What a woman his Diana was.
He could never condone her actions, but he understood why she’d done what she had. She’d devoted a lifetime to Cranston Abbey, and after her husband’s death, he guessed she’d filled the wintry landscape of her widowhood with love for the house.
Burnley, pox on him, had used that dedication to further his rotten schemes.
Which had left Ashcroft with a stark choice. To scotch her from his life because she’d lied, even if she’d suffered as she’d lied. Through all the weeks of cursing her for a deceitful witch, he’d never mistaken that.
Or to forgive her unconditionally.
The choice was no choice at all. He took what he wanted and didn’t look back, or he allowed old evil to poison his only hope of happiness.
“I’ll take you back to London,” he said gruffly, extending a trembling hand. He wasn’t ashamed of his unsteadiness. The sea of emotion was too titanic for a mortal man to contain.
“Diana, don’t be a fool,” Burnley blustered behind him, limping nearer.
“This is most irregular,” the vicar fussed.
The small congregation was agog. Every eye fixed on the drama in the aisle. Ashcroft felt their burning attention like a physical force.
Diana smiled at Ashcroft as if he encompassed her whole world. Even the lingering pain of his injuries subsided under that smile. She accepted his hand with a steady grip. “Let’s go.”
“Burnley, what’s all this?” Lord Derwent, Burnley’s toady from a hundred parliamentary debates, followed the marquess, as usual without initiating effectual action. “Ashcroft, what the devil are these antics?”
“Fredericks, stop them!” Burnley demanded, ignoring Derwent.
A man loomed up behind Diana in unmistakable threat. Ashcroft recognized the ringleader in his thrashing. The fellow was incongruously and ridiculously bedecked with flowers.
Ashcroft’s hand clenched hard on his cane. He’d dearly love to horsewhip the brute, but he was in a church. Nor did he want to risk a riot with Diana here.
Diana didn’t spare the thug a glance. Instead, she released Ashcroft and wheeled to confront her jilted bridegroom.
“I will not marry you, my lord. Ever.” Her voice was low and laced with hatred. Then in a softer tone, “Let us go. You failed. As you should have failed. For your own vanity and greed, you set out to steal something that wasn’t rightfully yours. To my shame, I helped. Let justice be done at last.”
Burnley glowered around the church in furious consternation. Enough people were present to start a rumor campaign.
“Shut your mouth, you fool jade,” he hissed, raising his hand. “Or I’ll make you shut up.”
“Touch her, and you’re a dead man.” Ashcroft knocked the old man’s arm aside. Burnley staggered back, almost losing his balance.
It reminded Ashcroft that Burnley was more than twice his age and sick. But the urge to do violence was so strong, he could taste the bloodlust on his tongue. He wanted to crunch the marquess under his heel like a cockroach.
“You’ll pay for that,” Burnley growled, tottering upright. “Fredericks.”
“My lord.” The man bowed as a wolfish smile curved his lips. He was bigger than Ashcroft and more heavily muscled. He also had the advantage of a whole body, not one crippled by injury.
Good intentions be damned. Drawing a gasp from the congregation, Ashcroft slid a small pearl-handled pistol from his coat pocket.
His dear papa’s feral rage didn’t surprise him. The marquess hated to lose. By stealing away his bride at the last minute, Ashcroft shattered his greatest triumph.
“My lord! This is outrageous! Recollect where you are,” the vicar cried in horror, wringing his hands. Nobody spared him a glance. Fredericks halted in fulminating silence when he noted the gun pointed at him.
Ashcroft gestured for Diana to join him. She darted to his side with gratifying eagerness. Her arm snaked around his waist, her softness pressed into his flank. When she’d given him her consent, she’d looked as powerful as the goddess, her namesake. But now he felt her trembling. He rested his arm across her shoulders, partly for support, partly because he couldn’t bear not to touch her.
“We’ll make it,” he murmured for her alone. “I haven’t come this far to fail now.”
She tilted her bonneted head to look up into his face. Her eyes were as brilliant as a thousand candles. His heart somersaulted as he realized she did indeed love him.
Ashcroft suddenly felt invincible. Burnley and his self-serving plots couldn’t defeat them if Diana truly loved him.