My Reckless Surrender

by Anna Campbell

  Her father scowled at her. “No more lies. You’ve told me enough to last a lifetime. I’m ashamed of you, Diana. Ashamed.”

  “I can tell you…”

  “I don’t want to know. Come home now and leave whatever sins you’ve committed behind. You have work to do in Marsham.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said in the most subdued voice Ashcroft had ever heard her use.

  Yes, Papa?

  What the hell was this? Was she really submitting to her parent’s will and returning to the country? What about him? Ashcroft shifted, every sinew resisting what she said.

  At her ready obedience, her father’s voice lost its edge. “George is outside. We can be home and safe tonight. Laura will…” He stopped abruptly and turned in an odd, unfocused way in Ashcroft’s direction. “Who’s there?”

  Diana’s horrified gaze bored into Ashcroft, silently begging him to be still. “N…nobody, Papa,” she said shakily.

  What was the woman wittering about? Ashcroft stood next to her, large as life. Unless she meant her denial as an insult. His belly knotted in angry dismay.

  “Heaven forgive your deceit, girl,” the old man said with returning anger. For the first time, he stared right at Ashcroft.

  Diana’s father’s face was alight with angry curiosity. His eyes were blank and milky.

  The old man was blind.

  When Ashcroft turned up at her house, Diana’s tower of lies had tottered. Now with her father’s arrival, it collapsed into rubble.

  A ghostly cracking filled the air around her. The sound of her entire world crumbling to dust.

  Or perhaps it was just the sound of her heart breaking.

  “Who’s there?” her father said in a sharper voice, banging his stick on the floor. “Make yourself known.”

  “My name is Tarquin Vale.” Ashcroft stepped forward.

  His beautiful baritone was neutral, and Diana couldn’t read his expression. By now he must know she’d lied to him from the start. He’d guess she was involved in some conspiracy with Burnley. He must loathe her for the deceit she practiced, even if he didn’t yet know how that deceit revolved around him.

  Her heart thundered out an anguished protest. She wanted to beg him not to hate her although she knew it was far too late to redeem herself in his eyes. Far too late to save him from devastation.

  “Vale?” her father asked in astonishment and with audible displeasure. He reached out as if to test for the reality of this man. Her father would assume Ashcroft was her lover. His eyes might fail, but his brain was frighteningly acute.

  Her voice was unsteady. “Papa, this is the Earl of Ashcroft. Lord Ashcroft, may I present my father, John Dean of Marsham in Surrey?”

  “Your servant.” Her father’s face set with disapproval, and his tone made it clear he considered himself anything but subservient. “I’ve heard of you, sir.”

  Diana fought back the urge to defend her paramour to her father. What was the use? After today, her father would never believe a word she said.

  “Mr. Dean. I called on Miss Smith and Mrs. Carrick to discuss antiquities. I was introduced to the ladies at the British Museum, and we discovered a mutual interest in Egypt,” Ashcroft said smoothly. An urbane shell had descended on that handsome face, and try as she might, she couldn’t penetrate it.

  Not even the stupidest clodpole in the kingdom would believe that story. Why did Ashcroft try to shield her? He should be furiously angry.

  “Lord Ashcroft is just leaving,” she interjected quickly.

  Ashcroft leaned back against the flimsy desk and folded his arms. He surveyed her with raised eyebrows and a mouth that twisted in sardonic amusement. The stance was heartbreakingly familiar. It generally indicated he’d made his mind up about something and had no intention of budging but didn’t plan to make an issue of it. No, he just meant to sail through, his will prevailing.

  “I’m at leisure this evening, Mrs. Carrick. I distinctly remember saying that when you invited me to supper with you and the charming Miss Smith.”

  The charming Miss Smith cast him a quelling glance. Diana gritted her teeth and only just stifled a growl of aggravation. Apparently Ashcroft meant to be difficult.

  “Well, I’m no longer at leisure,” she said crisply. “I return to the country with my father.”

  “I believe it’s time you left, my lord,” her father said in the same tone he used to quell dissension among the farm laborers.

