My Reckless Surrender (4 page)

The ultimate lie.

Even through his pounding excitement, his misgivings howled. Everything about her contradicted everything else. Unfortunately, he'd reached such a pitch of need, he hardly cared.

“Nothing.” He bared his teeth in a smile that conveyed his wolfish thoughts. “Come with me.”

“My lord…”

He overrode her protest, if protest was her intention, and dragged her toward the doorway, mercifully empty of crowds at last. “You started this. It's time to pay the piper, my girl.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “Are you asking me to blow you a tune, Lord Ashcroft?”

The hussy's reawakening summoned a burst of genuine laughter. “We'll definitely make beautiful music, madam.”

D
iana was aware of nothing else apart from the powerful man hauling her unceremoniously through the disorderly crowd. Feverish desire made her head spin. How had she become this mindless wanton?

Everything was Ashcroft. His salty flavor was on her lips. His hand curled tight around hers. His long legs ate up the distance between them and freedom with such speed, she stumbled to keep up.

It wasn't just her own surrender that bewildered her. The swiftness of his capitulation left her reeling. Although she had a chary feeling he hadn't capitulated at all, and he remained in complete control of her and circumstances. She'd baited the tiger, and the tiger had pounced.

Now she must wait to see if he intended to devour her whole or leave only a few scratches to show for the encounter.

He'd kissed her as if he meant to devour her.

She licked her lips, savoring the rich taste that lingered. She'd never been kissed like that in her life. She didn't know anyone
could
kiss like that.

Still, Lord Ashcroft tugged her through the milling hordes with the hard certainty of a clipper plowing through the sea in a high wind. Still she bobbed in his wake like a pinnace.

Diana didn't know where he took her on this mad dive. The unfettered, heedless part of her hardly cared as long as he soon swept her into his arms and kissed her again.

More than kissed her…

On this close night, the air outside the theater was no fresher than the miasma inside. Still without speaking, Ashcroft swerved into a dark side street away from the line of coaches. She staggered as the acrid stink of decaying rubbish assaulted her.

He shoved her against the cold, dank brick of the alley walls. The tiny fraction of her brain that still worked insisted she should resent his proprietary attitude. Instead, she experienced a deep feminine thrill at his strength and steely determination to have her. Her heart crashed against her ribs in uncontrollable excitement.

Dear God, she was hopeless. She hardly knew this man, yet already she fell under his spell. And she didn't know how to stop herself.

With sudden purpose, she raised her head to object to his cavalier handling. He read the tilt of her chin as invitation and pressed his mouth to hers.

Heat blasted down to her toes. His kiss at the ball had been rapacious. Now she realized he'd reined himself in amidst the seething crowd. His utter ruthlessness astonished her. He ravished her lips, using tongue and teeth to subjugate resistance.

Not that, to her shame, she mustered any resistance.

She gasped, sinking into the kiss like a drowning woman sank into a dark ocean. Every bone in her body dissolved, leaving only glorious sensation.

Nobody had touched her like this for years. She'd forgotten the power of a man's hands on her in desire. All thought flew from her head, replaced by a thick, drugging syrup of pleasure.

Ashcroft tasted of night and sin and devilry. The dish was so delicious, she'd never get her fill.

To her mortification, she whimpered in disappointment when he finally drew away. A roué like him would know that with one touch, she yielded. Her chest heaved as she struggled to drag air into starved lungs.

She didn't want air. She wanted more dazzling kisses.

Dazed, Diana stared up into his face, a pale blur in the darkness. His breath was a soft, uneven susurration. Although she knew better than to imagine he could be as overcome as she, when she placed one hand on his chest, he was shaking.

He felt something.

She didn't know why this confirmation that he was vulnerable to sexual longing mattered. After all, the man who held her was undeniably flesh and blood. She'd tasted need on his lips and felt desperation in his embrace.

“Damn you, I have to see you.” His hoarse baritone soaked into her skin and made her bones melt once again. When he released her, she swayed back against the bricks. Her legs felt like custard.

How had her coldhearted seduction come to this?

Without awaiting permission, he tugged at the strings holding the mask. He caught it in one elegant hand and flung it into the mud at her feet. His hands framed her face.

