On These Silken Sheets

by Sabrina Darby

  This was her friend. Her friend’s husband.

  Ash stilled over her, his body pressing heavily down on her, deep into the bed, making breath difficult.

  It took Diana a moment to realize that he hadn’t climaxed—he’d fallen asleep. Right there, on top of her, still hard inside her.

  Asleep, he was heavier but unresistant. It was difficult at first, with his cock still keeping them joined together, but she managed finally to push him aside and wriggle out from under him.

  She slid off the bed, sweaty, sticky, shuddering at the feel of his juices sliding down her thighs. So often in the aftermath of sex she had enjoyed the messiness, the feel of a man all over her body. Now she wanted it gone. She reached for her nightgown where it lay crumpled on the floor and wiped the wetness away as best she could.

  She glanced back at the bed where Ash slept.

  Just a few hours earlier she had been looking forward with anticipation to the next day, to a new life, to Jason…

  The thought of him made her body clench with pain and she doubled over, gasping, trying not to cry aloud, trying not to wake Ash.

  Ruined. Everything ruined.

  The one thing she did know, she couldn’t stay there anymore, not under the same roof, not in the same company.

  From all Earnestina had said, her friend would likely have cheered him on.

  As quietly as she could, Diana dressed herself. Out of necessity, she chose the simplest morning dress, the one she could fasten herself, and then packed her valise with the few things she wanted to take with her immediately. Everything else, she would have her maid bring later.

  Her primary, urgent need was to be as far from this house and Brighton as possible when morning came.

  She made her way out of the room and down the stairs, thinking to disturb only the footman who would need to get her carriage and driver.

  But the door to the parlor on the first floor, where Earnestina, Ash, Tiptain and the others had all lounged, was open, light pouring out.

  Diana drew closer and peered into the quiet room.

  And found that Ash had spoken the truth. Her dress bunched around her waist, Earnestina lay sprawled across the insensate Tiptain, whose breeches were in an equal state of disarray.

  It was as if Diana had woken up back at Harridan House rather than Brighton, and the strange confluence of her two lives overwhelmed and dizzied her.

  She stumbled from the door and continued down till she reached the entry hall and pulled the rope for the footman.

  “Di, is that you?”

  She looked to the landing, one floor up, where Earnestina, her dress messily reassembled, peered down at her.

  “Yes, darling,” Diana managed to drawl, calling on her years of playacting, of wearing the most elegant facade, to face her friend.

  “Whatever are you doing?” Earnestina started down the stairs, making her way slowly, carefully, leaning heavily on the banister. She was clearly still under the effects of the drug.

  “I’m going back to London. Do send Julia after me with my luggage in the morning.”

  “But at this hour, Di?” Earnestina stared at her. “Whatever for?”

  “I’m sorry, Tina,” Diana said. “But I really must go.”

  “Did Ash embarrass you too much?” Earnestina sighed. “I told him you weren’t interested.”

  Embarrass her? There were hardly words for what Ash had done. The worst of it being that Diana had enjoyed it all, had physically enjoyed it. But she wouldn’t say any of that to her friend.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Di agreed, as the footman entered the room. He, too, had obviously just woken up.

  “Fetch my carriage, will you? I’m returning to London immediately.”

  The sleepy young man barely blinked as he turned around and headed to do her bidding.

  “But we’re having so much fun.” Tina came close, tugging on her sleeve. “And really, why shouldn’t you sleep with Ash, I promise I won’t be jealous if you do.”

  “You’re too kind,” Diana bit out. She hoped the footman would hurry. She wasn’t certain how much longer she could stand there, knowing that Earnestina didn’t care, had fallen into her own delirious sexual journey.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jason could not forget the image of Diana standing on the stone steps, her artful curls blown by the ever-present Brighton breeze, her skin glowing in the moonlight, her expression so sweet and innocent, as if she were not the same woman who had tortured his dreams for years with her sensuality, who had offered him the chance to fuck her just to get it out of his system and leave her alone.

  He didn’t want to get this Diana out of his mind. It was an intriguing new side of her. He’d seen her powerful and taunting, vulnerable, flirtatious, serious, amusing, worldly and coy. But he had never before seen that anticipatory look, that hopeful innocence.

  As if he were everything in her eyes. As if he were her suitor.

  And what was he? He supposed he was a suitor of sorts. There was no doubt where this “friendship” was going, not after that kiss this evening, that embrace. And there was no reason they shouldn’t have an affair. It was why he had followed her to Brighton after all.

  He’d just never thought he’d come to admire her as much as he lusted after her.

  He arrived at the Ashburtons’ house at nine in the morning. The stoic butler allowed him into the hallway, took his card and then stood there, staring at Jason as if he had spoken in Greek rather than English.

  “I said, I am here to see Lady Blount.”

  “Lady Blount is not at home, sir.”

  Ashburton, still in his robe, appeared at the stairs.

  “What’s this, Travis? Morning, Blount.”

  “I was explaining to Sir Jason that Lady Blount is not at home.”

  “This early?” Jason said doubtfully. “But she was expecting me. Perhaps she is still abed?”

