He was the only scoundrel allowed to ogle Diana Carrick.
Diana’s voice was warm. “No need to apologize, Lady Charlotte. The ensemble is a favorite of mine too.”
The countess gave a humph of disapproval, and her voice was icy. “Mrs. Carrick, may I present my daughter Lady Charlotte Goudge?”
Diana dipped into another of those intriguingly self-possessed curtsies. “Lady Charlotte.”
“We have an appointment, Tarquin,” his aunt said. “Mrs. Carrick.”
Another curtsy. “Your ladyship.” Her voice remained firm and polite.
As his aunt marched away, Charlotte lingered and smiled at Diana with a shy pleasure that made him wonder if he’d underestimated her. “I hope we meet again, Mrs. Carrick.”
“I’d like that,” Diana said. “But I’m in Town only a
short while.”
Charlotte spared Ashcroft a nervous glance. He could guess the terrifying tales she’d heard about him from the family. He wouldn’t be surprised if his relations featured him as the monster in their bedtime stories. “Mama holds a musicale next Thursday. I’m sure she’d be delighted if you attended.”
The fleeting wryness in Diana’s expression indicated she knew the countess would be anything but delighted to have a woman of unknown pedigree infiltrating her house. To her credit, she responded calmly. “I’m already engaged Thursday next. Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“Charlotte!” His aunt paused in the doorway and shot a gimlet glance in their direction. Charlotte blushed, curtsied to Diana, and hurried after her mother.
“That performance was completely unnecessary,” Diana hissed, at last looking at him. Her face was pale, apart from a flush of color high on her slanted cheekbones. “What if she fathomed I was your mistress?”
“I wouldn’t introduce my mistress to her,” he said with an equanimity born of his drunken pleasure in being with her.
Oh, he was in sad straits. Poor Ashcroft, slain by a pair of brilliant gray eyes. And who would think gray eyes could scorch? Yet unquestionably they did as they leveled on him.
“Yet you did,” she said implacably.
She didn’t budge. He’d be disappointed if she had. So far, she’d never disappointed him. He couldn’t imagine that continuing—experience indicated she would sooner or later.
“Tarquin!” His aunt still stared at them.
He ignored the summons of family authority. The countess should be used to that. Beatings had made minimal difference to his younger self. A sharp word to the man would have no more effect.
He bent closer to Diana, inhaling more of her delicious fragrance. “Does one encounter make you my mistress?”
“Clearly under your definition, not.” She made an angry sound deep in her throat, not that different from the sounds of pleasure she made when he took her. A molten surge of desire turned him blind to his surroundings.
“Tarquin!”
“I have to see you tonight,” he said urgently, desperate to continue the argument but knowing it was impossible. How tragic he found squabbling with Diana more rewarding than any other conversation he remembered.
“I said I’d send you word.”
“You didn’t.” Vaguely, he was aware of her friend stepping closer, but his attention was all for Diana.
“No.”
“Wait here.”
Her lips tightened with displeasure. “I’m not a hound, Ashcroft. I don’t do your bidding without question.”
He broke his rule about never begging. “Please.”
“You have to go. The countess is waiting.” She started to wheel away, but he grabbed her arm, using his body to shield her from his aunt’s curiosity.