bury his face in her shoulder. The heat of his embrace, even through her clothing. The sharp, evocative scent of his arousal. Sweat. Healthy male. Soap.
Before she could stop herself, she tightened her arms around him. She trembled too. She’d forgotten how a strong man’s vulnerability in the throes of passion twisted her heart.
She rose, relishing the slide of his flesh. With an ease completely beyond her a few seconds ago, she lowered. She settled into a glorious rhythm, working in concert with the carriage’s gentle sway.
It was like last night except the crescendo was slower, more powerful. It built every second. Never quite taking her over the edge. Pitching her higher and higher.
Ashcroft’s hands shifted, and she found herself on her back against the cushions. She sank onto the velvet and gripped his shoulders as she fought to catch her breath.
She opened dazed eyes. Ashcroft crouched over her, filling her vision. His black hair was ruffled and damp, and a single lock fell over his high forehead. He was breathtakingly beautiful.
Ruthlessly, he dragged her hips up so his hardness probed higher. A long moan escaped her, and she arched to maintain the exquisite pressure. She sighed with regret when he withdrew, only to bask in pleasure when he thrust again.
The wool of his trousers created soft friction against her thighs. Her fingers dug into the fine weave of his coat as if they meant to tear through to his skin.
Everything, the rocking carriage, Ashcroft’s whispered encouragement, her misgivings about how this physical possession invaded her emotions, receded. All she knew was a headlong drive toward completion. Her starved senses craved release.
He kept going, long, slow strokes that tormented as much as assuaged. A continuous low keening rang in her ears. Eventually, she realized the sound emerged from her throat.
Ashcroft’s superhuman control faded. His breathing became choppy. His shoulders turned as unrelenting as rock under her hands. His thrusts became wilder, harder, deeper.
Her mighty climax peaked on a blast of heat. Every muscle in her body caught fire. Burning darkness possessed her, rushed in searing rivulets through her veins, compressed her heart. Her world turned to raging scarlet flame.
Her interior passage clenched, clutching him hard as she quivered in blazing delight. This was beyond anything she’d ever felt before. Anything she’d ever imagined.
She still trembled with shocked reaction when Ashcroft began to move again. Without breaking rhythm, his shaking hands shoved up her skirts to reveal her belly under her short stays.
A few swift caresses before he wrenched free of her body. He released a massive, choked groan. He tensed, then jerked uncontrollably.
Hot slippery wetness flooded onto her bare skin.
Chapter Seven
She’d failed. She’d failed. She’d failed.
Lord Ashcroft rolled to lie against the back of the seat and slid his arms around Diana’s waist, holding her secure. His breathing was unsteady, and the scents of sex and sweat filled the carriage. The bench was narrow, so she had no room to push him away without risking a tumble. Even if she could summon energy for such definite action.
A noxious combination of self-disgust and sexual repletion swirled in her belly. Her legs splayed awkwardly, and Ashcroft’s seed dried on her exposed stomach.
Amidst her soul’s bitter chaos, one thing was clear. She’d whored herself for nothing.
She was too heartsick to acknowledge the pleasure that contradicted her claim. She blinked back stinging tears. What point crying? Weeping like a woman betrayed would be the final humiliation. In the heat, Ashcroft’s embrace should be an irritant. Yet she was so bereft and alone, his touch felt like a benediction.
Slowly, she drew her legs together, noting the pull and ache of well-used muscles. She should clean herself up, pull down her skirts, salvage something from this disaster.
Thank heaven Lord Ashcroft wasn’t talkative after sex. She felt like she’d never speak again. She stared up at the richly brocaded ceiling with its twining blue-and-gold pattern and wondered what she should do now.
The landscape of her life extended ahead like a bleak, never-ending steppe. She was trapped between a past she couldn’t revisit and a future she couldn’t imagine.
She’d been so lonely since William died. But nothing cut as deeply as her loneliness in this moment after the greatest pleasure she’d ever known.
Lord Ashcroft was first to move. Briefly, his arms tightened, he placed a kiss on her nape and sat up.
She tried not to miss his embrace. Some remaining shred of pride had her grabbing her tumble of skirts and pushing them down to a decorous level.
“No. Wait,” he said softly, catching her trembling hand.
She stilled immediately and close