“What if I want to go back into the ballroom?” she asked on a spurt of defiance, feeling the attention he focused on her features like a physical touch.

“Why should you?” His chuckle was soft and knowing. “You caught the quarry you set out to snare.”

This time his kiss was rougher, his mouth more predatory, his grip tighter. The pressure of his mouth made her blood beat hot and fierce in a way it hadn't beat in eight years. Her senses thawed after a long winter under ice.

In the dim recesses of her mind, disquiet stirred. There was danger in what they did. She wasn't a highborn lady, but until now, she'd been a respectable, virtuous woman. Lord Ashcroft treated her like a trull he'd picked up in a gutter.
Hauling her into an alley to take his pleasure and kissing her as though he had the right to command her.

There were other, more insidious dangers. She'd embarked on this plan intending to stay in control, uninvolved. At this torrid moment, it was laughable how far she strayed from either description.

If she remained cold in his arms, she could justify what she did. Losing herself to heady rapture made her a whore indeed. And she'd never be able to live with herself afterward.

It made no sense, but pleasure seemed the ultimate betrayal of her principles.

Too late…

The warnings were dim and far away. Much more immediate was the magic of Ashcroft's touch. She met his passion with rising passion of her own.

When his tongue thrust into her mouth, she sucked hard on it. He groaned and pressed into her. Even through the layers of skirts, she felt his erection. She was so lost to hunger, she thrust her hips forward to meet that raw male power.

Foolish, naïve Diana. She'd never expected to want Lord Ashcroft. Now, with astounding swiftness, she was so aroused that if he didn't fill the aching emptiness inside her, she thought she'd die.

With a complete absence of tenderness that only built her excitement, he ran his hands up and down her sides. He must know she burned for him to touch her breasts, but his exploration remained almost innocent. Apart from the blazing pressure of his mouth. And the throb of his rod against her belly.

She made a protesting sound. She'd never known kisses like this. Kisses that stole her soul, changed her into an unabashed sensualist.

A terrifying thought invaded her mind. If he could turn her into his willing creature with just his mouth, what would happen when he took her body? Because it was as inevitable
as sunrise that he'd take her body. Also inevitable, she now realized, was that she'd long for his possession more than a saint longed for a glimpse of heaven.

He kissed her neck and shoulders, roughly pushing the dress aside. She shivered, wild response rippling through her. “Stop teasing me,” she gasped, as he bit down on a sensitive nerve, and heat blasted her.

He laughed and bit again, more gently. The rasp of his teeth made light explode behind her eyes. “You've never been shy before about telling me what you want.”

“One meeting doesn't count as before,” she objected, rubbing herself shamelessly against him, frantic to ease the painful ache in her breasts, the even more painful ache between her legs.

“It was enough.” He trailed his lips up to her ear, where he nipped the lobe. Another arrow of need pierced her. Her knees wobbled so badly that only his hands around her waist held her upright.

She wanted those hands to touch her properly.

She wanted those hands on her breasts. Oh, shocking admission, she wanted those hands on her sex.

Trembling, she grabbed his wrist. Clumsily, she pressed his palm into her breast. Even through her bodice, the sizzle of contact made her gasp.

“Please…” she begged, hating her open need.

Her seduction of Lord Ashcroft wasn't supposed to be this heated encounter. She had intended to remain in charge.

Desire turned her into a pleading slave. Too late to create a distance. Too late from the first moment she'd seen him, she acknowledged in hazy bewilderment.

Automatically, his fingers curled around her breast. Fiery pleasure streaked through her. Breathing unsteadily, she leaned into that touch, but it wasn't enough. She yearned for him to explore her naked body. She was dizzy with the heady scents of soap and warm, aroused male. She'd forgotten what an evocative fragrance that was.

She'd forgotten so much in the last eight years.

His other hand slid up to hold her face, turning it toward his. His features remained in deep shadow while torchlight from the main thoroughfare revealed her every reaction.

The contrast should frighten her, underline that this man was a stranger. She was too trapped in craving to do more than strain toward him. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to hitch up her skirts and plunge deep. She wanted him to make her his in a way no other man had.

“Please…” she said again.

