She drifted into very deep waters with Ashcroft. Pray heaven they didn’t close over her head and drown her.
“I know you’re not.” He sounded thoughtful as he absently fiddled with her wedding ring. “What puzzles me is what drives you to these actions.”
Her voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I told you—I seek experience with a man whose discretion I can count on.”
Back in Marsham, that explanation had seemed perfectly credible. Here it sounded threadbare, unconvincing. Especially after what had happened when she’d taken his body into hers. She couldn’t blame him for doubting her.
She wasn’t a very good liar—an issue Lord Burnley had brushed aside as he’d brushed aside all her misgivings. He should have listened. With every minute, she felt less adequate to this task.
His hand tightened, and the absent, almost tender stroking ceased. “You’re married, aren’t you?” he said flatly.
She tried not to mind that he believed her an adulteress. After all, she was definitely a liar and a cheat and now, a whore.
But still chagrin edged her reply. “No.”
“Don’t lie, Diana.”
She ripped her hand away. “I told you—I’m a widow.”
He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “If you’re married, it explains a great deal. Your reluctance to let me take you home last night, your guilt over what we’ve done.”
She shook her head, while she wondered if inventing a mythical husband might be a smart tactic. “Ashcroft, I’m not married. Even if I were, what do you care? You’ve had married lovers.”
His lips flattened in displeasure. “Somewhere you’ve listened to a lot of nasty tattle, madam.”
“You’re world-famous,” she said, although she couldn’t help feeling shabby. In their short, event-filled acquaintance, she’d learned he was far from an indiscriminate debaucher.
“Apparently,” he responded sourly. “But my mistresses have all been a damn sight more worldly than you, Diana.”
Truly, she had no idea why he tolerated her questions. She had no right to demand an accounting of his life. “You needn’t excuse yourself.”
That mocking eyebrow rose again. “I wasn’t.”
“And I’m not married.” She took a gulp of her wine, hoping to bolster flagging courage. “My husband…”
She paused and fought for calmness. Talking about William always swept her back to those months of hollow misery after his death. How could a man who was perfectly healthy one day perish of fever the next? Any faith she’d held in a benevolent universe had died that day with her husband. He should still be alive. He should still be with her.
She’d wandered around in a gray miasma for months. Neither her father nor Laura had been able to reach her. All that had kept her going was her duty to Cranston Abbey. Eventually, running the estate had become the purpose that sustained her.
Was that when the seeds of her ambition were sown? The idea of becoming the Abbey’s mistress was so outlandish, it would never have occurred to her until Burnley presented his scheme. But when he did, she felt like she’d been preparing for the role all her life.
She forced herself to answer Ashcroft’s question. “My husband died eight years ago.”
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.”