  She found it in her to admire his courage. He was a humble bailiff, and the Earl of Ashcroft was a powerful nobleman.

  Her father always stood up for principle whatever the cost. Which meant he’d utterly despise what she’d done if he ever found out the full story. Dear God, he’d despise her anyway after tonight. He never believed the end justified the means. Harsh experience had taught her he was right.

  “I hoped for some conversation with Mrs. Carrick,” Ashcroft said with the suave address he used when he wanted his way.

  “My daughter isn’t staying in London,” her father said. “And what conversation with you could reflect to her credit?”

  Ashcroft’s lips tightened at the slight. Although they all knew it was justified. What wasn’t justified was for Ashcroft to take blame for her wickedness.

  “Mrs. Carrick?” Ashcroft inquired, as if he believed she’d change her mind just for the asking.

  For one tremulous second, the idea of flinging herself into Ashcroft’s arms and defying Burnley, confessing all, begging him to take her somewhere this couldn’t touch them, rose like a mirage. So tempting. So impossible.

  If she threw herself upon Ashcroft’s mercy, what guarantee he’d want her into tomorrow? Even if he forgave her, he had a reputation for inconstancy. She’d captivated him briefly. Nothing indicated she captivated him further than that.

  She bent her head, closing her eyes in a silent prayer to a God who by rights shouldn’t listen to such a miserable sinner. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.

  Her father hated her. She abandoned Ashcroft. Her future was a bleak wilderness.

  Tears wouldn’t help.

  Nothing would help. Even becoming mistress of the house she’d always coveted, the house that had exacted a greater price than she’d ever thought to pay.

  “I’ll fetch my cloak and bonnet, Papa,” she said in a dull voice.

  Without sparing a glance for Ashcroft, she slipped through the door, closed it behind her, and rushed across the tiles toward the staircase. Mercifully, none of their small staff were present.

  She felt strangely numb although howling pain lurked just outside the glass wall separating her from the world. Some functioning corner of her mind told her she was wise to get out now. She’d broken with Ashcroft and would never have to see him again. A swift, final separation was best, like wrenching an arrow from a wound.

  Let the blood flow and cleanse the poison. Then they could both start to heal.

  Except she had a grim premonition she’d never heal. She should have listened when Laura insisted she risked more with this scheme than giving her body to a man she disliked, then forgetting him. A transaction as simple and unremarkable as handing over a penny for a cake in a bakery.

  Becoming Ashcroft’s lover had cost her soul.

  Through her clamoring misery, she heard the door behind her open, then close. Her headlong flight didn’t slow.

  “Diana, wait.”

  Oh, heaven save me.

  She lowered her head and walked more quickly, hardly seeing where she went. She had a superstitious certainty if she reached the stairs, she was safe. Ashcroft wouldn’t pursue her into her bedroom. Surely not with her father so close and a band of servants on call. Not even the libertine earl was so blind to convention.

  She set foot on the first step, placed a foot on the next, and released the breath she hadn’t realized she held. Her hand automatically reached for the banister.

  A tanned male hand closed over hers. Hard and ruthless, it pressed her palm int
o the polished wood.

  So warm. His hand was the only warm thing in her frozen universe.

  Her eyes focused on the stairs ahead. She couldn’t face Ashcroft. If he looked into her eyes, he’d know how she’d betrayed him.

  And she’d know he knew, which was worse.

  “Please let me go,” she said tonelessly.

  “Diana, what’s all this about?” He sounded kind, concerned…loving.

  Although obviously that last was a product of her overactive, tortured imagination.

  “Please let me go,” she said again, tugging at her hand. He held her against the smooth wood.

  “Not until you talk to me.”

  She wished he didn’t sound so calm. She wished he didn’t sound like the lover she’d cherished. Why didn’t he rage? Why didn’t he curse her to Hades as a faithless, lying slut?

  Couldn’t he see it was over? Couldn’t he see they had nowhere to go? Not together. Not with the wonderful open sensuality that was the most precious gift they’d shared.

