Diana, be careful.
“Keep your head down. I was precipitate in discarding your mask.” He wrapped his coat around her, lifting the collar so it shadowed her face.
Again he guarded her honor. He left her completely befuddled. What sort of debaucher demonstrated such care for a lady’s reputation? Especially when the lady behaved so unwisely.
“My carriage isn’t far away.”
He’d drawn her halfway down toward the street when she came to enough to register what he said. “No.”
He stopped and glanced down. The unsteady light revealed puzzlement instead of annoyance in his expression. She couldn’t blame him for taking her consent for granted. Shame tightened her belly.
“I still have the right to say that,” she said in a low, throbbing voice. “Or did I relinquish that along with my honor?”
“I have no call on you beyond your willingness, madam.”
He’d used the same cold tone when he sent her from his house. She shivered. She’d hoped never to hear that tone again. After his unexpected kindness, the abrupt change cut like a whip across her face.
She jerked back and tried to free her hand, but his hold turned firm just before she attempted escape. He looked at her fully for the first time since he’d wrapped her in his coat. She stifled the traitorous softness the memory of that tender, protective action evoked.
He drew in a jagged breath, and his broad shoulders relaxed. “Diana, I’m sorry.” A soft, self-derisive laugh. “I’m usually not such a bear. Blame it on frustration.”
Understanding descended like a dousing bucket of cold water. She’d left him hungry. His calmness formed a thin veneer over a seething volcano of arousal. Now they were close to the light, she noticed a muscle flickered erratically in his cheek.
It couldn’t have been easy for him to stop when he did.
Without Belton’s interruption, they’d be lovers now. In a sordid encounter in an alleyway. She should be grateful the clodpole had burst upon them and dragged her out of her daze of sensual joy. Except the sensual joy had felt more real than anything since William’s death.
Her voice was subdued, and she huddled into his coat. “I’m sorry too.”
“Come home with me.”
The soft demand’s potent lure was warning in itself. She stiffened against the request, as if his will alone could make her relent. Her body demanded she go with him, test the limits of desire. Her mind remained in control—barely. Her mind insisted she had to reinforce her defenses before she saw Ashcroft again, before he placed those skillful hands on her yearning flesh once more.
She’d undoubtedly gained his interest. Although there had been little calculation in her success. So little calculation that every nerve tightened against going with him now. Her surrender when she was so vulnerable would be too complete, too honest.
I am not a whore.
A couple paused at the mouth of the alley, arms around each other, and peered into the darkness. As quick as sound, Lord Ashcroft stepped before Diana, shrouding her in shadow.
Her heart clenched in anguished response. Why did he act like a knight in shining armor when she needed him to be a heartless devil?
The longing to cede to blazing passion tugged at her. He was close enough for her to feel his warmth. That radiating heat was its own invitation. She’d been cold for eight long years.
Once, she’d basked in a husband’s love and care. Then death had ripped William from her arms, and she’d been lonely ever since.
The reminder of her husband propelled her back to reality. For her sanity’s sake, she couldn’t afford to lose herself in passion. “I want an affair, not a quick tumble then good-bye.”
“You do yourself an injustice, Diana,” he said slowly. “And me.”
“So you accept my proposal?”
The word hung between them, with its connotations of permanence, virtue, wedded bliss. Eventually, he lowered his head in a sharp nod. “I accept.”
She waited for hallelujahs of triumph to ring inside her. But instead her heart beat a preternatural warning that she should end everything now. She should flee London and return to the woman she’d been last week, yesterday, an hour ago.
The woman she was before she’d succumbed to a rake’s touch.
“Thank you.” What else could a woman say when she consented to surrender her honor?