My Reckless Surrender

“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 smiling. 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 symptom 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.