  With a pang, she remembered the joy of laughter and intense conversations in the dark of night and, most of all, knowledge she was no longer alone.

  Perhaps the sensuality wasn’t the only gift.

  Her body would ache for his for a long time. The crevasse in her heart would never knit. She knew that already.

  “There’s nothing to say,” she mumbled.

  “Look at me, Diana.”

  Fear held her still. “I have to go. My father is taking me back to…”

  “Diana.”

  Reluctantly, she met his eyes. The green was flat, like malachite. He was pale, and a muscle flickered in his cheek.

  Guilt clenched her stomach so tight, it hurt. She knew she injured him. Only the knowledge that staying would injure him further kept her resolute.

  “I told you I was leaving,” she said, feeling like she scraped her skin away with a razor.

  His lips lengthened in displeasure. “You didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, I did.” She cast a nervous glance at the library door, but her father didn’t appear. Perhaps Laura kept him back to give Diana a last private moment with her lover. “I came to you for worldly experience. You’ve given that to me. Good-bye, Ashcroft.”

  He jerked back as if she’d struck him, although he didn’t release her. “That’s all the explanation you offer?”

  For the first time, she heard a trace of anger.

  That’s right. Shout at me. Insult me. It’s what I deserve. If you do, perhaps I’ll stop feeling like vermin. Perhaps I’ll stop wanting to beg you to keep me, love me, forgive me.

  His voice hardened. “What’s going on, Diana? What’s Lord Burnley to you and your father?”

  That was easy to answer, at least in part. “My father is his bailiff.”

  Ashcroft frowned. “Your father is…”

  “Blind, yes. I help him. That’s partly why he wants me to return. He needs me on the estate.”

  Ashcroft’s eyes were assessing in a way she hadn’t seen since the earliest days. “There’s so much you’re not telling me. Who sponsored your visit to London? Why did you come to me in the first place? What is Burnley’s part in all this?”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she fought the urge to confess. At least then there would be honesty, even if honesty left him abhorring the very sound of her name.

  Except what good was a confession? If she was pregnant, she still needed to keep the baby secret so Ashcroft didn’t interfere when she married Burnley.

  She steeled herself to do what was best for Ashcroft. Her voice was surprisingly firm. “The only thing I’m telling you is good-bye.” Then the ultimate heresy. “Our affair was enjoyable while it lasted, but with my father’s arrival and your unwillingness to follow my rules, it’s become complicated.”

  She expected him to storm off in disgust, but he studied her carefully, thoroughly. Under that speculative regard, she shifted in discomfort.

  He spoke as though tracking her was perfectly reasonable. “I knew you hid something. I had to find out.”

  “Now you’ve found out,” she snapped back. Although they were both aware that wasn’t true. “You must know when you went against my express wishes, I’d finish the affair. It’s run its course.”

  “You don’t believe that.” He sounded as if what she said was unimportant, mildly amusing.

  Her smile felt like a rictus grin. “I’ve dabbled in decadence, Ashcroft. I’ve satisfied any curiosity. I’m ready to resume my real life. And I’m sure you’re eager for your next conquest. After all, you must grow bored with your country widow and pine for something more exotic.”

  A crease appeared between his dark brows as if he considered what she said and still couldn’t make sense of it. “You harp upon my reputation. Yet I’m not the one leaving, you are.”

  She hated that he was perceptive enough to see her defensive maneuver for exactly what it was. She tugged again, and this time, he let her go. It seemed tragically symbolic of their looming parting.

  “Our arrangement was only for a week or two.” With every second, she found it harder to keep her voice even.

  “Fuck our arrangement,” he said on a sudden explosion of temper.

  She flinched at his language. “I don’t owe you anything,” she said shakily, as her stomach lurched with excruciating misery at how unjust she was.

  She braced against her screeching conscience. She took another step up, although she couldn’t summon will to run upstairs and leave him for the last time.

  Poor weak Diana. Poor lovesick Diana.

