He should have sounded absurd, rating her like a general with a raw recruit, while he stood there without a stitch on. But his body was so magnificent, he looked daunting and powerful.
Nonetheless, she didn’t back down. “How do you know you’ve never left a bastard behind?”
“I’ve been careful.” He drew in another breath, clearly searching for patience. “We can, if you wish, use a sheath.”
Thanks to her educational if uncomfortable discussions with Burnley, she knew what he meant. A whole world had opened since she’d entered into this scheme. A world she wasn’t entirely sure she liked.
The idea of Ashcroft covering himself with sewn sheep’s gut seemed outlandish. Anyway, a sheath would stop her conceiving. “This Gypsy remedy is safe.”
He frowned. “Nothing’s safe.”
“I never conceived when I was married.”
He folded his arms over his impressive chest. “Forgive me for saying this, but I’ve gathered that your husband wasn’t the most passionate of men.”
She lurched up against the pillows, dragging the rumpled sheet across to hide her nakedness. “He…he was. We were.” She strove for calmness and her next words emerged more evenly. “We weren’t married long.”
“Which is why you didn’t fall pregnant. Mysterious magical charms had nothing to do with it.”
“We were married a year. Long enough to have a baby.”
Heaven help her, it had been. When William died and left her alone, she’d thought her heart would shatter. Without her work at Cranston Abbey, she’d have found nothing to live for.
Perhaps bringing up William’s child would have made the years since then less lonely. Perhaps a child would have saved her from sacrificing her soul to other, less holy gods.
If she’d had a child, she wouldn’t be here now, deceiving a good man so she could lay claim to a house she knew in her heart she had no right to own.
How tragically wrong she’d been about Lord Ashcroft. If she’d known the truth about him when Burnley broached this scheme, she would never have agreed to participate.
She wasn’t stupid. She’d read signs since the affair started that Ashcroft wasn’t the brutish, blundering debaucher of Burnley’s description. But blindly, she’d continued, convinced her lover wouldn’t care what happened to her after their liaison, as long as he obtained his selfish pleasure.
The simple transaction of her willingness in return for a baby was a wicked lie she’d used to justify unjustifiable actions.
This conversation made her feel vile, disgusting, dirty. It shone a stark, unforgiving light on everything she did. But even as she cursed herself for deceiving Ashcroft, Cranston Abbey lured her. All her dreams. And a single chance to turn them into reality.
Surely recognizing that Ashcroft was essentially a good man didn’t alter her quest. If Ashcroft never knew what she did, if he never knew she sought a child from him, her ambition would cost him nothing.
Or was that another lie she told herself?
Too late to succumb to wrenching guilt. She was in Ashcroft’s bed and committed to obeying Burnley. Still she heard the falsehood in her voice as she spoke. Could Ashcroft hear it too?
“My nurse’s daughter Laura has had a string of lovers, and she’s never fallen pregnant either.” How Laura would hate to hear Diana malign her. To her knowledge, her friend was a virgin.
Ashcroft looked annoyed and suspicious. Difficult to believe not long ago he’d shuddered with desire in her arms. She wondered nervously if she tried him to a point where he’d decide she wasn’t worth the trouble, and he’d prefer easier, less demanding prey.
Chagrin stabbed her as she imagined Ashcroft doing what he’d just done with her to someone else. Chagrin with no connection to her mission for Lord Burnley and far too much connection to Diana Carrick and her longing heart.
Diana, grow up. He’s been in hundreds of beds, and he’ll be in hundreds more. You’re nothing special, and you’re asking for trouble if you imagine you are.
“No woman wants the burden of a fatherless child.”
He spoke with a depth of feeling that attracted her attention. It indicated something greater than just a wish to shield a lover, something touching his heart.
The secret knowledge she possessed coiled in her gut like an adder. Bile rose to sour her mouth as she thought of the layers of deceit she practiced on this man.
He won’t care, she assured herself, fisting her hands in the sheets until they ached. Every time she said those words, she believed them less. This discussion indicated he did care.
“Lord Ashcroft.” She tried to match his coolness but spoiled the effect when her voice trembled. “I’ve looked after the possibility of conception. I came to you for sexual experience. So far, you’ve proven a disappointment.”