The first few buttons loosened easily before Ashcroft’s fixed regard made her falter. When she glanced down, her bosom swelled over the top of her short stays. She’d always been a regrettably overendowed woman although William had appreciated her assets. One look at Ashcroft’s face, and she guessed he was another man who liked more than a handful.
“Don’t stop,” he said hoarsely. His hands opened and closed at his sides as if he restrained the urge to grab her.
Three more buttons, and she wriggled out of the gown. Carefully, she laid it upon the mahogany chair.
Her hair fell about her face in a disheveled, heavy mass. She tossed it behind her shoulders. Lifting her chin in a proud gesture, she confronted Ashcroft. She forced words from her tight throat. “You’ll have to help with my corset.”
“With pleasure.”
She presented her back and bunched her hair out of the way with one hand. A man of his experience must have undressed thousands of women. The thought stung, although she told herself she had no right to resent his former lovers.
Within seconds, he had her corset unlaced. No maid had performed the mundane task as deftly. He slid it from her shoulders and flung it across her dress. Without invitation, he untied the tapes holding her petticoats. Rustling softly, they dropped to the floor.
She stepped out of them, then slowly turned. Her shift was made of silk so fine, it was transparent. Fleetingly, perilously, she forgot the role she played, of eager, rapacious, heartless lover. Instead, she was just plainspoken Diana Carrick. Bookish. Lonely. Driven. Selling herself to gain a magnificent dream.
Her shaking hands rose to cover her breasts. Her nipples pearled so tight, they ached. The onslaught of desire left her floundering.
“Diana, don’t be shy,” he said softly. He gently uncrossed her wrists. “You’re glorious.”
“This is…this is more difficult than I expected,” she said in a shaky voice. Then bit her lip as she realized what she admitted.
Would he guess she seduced him for her own purposes? Although who was the seducer and who the seduced had become blurred since last night.
To her relief, he took her words at face value, and a smile of surprising tenderness curved his mouth. It made him look younger, less cynical, more vulnerable. She struggled to close the rift that opened in her heart.
“Don’t do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart,” he said softly, and raised her hands to his lips, placing a kiss in the center of each palm.
The brush of his mouth was warm and sweet and set a long slow pulse beating low in her belly. The problem wasn’t whether she wanted to make love to him, the problem was how very much she wanted it.
But she was too rapt in enchantment to wrench free.
He released her and tugged his shirt over his head, ruffling his dark hair. The shirt drifted down to lie in a crumpled heap next to his other clothing.
“Oh, my heavens,” she whispered, any more eloquent expression eluding her. Almost in a daze, she drank in the smooth golden skin of arms and chest, the scatter of dark hair across his pectoral muscles, hair arrowing down to his waistband.
He was utterly irresistible.
Hesitantly, she placed a trembling hand in the center of his chest. He was like sun-warmed rock under her palm. Her lips parted in sensual delight as she stroked downward, stopping just short of where she knew he wanted her.
With brief amusement, she recalled how she’d assumed a rogue of his decadent reputation would be pale and weak from too many late nights, too much brandy, and too many women. If that regimen resulted in this superb specimen, every doctor in the country should recommend it.
He surveyed her out of lazy dark green eyes. “You look like the cat who got the cream.”
“The cream is still waiting.” Distantly, she wondered where the confident woman came from. This siren couldn’t be busy, clever Diana Carrick, virtuous widow from Marsham.
“Does that mean you’ll lick away every morsel?” The hint of laughter didn’t hide the gruffness in his voice.
Diana’s heart slammed against her ribs. The prospect of licking him all over intensified the throbbing between her legs. “Only if you beg.”
His laugh trickled down her backbone like fine wine would slip down her throat. “You’re suddenly very cocksure.”
“So are you.” Her attention focused on where he pressed against his trousers. No mistaking his heavy, seeking arousal.
His impressive chest rose on a deep breath. “I’ll make the pleasure last this time.”