  “I know she’s not in her bed, man, I was just there.” Jason’s attention swiveled back to Ashburton as he tried to imagine how he had misheard the man’s words.

  “Her bed?”

  “Never mind.” Ashburton ran a hand over his face. “I suppose you’ll have to wait for your ride, Blount, as we’ve obviously misplaced Diana.”

  Just then Lady Ashburton, looking very dour, joined her husband at the rail.

  “She left this morning, Ash,” she said soberly, “but she didn’t say…My apologies, Sir Jason, to find our household in such disarray. Diana returned to London. An emergency, she said.”

  Jason could not remember the last time he had felt this way, if ever. A cold panic settled in his bones, in his head. And beneath that, an anger he tamped down, because he didn’t know, he didn’t know yet what had happened.

  But if it was true…

  “If I had known, Ash—” He only dimly heard Lady Ashburton berate her husband, her ire giving weight to the nagging image that filled Jason’s mind. Dear Lord, if Ashburton had shared her bed last night! How could he have thought her changed? How could he have thought her willing to be constant to just one man? To be his?

  “Tina, dearest, you know I left you in good hands.”

  His? Who was he fooling? Clearly, Diana would never belong to any man, could not be faithful even to a lover.

  Perhaps it was a mistake, a misunderstanding? Why would Diana leave so furtively, in the middle of the night, without even a word to him?

  “To London, you said?” Jason repeated. Two pair of startled eyes refocused on him. Good God, they’d even forgotten he was there, so focused were they on their argument. And what would they have to argue about if it were not that Ashburton had shared Diana’s bed?

  Whatever he had thought of Diana, he had not thought she would betray her friend in such a way.

  “I’ll leave you then,” he murmured and stumbled his way out of the house, aware that the servants were watching the drama play out.

  He walked back to the house on Air Street. Slowly, circuitously, b
y way of the beaches where he and Daniel had swum just a few nights earlier. By way of the Steine, where nannies were playing with their charges before the green was taken over by the afternoon promenades of society. He spied Cassandra there, toddling after Mrs. Landis, but he didn’t try to catch their attention.

  Just then, he didn’t want to have to be a father; he didn’t want to have to be responsible for anyone other than himself, for anything other than the disappointment sloshing around inside him.

  He took a last look at his daughter, just shy of three, her fine hair ending in blond ringlets down her back, and continued on.

  Perhaps Diana would return and the mystery would clear itself. But from the scene he had left at the Ashburtons’, Jason suspected that would not be the case.

  There were Daniel and Lizzie, just sitting down to breakfast, very casually wearing their nightclothes and wrappers as if it were a family home, as if he were one of the family.

  He sat across from them, folded his arms on the table, and lay his head down upon them.

  He was asking for help, because dear God, he didn’t know what to do. Did he go after her? And be proven the biggest fool?

  His friends said nothing. He could hear the slide of their utensils across the plates as they continued to eat.

  Finally, he looked up and found them watching him, waiting.

  “I need to go to London briefly. But I intend to return. I’d hate to move Cassie for such a short jaunt,” Jason said. “Do you mind if she stays in my absence?”

  “Of course not,” Daniel said quickly, though he was usually the sarcastic one.

  Lizzie’s mouth opened and closed but she said nothing. He’d never seen the woman display such forbearance. Clearly, he looked how he felt.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When the maid brought her the card bearing his name, the fine print wavered before Diana’s eyes. So he’d come after her, to find out why she’d fled, to call her coward. And she was a coward, but not for any of the reasons he could imagine. She hadn’t simply changed her mind about their affair, she’d realized it was no longer possible.

  How cruel could life be?

  What would she tell him? What could she possibly say?

  “I’m not at home,” she said finally, unable to stop the nervous shudder that racked her body.

  She couldn’t stop herself from running to the window that overlooked the street. From three stories up she watched as he stepped out onto the stairs, his hat still in his hand. He turned then, as if he knew she was watching, his eyes looking up.

  She didn’t step back, even when she knew he’d probably seen her, even though clearly she was at home. She stayed exactly where she was, arrested by his expression.

  He looked…hurt. No, now he looked angry. So, which was he, hurt or angry? Or both?

  Her head hurt. She felt hot, feverish.

  He pivoted again, slapping on his hat as he descended the stairs.

  Finally, Diana stepped away from the window. So that was over. He knew clearly now that she did not want to see him. And though she hadn’t prayed in years, she prayed to God that he would never know why.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Later that evening, hours later, when the house felt stifling and small, when she’d looked into each and every room and found it as empty and unsatisfying as her thoughts were full and unsatisfying, she decided to go out. To Harridan House.

  After all, it was where she belonged. It was the life given to her, and that she had accepted, and she might as well embrace it fully for the few pleasures it could offer.

  How melodramatic, she chided herself as she dressed. It was more difficult to tie all the fastenings with her lady’s maid still in Brighton, but she managed. Really, it wasn’t as if anything had changed. It was simply an aborted affair. Her next lover would easily make her forget.

  Forget what? That for the briefest moment she had been able to taste possibilities she had never before considered?

