d her eyes. In spite of her desolation, her wanton blood surged with the memory of other ways and other places he’d touched her.
He released her when it became apparent she offered no resistance. Over the carriage’s steady creak, she heard his clothes rustle. Presumably, he ordered his appearance. She heard a faint clink.
Then a blessed coolness on her belly.
Her inertia vanished. She opened her eyes and struggled up on her elbows.
Ashcroft washed her with a damp, snowy white handkerchief. His eyes downcast, he stared at his hand moving upon her pale skin. Thick lashes shadowed his high cheekbones, and concentration marked his striking features. He looked like he considered this the most important task in the world.
She must have made some sound of protest because he glanced up. His green eyes were dark and soft like moss beside a woodland brook. She had a sudden memory of how fierce and driven he’d looked when he plunged into her body. He seemed a different man now.
God help her, both men tugged at her senses like nobody else. Even her beloved husband William.
“Are you all right?” he asked, still in that same soft voice.
“What are you doing?” She didn’t want him to be kind. She didn’t deserve his kindness.
A faint smile lifted Ashcroft’s lips as he uncapped a silver flask and poured some of its contents onto the handkerchief. “Making you more comfortable.”
“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously, hardly heeding his answer.
“Water.”
Of course it was. If it had been anything else, perfume or a spirit, she’d smell it.
“I suppose you need supplies on hand for encounters like this.” Guilt and a sick awareness of her devastating failure prickled at her, prompted a sarcastic response. She felt tired and sticky and furious with herself. She wished she was anywhere but here. Odd, in all her planning for becoming Lord Ashcroft’s lover, she’d never considered how she’d fill the awkward moments once the deed was done. “I’m surprised you don’t travel with a hip bath.”
The smile deepened. “Are you always this bad-tempered after sex?”
“I can’t remember,” she sniped back before she questioned if it was wise to reveal so much of her history. The last thing she wanted was to arouse his curiosity. She didn’t want him tracing her to Lord Burnley and Marsham. More, she didn’t want him developing a knowledge of the real woman and not just the falsely willing lover.
Except they were both aware that, at the end, there had been nothing false about her response.
Returning his gaze to her body, he wiped the handkerchief across her belly. He parted her thighs to continue his ministrations. The coolness felt marvelous on her aching flesh, and she gave a muffled sigh of pleasure.
His lips turned down. “I should have taken more care. I’ll do better next time.”
Next time? Heaven help her, could she go through this again? For no purpose?
Right now, she yearned to say good-bye to Lord Ashcroft and never see his handsome face again.
Already her soul quailed at what further contact with Ashcroft meant. She had trouble recognizing herself in the woman who had reached shuddering completion not once, but twice. Only moments in the earl’s company, and she turned into a round-heeled trollop.
What would she be like in a week? A month?
She’d wanted to keep her essential self separate. That intention had burned to ashes in the conflagration of their lovemaking.
One stark fact was undeniable. Cranston Abbey threatened to cost her more than she’d ever thought to pay.
Abruptly, she registered the intimacy of his actions. Quickly she closed her legs and scrambled to sit against the side of the carriage. The movement shot a twinge of discomfort through her, sharply reminded her of his painful and ultimately rapturous possession.
“Thank you. I feel much better,” she said breathlessly, pushing his hand away, bundling her skirts down with more haste than grace.
Amusement lit his green eyes. She wished it didn’t make him even more attractive. “I’ll order you a bath when we reach our destination.”
Astonishment made her straighten. “Haven’t we…?”
He laughed and slid the flask into a pocket on the coach door. He drew out another silver flask and unscrewed its top. “Haven’t we what? Finished? I hope not. I haven’t begun to plumb the delights you offer.”