“There’s a gate through the back garden,” Miss Smith called after him.
He paused and turned back briefly. “Go to London. I’ll follow.” He looked at Tobias, who stood holding the carriage door. “Leave me the gig, the two strongest footmen, and mounts for both of them.”
Drawing his pistol, preparing for the worst, he set off at an uneven gallop, ignoring the agony from his injured leg. His pain didn’t matter. He had to find Diana. Behind him, carriage doors slammed, and the vehicles rattled away.
His imagination bursting with gruesome possibilities, he barged his way through the gate and into the small graveyard behind the church. Only to find himself in a haven of peace.
No mayhem. No violence. Just late roses, moss-encrusted gravestones, and birdsong.
Ashcroft drew in a deep breath as relief quieted the wild pounding of his blood. Feeling mildly sheepish, he pocketed his pistol.
Diana stood close by. She concentrated so hard on the markers in front of her, she didn’t raise her head at his arrival. She’d taken off her bonnet, and her gold hair was lustrous in the sunlig
ht.
Ashcroft limped over to stand behind her. Traversing the rough ground was hell on his leg. He’d left his stick in the house when he’d set out on his frantic chase after Diana.
He immediately guessed why she was here, in spite of the looming danger. The moment her father mentioned the churchyard, he’d known. So he felt no surprise when he found her before two graves, one much newer than the other.
He remained silent as she bent to lay roses on the graves. One for Maria Caroline Dean, beloved wife of John Dean, the other for William Addison Carrick, beloved husband of Diana Charlotte Carrick.
Once Ashcroft had been petty enough to resent William Carrick. No longer. The man had loved Diana, and he’d died far too young. All Ashcroft felt was a piercing compassion for what William had missed.
I’ll keep her safe, William. I swear it on my life.
“You’re saying good-bye,” he said quietly, reaching up to cling to an overhanging tree branch.
His heart clenched when she turned around. She dashed tears from her cheeks, and her voice was raw with regret. “And asking forgiveness. Neither of them would be proud of me.”
Chapter Thirty
Ashcroft abhorred seeing his strong, vivid Diana so hurt and despairing. From the depths of his heart, he vowed to revive the glowing, confident girl who had promised herself to him in the church.
“Diana…”
She spoke before he could go on. “You make me so ashamed.” Her eyes were the color of slate as they focused on him. “What you did in that church was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It took my breath away. You risked such humiliation, you risked further injury, yet you still did it.”
He shifted to ease the strain on his leg. Her unstinting praise was undeserved. He hadn’t felt brave. He’d only felt desperate. “I had to try.”
“But you should hate me.” Her voice cracked with distress. “You must hate me.”
What purpose lying? She’d immediately see through any comforting falsehood. And there had already been too many lies between them. “Believe me, I did.”
She flinched so quickly if he hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed it. Her chin rose to its familiar angle but without her usual spirit. He knew her conscience tortured her. She’d set out to deceive, but deceit had never come easily.
“You should still hate me.” She swallowed, her slender throat working, and the next words emerged with difficulty. “Your injuries are my fault. Every moment of pain you’ve endured during the last two months occurred because I wanted something I had no right to possess. Burnley might have given the order for his men to attack you, but the responsibility is mine.”
“It takes more than a few beef-witted thugs to kill me, my love.”
She chopped the air in an emphatic gesture of negation. “Don’t make light of what you went through. I look at you and…and I despise myself.”
“Burnley used you.”
He extended his hand in her direction, but she backed away across the grass as though he threatened her with violence. Cynicism tightened her features. “And I was so eager to be used. Don’t blame Burnley for my transgressions. You must know I lied to you from the beginning.”
He frowned, lowering his hand to his side. Awareness of danger lurked at the back of his mind. But right now, Burnley and his minions seemed a minor risk to his happiness compared to the corrosive self-hatred he read in Diana’s face. “Diana, for the love of heaven, let’s put this behind us.”
Straightening, he gingerly tested his weight on his injured leg. Red-hot pain lanced through him as he released the bough. He gritted his teeth and rode out the agony. At this moment, he couldn’t countenance any possibility of appearing weak.