  It was the cruelest interruption to her thoughts that when she stepped out the front door to enter her coach, there was Jason, leaning against the wall.

  He was at her side in a moment, his mouth open to speak. Quickly, she struck, to forestall whatever he wanted to say.

  “What, have you been waiting here for me? Like some sort of perverted fiend?” Diana accused. She flinched inwardly at her rising tone. She sounded like a veritable harpy.

  “What emergency brought you back to London?”

  “No greeting for me?” Diana forced a laugh. “You’re very cold, Jason.”

  “My apologies,” he agreed. “I’m not myself. I’m confused, frustrated. You see, I thought, I thought we had reached an understanding—”

  She cut him off. “An understanding? All I understood, Jason, was that we were close to bedding, finally, after all these years.”

  His jaw clenched, she could see it in the movement of his skin, the thin line of his lips.

  She stepped up into the carriage, only slightly taken aback when he slipped in after her, shutting the door behind him.

  “Ah, well. How fortuitous though, that you should insist on joining me,” she said, forcing her voice to be light despite its steely edge. The carriage seemed far smaller than it was. Could he not keep his knees to his side of the vehicle? “I am on my way to Harridan House. Perhaps I may give you your tour.”

  “Why do you do this?” Jason demanded. He sounded like he was pleading and it caught her attention. It nearly made her close her eyes, lean back against the seat and give in to her sadness. But she couldn’t do that. This was a farce she now needed to play out. Until he finally left. Until she was alone again, left to her old life—the life she could never escape. “Diana, if I didn’t know about your actions in Brighton, with Ashburton of all people, the husband of your friend…” he trailed off, shaking his head, but he’d lost her moments ago.

  He knew. She could actually feel the blood leaching away from her face. What a creeping sensation, and yet she could do absolutely nothing about it. Here it was, her pride at her feet. No, beneath his, beneath Ash’s, beneath all men’s. Her prayers weren’t answered, had never been answered in the last seven years of her life. Unless one counted her husband’s death. She had wished for that many times.

  Now, she wished for hers. And then that brief, dark, suicidal moment was past.

  So she could no longer pretend that she had merely jilted him. He knew why, thought that she was no better than she should be, no better than he had thought her for two long years.

  The carriage came to a slow stop, the wheels rocking back and forth before finally settling. Harridan House.

  Diana laughed and pulled her red mask out of her reticule.

  “So you know.” She shrugged, tying the silk around her head, obscuring the upper half of her face.

  “Diana,” he pressed on, his voice low, painfully urgent.

  “No, Jason, here I am merely Rouge. Remember, I have a reputation to uphold.” She punctuated that statement with another throaty derisive laugh, the effect only somewhat lessened by the need to maneuver around his long legs as she flung open the door of the coach.

  She let the footman help her down, into the unbelievably sultry August night. Unreal. This could not be her, stepping onto the stone-paved ground, pretending that nothing had meant anything to her, that she hadn’t wanted everything Jason represented, everything he had tantalizingly offered.

  Yet he had never actually offered anything, she realized. He’d only hinted at the possibilities.

  Diana fortified herself with that thought and glanced over her shoulder to look back at him, still sitting inside the coach.

  “Are you coming?”

  She turned back and entered the house. He was just a step behind her, then closer, his breath almost against her neck as they ascended the stairs.

  He said nothing more and she wondered what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She wondered why he stayed. If he knew about Ash, what more could h
e possibly want from her?

  The back stairs were plain, like any other well-to-do home in London, but when they entered her suite, he gasped at the sight and for the first time in the last half hour, her laugh was not faked.

  The poor man’s sensibilities had clearly been attacked.

  Lucy met them there, in her plain gray dress, staring curiously at Jason, as curiously as Jason looked at his surroundings—the draperies, upholstery and bedding, all done in various shades of red and deep, dark purple.

  “Don’t gape, Luce,” Diana admonished. “It isn’t as if I haven’t had a man in here before.”

  The room was ludicrous, Jason thought. Ridiculously vulgar, almost a parody of lust. If it weren’t for the circumstances in which he found himself there, he would have laughed. Even more amusing was the very prim and proper maid, dressed in gray, who helped Diana off with her cloak as if they were back at the Mayfair townhouse, as if there weren’t a collection of marble phalluses standing tall on the mantel.

  What was he doing here?

  Movement brought his attention back to Diana, whose dress had just slipped from her shoulders and was making its way down her body, toward the floor.

  Of course, he thought, studying her body, encased only in her undergarments. She was why.

  In the candlelight, her petticoats were a thin barrier to the long shadow of her limbs. Despite everything, he was captivated, wanting to see more. Fascinated, he watched the maid undo the laces of the short stays, his breath caught in his chest as more soft curves were unbound.

  Then he realized she was watching him, even as he watched her. Her left cheek shimmered as if stardust had fallen on her skin. The stardust moved, crept downward, till he realized it was a tear.

  He swallowed hard.

  “Why did you do it, Diana?”

  She stiffened, looking away, her hand coming up to wipe her face, and when she looked back, a smirk curved her lips so that he cursed himself for his weakness, for believing a trick of the light had meant she cared more than she said.