“I’ll send you a message.”
He frowned as he rose from the bed. Reticence was all very well. Her answer hinted at delay before he touched her. “Don’t make me wait. I want you again. Good God, I want you now.”
That almost sounded like a plea. Hell, he didn’t need to importune female companionship. He spent his life tripping over women slavering for his attentions.
Except none of those women was Diana.
Until he’d worked off his inconvenient obsession, no other bedmate would do.
Her eyes flickered to his cock, then up again. His rebellious flesh hardened. Just so simple an act, and he needed her under him. “Believe me, I want…I want to do this again.”
“Good,” he snapped. He fought back the craven urge to beg her to stay, never to leave. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door leading into the bathroom. “Just don’t wait too long.”
Diana returned to Chelsea in a daze. Like a coward, she’d avoided Lord Ashcroft when she fled Lord Peregrine’s mansion. No angry naked man appeared on the landing to demand what she thought she was doing, sneaking away like a criminal.
She wondered if he sulked because she refused his invitation to stay. But after the last intense hours, she knew whatever lay between them garnered a stronger reaction than pique.
She felt shabby creeping off without a farewell. Shabby and used, like a prostitute slinking away from an uncongenial client.
Except it was she who’d used Lord Ashcroft.
And the client was far from uncongenial.
Which was why she was so frantic to escape before her teetering world crashed in and destroyed her. Lying didn’t come naturally to her. Lying to a man who carried her to heaven in his arms became more impossible with every second.
She
was utterly ruined. Any pretension to virtue fled. She’d given herself to a man who wasn’t her husband. Worse, she’d thoroughly reveled in the act. Her body ached in places she’d forgotten. Even at the height of their passion, William hadn’t taken her with such urgency.
She needed time to herself, time to remind herself why she did what she did.
Fate had presented her with the chance to become mistress of Cranston Abbey. A chance to achieve every dream she’d ever had, dreams she’d never dared have.
But even the Abbey faded into insignificance when she recalled the dazzling hours of pleasure in Ashcroft’s arms. The man she’d prepared to despise proved more fascinating with every moment.
Like a thief, she crept home through the back garden. She had become used to entering houses by hidden entrances. Deception fed upon itself and infected everything she touched.
She knew Laura would be waiting with questions and endless disapproval. Laura had never wanted Diana to participate in this scheme. She’d always insisted that the price was too high, whatever the rewards.
After today, Diana wondered if her friend’s misgivings were prescience.
Diana Carrick wasn’t made for secrets and lies. She couldn’t offer her body without enlisting her emotions. She couldn’t trample a good man’s rights without feeling like the lowest creature born.
As a conspirator, she was a rank failure.
“It’s all a lie,” she muttered, pushing the door open.
“Talking to yourself now?” Laura asked from the shadows near the entrance.
Diana gasped and pulled back. She hadn’t noticed her friend although she was visible in the light from inside the house. “What are you doing out here?” she asked sharply.
Laura stepped into the empty back hall. “Lord Burnley wants to see you.”
Diana frowned, following her. “He’s in London?”
“No. In Surrey.”
“It’s so late.”