Reluctantly she stopped ogling him and met eyes that held a rueful light. “An admirable ambition,” she said, with a coolness she was far from feeling.
“If you look at me like that, it’s an ambition fated for failure.”
How she enjoyed this subtle push and pull of wits between them. She ran a questing finger down his chest. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“Every man has his breaking point.”
“Hmm, I’d like to see that.”
His muscles bunched and firmed beneath her touch. “I guarantee you’ll see it.”
A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have understood what he meant. But in preparation for her trip to London, Burnley had lent her some naughty French books. The detailed illustrations had kept her and Laura giggling and horrified for a week.
“Not yet,” he said in a rough voice. “Later.”
Startled, she glanced up, catching the excitement in his eyes as he obviously read the wicked direction of her thoughts. The way he followed her reactions so closely was thrilling. Her nipples beaded with longing as she imagined him devoting that attention to her pleasure.
“I…” She lost track of what she meant to say when he tangled his hand in her hair and tipped her face toward his.
“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said hoarsely.
Before she could respond, his mouth descended. He hadn’t kissed her for what felt like an eon. Terrifying, really, how quickly she’d become addicted to his kisses. She sighed and gave herself up to his skillful mouth.
His tongue invaded her mouth, and her bones melted. She’d missed kissing more than she’d missed marital relations. Odd to realize it.
She closed her eyes and sank into velvety darkness. Her knees buckled, and her head swam with pleasure and lack of breath. He shifted his attention from her lips to the sensitive skin of her neck. She moaned and rocked her hips, testing his hard masculinity.
He groaned and drew apart from her. She made a wordless protest before she realized he’d only moved to tug her chemise over her head. As the silk slid away, reality intruded on her sensual dream.
She was naked. At his mercy. This encounter promised to be deeper, purer, more dangerous than what had happened in his carriage. Ruthlessly she reminded herself why she was here. It wasn’t to lose herself in Ashcroft’s attractions.
She couldn’t yield to her desperate craving. She could cope with a coldhearted seduction where both of them took what they wanted. There was nothing coldhearted in how she felt right now.
But how could she keep herself apart from him?
His eyes blazed as they ran over her body. The tips of her breasts tingled as his gaze lingered. His attention slipped lower to the damp triangle of dark blond curls. The insistent throbbing built, and she felt another liquid surge. She moved restlessly. The awareness between them was animal-like in its intensity.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, tilting her chin to see her eyes.
Dear heaven, she needed to be careful. She bit her lip before she realized how that too betrayed her nervousness. With sudden recklessness, she risked honesty. “This is more…powerful than I expected.”
He arched a sleek black eyebrow, and his voice was steadier than she’d imagine possible, given the need sparking in his eyes. “You’re full of preconceptions, Diana. You speak as if you and I are machines. Wind us up, put us into motion, pack us away when the performance is over.”
Her color
rose, not because she was naked, although that was discomfiting enough. He made her feel so tawdry.
“Diana?”
She still stared helplessly into his face. Like a besotted chit mooning over her first love. She quashed the thought as soon as it arose. Love had nothing to do with this. “I’ve lived a quiet life since my husband’s death.”
That much was true. Tragically true, she realized. How many years she’d devoted to her duties as her father’s diligent assistant and Burnley’s loyal servant. The woman Diana had disappeared in the efficient, hardworking, endlessly reliable Mrs. Carrick.
The woman had awoken tonight. In a rake’s arms.
Ashcroft’s warm hand cupped her jaw. She tilted her head in a subtle movement that rubbed her cheek against his palm. “This is my chance to take a share in life. I wanted…I want some excitement.”
The curve of his lips and the white glint of his teeth sent another jolt of arousal through her. She was so hot, she’d ignite any second.
“I can definitely give you that.”
She took the step that brought her flush against his powerful body. As she’d guessed, his calmness was deceptive. Her senses filled with the scent of aroused man. His heart pounded in a furious gallop.
