He banged again on the stout door. He was tired, he was furious, and he was sick of not getting answers. Last night, he’d left Chelsea in a raging temper, telling himself Diana Carrick could go to hell. Then curiosity and resentment got the better of him, and he’d ridden down here like a man pursued by devils.
Finally, he heard the sound of a bolt shifting. When the door opened, he braced to confront his perfidious mistress.
Instead, he found himself staring into John Dean’s blind eyes. Beside the old man, a decrepit spaniel bared yellow teeth and growled.
“Lord Ashcroft,” the man said in a cold voice.
With difficulty, Ashcroft muzzled his impatience. “How did you…”
Dean didn’t stand back to invite him in. “I can’t imagine any other man would try to demolish my door on a Sunday morning.”
Ashcroft drew a shuddering breath and struggled for composure. His sudden chivalry was devilish inconvenient, but he couldn’t shame Diana in front of her father, however accurate the old man’s suspicions about his daughter’s fall from grace might be. “Mr. Dean. I have urgent business with Mrs. Carrick. May I speak to you inside?”
“No.” Dean gripped his cane as though he intended to beat Ashcroft off if he had to.
Ashcroft kept his tone even. “Is Mrs. Carrick at home?”
“My daughter will never be at home to you, sir.”
Ashcroft stiffened. “Surely that’s her decision.”
“No, it’s mine.” The man faced him without flinching. It was as though those blank eyes read the stains on Ashcroft’s soul, knew what he and Diana had done in London. “I’m her father, and my will prevails under this roof. Go back to your whores, Lord Ashcroft.”
“Mr. Dean…”
“Good-bye, my lord.” Dean started to shut the door. Astonished, Ashcroft realized he’d received an unequivocal dismissal.
“Wait.” He spread one hand against the closing door.
Dean’s eyes narrowed, and his chin jutted in a way Ashcroft found piercingly familiar. “I have no doubt you can force your way in here. I am, after all, old and blind while you are young and strong. The servants as well as Diana and Laura are at church so I’m alone and defenseless. But this is my house, and you aren’t welcome.”
Shame twisted in Ashcroft’s gut. What was he doing here, bullying a man who only shielded his daughter’s honor? Nonetheless, he tried again. “Your pardon, Mr. Dean. My actions must seem precipitate. But all I want to do is talk to your daughter.”
“My daughter doesn’t want to talk to you. And if you had a shred of principle, you’d realize she’s better off never seeing you again. Good day, my lord.”
The door shut in Ashcroft’s face, and he heard the bolt slam home.
For one mad second, he contemplated bashing the barrier down, shoving his way in, ignoring Dean’s refusal. But that would just confirm the old man’s poor opinion of his character. Ashcroft cursed his vile reputation even as he recognized that he reaped what he’d sown. And that any punishment for his multifarious sins was long overdue.
None of which eased his fuming frustration.
His fists curled against the door as he strove to control the restless demons of anger and humiliation. After a few seconds, he slowly straightened on a shuddering breath.
He wasn’t finished with Diana Carrick yet. Not by a long shot. But this wasn’t the way to get her to listen to him.
Ashcroft waited in the woodland at the edge of Cranston Abbey’s magnificent park, landscaped by Capability Brown, owned by a man he despised to the bone, maintained by an army of gardeners he struggled to avoid. Fortunately, thick summer growth made skulking in the bushes reasonably easy, however it chafed his pride.
What pride?
Since Diana’s departure, his pride had disintegrated to dust. Lurking like a homeless vagabond in Burnley’s shrubbery for three days was the least of it.
And he was yet to speak to her, damn it all to hell.
After his previous failure to see her, he’d relied on a more usual form of communication, letters insisting on explanation, demanding her return. After a week of no reply, he’d recognized that his first impulse had been correct. He must confront her physically. She’d find him harder to ignore when he stood before her, reminding her of their transcendent passion.
He’d left London for Marsham nine days after his first visit. How the mighty had fallen. Once he’d have sworn he wouldn’t pursue a woman into the next street, and this was twice he’d invaded this peaceful little village in search of his errant mistress.
He still didn’t understand what had happened to him since he’d met Diana Carrick.