  His regard remained unwavering, and he didn’t move. His upturned face was tight with emotion, and she couldn’t mistake the longing in his dark green eyes. How could she? It mirrored the longing in her breaking heart. She swallowed, trying to convince herself it was best if she left now.

  “Kiss me,” he said hoarsely, stretching a hand out in a pleading gesture. “Forget all this nonsense and kiss me. Then come home. I don’t understand what you’re doing, I don’t understand why you’re here or what bloody Burnley has to do with anything, but you must know it doesn’t matter compared to what we share.”

  “Lord Ashcroft…”

  “You call me Tarquin when you lie in my arms.”

  Oh, what sweet memories his words evoked. But she must stay strong. Not just because she was a coward but for his sake. For the sake of the child she prayed she carried.

  “It doesn’t mean anything.” The words emerged as a whisper.

  “Like hell it doesn’t.”

  Before she could protest, he rounded the newel post in a single stride and mounted the first step. He filled her vision, made every sense leap to life. He was so tall, their eyes were level even though she hovered two steps above him.

  The unconcealed yearning in his face held her motionless. She spoke on a burst of anguish. “Why are you doing this? I told you it’s over. That should be enough. Go.”

  His jaw set in adamantine lines, and his eyes sparked. “No.”

  He snatched for her arm, but she jerked out of reach, losing her balance. Before he caught her, she grabbed the banister. If he touched her, she’d shatter. As it was, her control was brittle as Venetian glass. “Shall I tell the footmen to throw you out?”

  He laughed dismissively. “London doesn’t contain footmen big enough to expel me from this house.”

  He was right. James would last about twenty seconds against Ashcroft if it came to a contest of strength. Not just strength. Determination vibrated from Ashcroft’s impressive form.

  Anyway, she didn’t want to throw him out. She didn’t want these glorious days to finish in vitriol and pain.

  What she wanted didn’t count.

  Her voice throbbed with sincerity and sadness. “Ashcroft, this achieves nothing. Let’s not part in rancor. You have more experience of ending affairs than I…”

  A savage expression crossed his face, and he made a slashing gesture with his righ
t hand. “Stop talking about other women. They don’t matter. In your heart, you know that.”

  “I don’t matter either,” she said softly and with a bitterness that came from knowing she spoke the truth.

  “Of course you do.” His eyes sharpened as they did when he suddenly hit upon the winning argument in a discussion. “You don’t want to matter. I wonder why.”

  Fear iced her blood. This time she did back up a step. She’d turn and flee if she wasn’t sure he’d come after her, propriety be damned. “I can’t believe you expect a lifetime commitment from your other bits of muslin.”

  She saw him disregard her comment as the inflammatory remark it was intended to be. How had he become so familiar with her thoughts and feelings? It wasn’t fair. He was the only man she could imagine spending the rest of her days with, and by insinuating herself into his arms, she had put him forever out of reach.

  He just wants you back in his bed until he tires of you. His pride smarts that you leave him. His feelings aren’t engaged. You’re deluded if you imagine they are.

  Except that when she observed his bewildered anguish, those cynical, knowing words seemed the delusion. “There’s something else happening.” He frowned thoughtfully. “You’re not a woman who dives into bed with the first man who takes her fancy.”

  “How do you know?” she asked sharply.

  He shrugged. “I know you.”

  She recognized that too, but she rushed to deny his claim. “After less than a month? Don’t make me laugh.”

  His eyes darkened. She hated to hurt him, but better to do it like this than deal him the killing blow of learning he’d been little better than a breeding animal.

  “Diana…”

  “Diana!”

  The word seemed to echo. She was so lost in Ashcroft’s gaze, she barely registered the different voice. She blinked and returned to bleak reality.

  Her father stood in the doorway, Laura behind him.

  With crazy relief, she stared at Ashcroft. She didn’t have to lie again. Her father saved her from damning herself forever in Ashcroft’s eyes.

  “I’m coming, Papa.” She saw Ashcroft register her eagerness.

  Hostility steamed off her father’s spare frame. “We’re for Marsham.”