Who was this impassioned woman with her untrammeled reactions? Surely not staid Diana Carrick whose idea of excitement was a new book for her small library or the chance to try out one of her agricultural theories on a field at the Abbey.

“Please what?”

She should resent his teasing. But even through the mad tumult of her heartbeat, she heard the edge in his voice.

“Please touch my…my breast,” she whispered. The shock of hearing the words penetrated the fog of arousal like light breaking through a heavy cloud cover.

What was she doing?

She wasn't here to submerge herself in hedonistic delight. All she'd heard about the Earl of Ashcroft had led her to expect a contemptible, slobbering seducer from a cheap novel. Instead, he drew her like a magnet drew iron filings. And she needed to resist. This visit to London didn't launch her on a courtesan's career. Her purpose was clear, and once she achieved it, she meant to do her best to forget her brief fall from grace.

She couldn't risk letting Ashcroft become more than just a means to an end.

The chilling instant of clarity dissolved as the hand curving around her breast drifted upward in a caress. He dipped beneath her neckline, tightening the lace edging. Then he paused.

Her skin tautened in aching suspense. What the devil was wrong with the man?

“You're tormenting me.” Her choppy breathing lifted her breast under his hand and made her aware how close he ventured to her nipple.

“I like to see you desperate,” he said softly.

“Aren't you desperate too?” Where did she find the courage to ask the question?

His hand flexed but, curse him, slid no lower. “Oh, yes.”

“Then why not touch me?”

He laughed, and the sound fizzed through her blood, heating it to boiling point. “Because your desperation builds my anticipation.”

“Do you always play games?”

“Only when I enjoy them.”

“My lord…”

“Ashcroft.” The undertone of amusement lingered. She wished she didn't find it so compellingly attractive. “My hand is halfway down your dress. It's absurd to stand on ceremony.”

Fighting back nerves, she slipped her hand between them and cupped him. She couldn't contain her astonished gasp at his raw heat and power.

The only other man she'd touched so intimately was William. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Lord Ashcroft was bigger and heavier than her husband. A shudder, partly fear, partly excitement, quivered through her as she imagined that strength pounding into her. It would be like living through an earthquake.

He groaned. “Dear God, woman.”

Tentatively, she curled her fingers, testing his size. When he kissed her this time, his mouth was ravenous, burning. At last—
at last
—his hand shifted. Time staggered to a stop until his fingers brushed her pebbled nipple.

She jerked. The sensation was beyond anything she remembered—or had imagined in the long lonely nights
since William's death. Her belly clenched, and moisture welled between her legs. A red-hot wire extended between her nipple and her womb, and it tightened with every flick of his fingers.

She ripped her mouth from his and hid her face in his neck, trying to muffle the lascivious sounds escaping her. Vaguely through her approaching storm, she felt him shove up her skirts. Then a blinding pleasure as his hand thrust between her thighs.

He wasn't gentle. He wasn't kind. His fingers pierced the slit in her drawers and found her. She shuddered in reaction.

She suffocated. She trembled close to bursting into endless flame. She was adrift and disoriented.

He pressed up into her, and every muscle convulsed. The world exploded, replaced by a hot, dark place lit with showers of fiery sparks. She bit down hard on his neck to stifle her scream.

Ripples still flowed through her when his hand slid free and curved around her thigh. His touch was pitiless. She welcomed that. She didn't deserve the pretense of tenderness after what he'd just done. And something deep inside her responded to his mastery.

She tried to remind herself that she played a part, but the knowledge made no impact against the waves of satisfaction. Ashcroft pulled her leg higher and hooked it around his hip.

She gasped for air, scrabbling for some shred of control, of reason. But both floated out of reach like cinders in a draft.

With one shaking hand, he tore at the front of his trousers. She should help, but she could barely stand after that astounding release. Clinging to his shoulders, she leaned against him, pliant as a reed. Pleasure bubbled in her blood, left her aware only of Ashcroft's big powerful body and what he was about to do to her.

The burst of salacious laughter belonged to a different
world. Terrified, she lowered her leg and flung her head up to meet Ashcroft's eyes. He looked tense and angry. And frustrated. His hardness against her belly testified to his incendiary readiness.