“Prove it.”
Ashcroft’s heart soared in admiration as Diana reached out to snatch what she wanted. Especially as what she wanted seemed to be him.
Unclothed, she took his breath away. Juno. Venus. An Amazon. All woman.
Grabbing her naked hips, he drew her hard against him and kissed her. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her mouth. Like wine. Like honey. He could hardly wait to taste the rest of her.
In a smooth step like a waltz, he turned her toward the bed. He flung back the blue brocade bedspread to reveal snowy white sheets and plump pillows. Another step, and he slid her onto the mattress.
Bless Perry. For all the woeful decorating, everything here was the latest word in comfort. Tumbling Diana in this bed would be like floating to paradise on a cloud. Although to speak true, Ashcroft was so rampant, he’d take her on the bare floor if he had to. “Patience” entered his lexicon as a synonym for “torture.”
“Don’t stop kissing me.” Her sigh breathed passion.
Sainted heavens…
He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and prayed for control. When he opened his eyes, his heart skipped a beat at how she looked, all ruffled and frantic. Her rich blond hair spread around her like a golden veil.
“Oh, I intend to kiss you,” he growled, kneeling over her.
How simple to take her now. She was close to ready. It wasn’t enough. He wanted her so needy that she cried out for him. He wanted her dripping with desire.
He refused to suffer this incendiary craving alone. Some instinct told him she offered the right lover a depth of passion unlike any he’d experienced.
He intended to be that right lover.
Listening to the uneven tenor of her breath, he set his hands on her ribs and bent to kiss her. She opened immediately, dancing her tongue across his lips and into his mouth. Very slowly, knowing he tormented both of them, he slid his hands up.
Until his fingers cupped her lush breasts.
Hunger slammed through him. She made a mewling sound of pleasure against his mouth. Ashcroft raised his head to see where his tanned fingers splayed over her curves. A perfect picture. Her nipples stood out proudly, dark pink, tantalizing.
He struggled for control against his raging need. He brushed his lips across one rosy peak. Her breath hitched. Delicately, he took her into his mouth, savoring her flavor. Salt. Apples. Diana.
She gave a long guttural moan and arched. He drew harder until she started to shake.
He’d made love to hundreds of women, seeking enjoyment, brief forgetfulness, mutual pleasure. He always treated his affairs lightly, like a game.
As he tongued the sweet tip of Diana’s breast and felt her tremble with delight, he recognized this time, he mightn’t be lucky enough to escape with a shrug and a farewell kiss. Something about this woman penetrated more profoundly than mere appetite.
Her beauty stole his breath. Her wild responsiveness excited him. Her secrets intrigued him.
None of that explained why his heart rose in her presence. His life had been devoid of joy, but joy was the closest he could come to describing this feeling.
The niggling problem drifted away as she squirmed under his mouth. She tasted sweeter than sin. She was so sensitive, he suspected he could make her come just by touching her breasts.
He was more selfish than that, at least this time.
Still kissing her breast, he trailed one hand down the silky plain of her stomach and tangled his fingers in the soft curls. She bucked and smothered a shocked sound.
She vibrated to his touch like a bell.
He dipped between her legs. She was gloriously wet. He stroked her center, feeling the swollen flesh. A deeper pressure and she cried out and tautened. Her fingers clenched in his hair. The sting added to the other dizzying sensations rocketing through him.
Anticipation. Enjoyment of her enjoyment. Need.
He slipped his drenched fingers from between her thighs and gripped her hips. If he didn’t taste her there, he’d go mad.
With nipping kisses, he worked his way over her quivering belly to the top of her thighs. “Open for me, Diana.”
Her legs remained chastely closed. She lowered a shaking hand to hide her mound.
He lifted his head and looked up her lavish body to where she stared at him in dark consternation. A consternation that contrasted sharply with the full, red dampness of her mouth and the flush of passion on her cheeks.
