She swallowed hard and wondered if this was the end. Where could they go from here?
Not long ago, she’d sat in this room and told herself she couldn’t continue to deceive him. Now the time arrived, she couldn’t endure the idea of never seeing him again.
Turning away so she couldn’t watch his face, she summoned the lie she must speak. “Do you know why I selected you, Lord Ashcroft, out of all the men in the kingdom?”
He didn’t reply, but she knew by his taut silence that he’d noted both her frosty tone and the way she’d called him Lord Ashcroft. She hadn’t done that since their earliest days.
She stared out the window at the quiet square. Her voice was brittle with control. “I chose you because I’d heard you were a man who never mixed sentiment and sex. You’ve disappointed me.”
It hurt to force the words out, but to her surprise, they emerged clearly and evenly and coldly. She sounded like she meant what she said. She curled her hands in her green skirts before she realized the gesture betrayed her turmoil. She straightened her fingers out of their fists.
Still he didn’t speak.
When it became apparent he intended to make neither protest nor denial, she struggled to go on. “As you can’t…” In spite of her best efforts, she stopped. The prospect of sending him away forever slashed like a knife. The blade pierced her heart and twisted. She braced as though she faced an enemy. “As you can’t promise you’ll make no emotional demands, we must reconsider our association.”
With every word, blood dripped from her split heart. What had she done? How was she to live without him? Even her glittering future at Cranston Abbey couldn’t compensate for how she felt right now.
His lack of response made her speak more firmly. “Your presence here is the last straw. We must end our affair. Now.”
He made a stifled sound.
She frowned out into the dark, empty square. Surely she misinterpreted what she’d heard. Angry, puzzled, distraught, she turned.
She hadn’t mistaken the sound. The cur had laughed at her. His face was still alight with amusement. “What a load of rot, my love.”
“You…” Speech failed.
“Diana, stop all this nonsense. You don’t want to leave me. You don’t want to stop what we do. As to whether there’s more between us than bed sport, we both know it’s far too late to worry about that.”
She did know it. And she hated herself for bringing him to this pass. More than his pride would suffer when he discovered the truth. And with every second, she realized the chance became less and less likely of her escaping with her despicable secrets intact.
Damn her for a foolish, thoughtless, cruel witch.
Still she tried to make him see reason. “I want you to go,” she said stubbornly, clenching her fists and glowering into his striking face.
His smile flashed, strong, white teeth, lines of humor radiating from his eyes and bracketing his mouth. “No, you don’t,” he said implacably.
He strode across the room. Grabbing the back of her head, he held her captive for a hard kiss. A host of familiar impressions overwhelmed her. The fresh scent. The spicy taste. The warmth of his skin. The way he loomed above her, so tall and lean and powerful.
She was on the verge of sinking into the kiss. Then she remembered how inevitably she’d hurt him if she continued the affair. She squirmed and made a muffled sound of protest.
He lifted his head and sent her a knowing look under his sweep of black lashes. Despite her anger, her uncertainty, her sadness, she shivered with sensual awareness.
Contradictory impulses vied inside her. She should send him away. She should beg him to stay. She should resist him. If only to prove he didn’t have the upper hand.
Even if he did.
“Stop it,” she said stiffly.
Her lack of enthusiasm didn’t discourage him. “If you’re set on going, the least you can do is kiss me good-bye.”
Her mouth turned down in disapproval. “You don’t think I mean to say good-bye.”
He laughed softly, his breath brushing her face like a caress. “So convince me you do.”
He looked remarkably happy for a man losing a mistress he claimed to value. Damn his overweening self-confidence.
Damn her for confirming his confidence by staring up at him in misty bemusement.