She’d lifted herself on her elbows and he felt her bristling tension. Only seconds ago, she’d been all melting surrender.
“You can’t want to do that.” Her voice quivered with horror.
He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. And was rewarded when her eyes flashed brilliant silver annoyance.
“Do what?” he asked with faux innocence. He loved teasing her.
“You know.” She tried to wriggle free until he tightened his grip. “That.”
“Has someone kissed your…” With most of his lovers, jaded, sophisticated creatures all, he’d use the Anglo-Saxon profanity. Something about Diana curbed his tongue. “Have you been kissed like this before?”
She shook her head with an emphasis that made him hide a smile. “Of course not. It’s bizarre. I can’t imagine you enjoy it.”
“Perhaps the purpose is for you to enjoy it.”
Her color rose, and she tried again to escape. Foolish woman. Didn’t she know she might have cast the lures, but he’d shut the trap? He had no intention of letting her go anywhere.
“I wouldn’t enjoy it,” she said with complete certainty. “Don’t put yourself to any trouble on my behalf.”
He laughed again. She was delightful. And challenging. He’d have her screaming her release with his head between her legs before too much longer.
“Believe me, Diana, it’s no trouble.”
She reached down to cup his jaw. Strange that the simple gesture contained more significance than anything else they’d yet done together.
Passion had long been part of his life. Tenderness was notably absent.
Yet he felt tenderness in the way her fingers touched his skin, the warmth of her hand, even the vulnerable light in her eyes.
“Make love to me, Ashcroft.” He watched her swallow, the movement of her slender throat ineffably affecting. “I…I want you.”
When he placed a kiss on her damp curls, the musky female scent drove him mad with desire. “I want you too.”
She must have read his surrender because the nervousness leached from her expression, and her luscious mouth crooked in a faint smile. “Then for heaven’s sake, Ashcroft, take me.”
Diana watched Ashcroft’s striking features change, harden as he rose over her. The angular jaw under her hand became a
damantine.
Relief flooded her that he wasn’t going to put his mouth between her legs. She remembered her astonishment when she’d seen that particular act depicted in Burnley’s books. It seemed disgusting, animal, something no civilized man would do to a woman. Something no civilized woman would want a man to do.
Even as she told herself nothing would make her submit to a man kissing her sex, wanton curiosity jabbed her. Ashcroft hadn’t been repulsed by his suggestion. He’d seemed excited and eager. And disappointed when she refused.
Her fingers drifted across his face in an almost absent exploration, feeling the faint roughness of stubble. She came to rest on his mouth, and his lips parted as his breath caught. There was a strange, poignant intimacy in feeling the warm air brush her fingers. His lips were firm, satiny, sleek with her kisses. She brushed her fingers side to side, tracing the defined line of his upper lip with its sharp dip in the center, the cushiony fullness of his lower lip.
“You’re a strange libertine.”
“You know many libertines, madam?”
His lips moved beneath her fingers. The sensation spiraled heat through her. “Perhaps one or two.”
“Hardly enough to reach a conclusion.”
“Ouch!”
She didn’t believe it. He’d bitten her. A sharp nip on her finger. Glaring at him, she snatched her hand away.
He laughed and slid up her body in a smooth movement that was a caress in itself. Very deliberately he rubbed his chest against her breasts, and she smothered a moan at the friction of crisp hair on her nipples.
“I’ll bite you again before I’m done.” His voice was rich with humor, the sound as dark and beautiful as a low note on a cello.
He settled between her thighs, so close to where she wanted him. She frowned in puzzlement. “You’re still wearing trousers.”
“They’re part of my strategy to drive you wild with passion without losing control myself.”
“I’m wild with passion,” she said dryly, although it was true. If he didn’t take her soon, she’d leap on him like a bacchante at an orgy. She’d surrendered any pretense to caution long ago. “If that’s their only purpose, you can safely remove them.”
My Reckless Surrender Page 9