“I apologize for upsetting you.” He tried for rueful charm. A pity he couldn’t quite carry it off. Her questions had veered too close to memories that still rankled. “I usually don’t descend into such blatant self-pity. Or at least not publicly.”
She whirled around, and moonlight shone bright on her face. When she’d tried to run, he’d wondered whether she was upset or angry. One glance and he immediately knew. She looked like she wanted to kill him.
Such vivid passion in her. No wonder he found her irresistible.
“How can you speak of your mother like that? So smug that she came to grief. You don’t know what drove her. Perhaps she was in love. Perhaps your father was cruel. You were a child. You couldn’t have known anything about her.”
She stopped to drag in a shaky breath, struggling to jerk free. He tightened his grip. He didn’t trust her to stay if he released her. Even when she was angry, he’d rather be with her than without her.
What a lowering admission for the heartless rake Ashcroft.
One suspicious corner of his brain wondered why Diana took his mother’s fate so personally. Because he couldn’t mistake how vehemently his mistress sided with the faithless, flighty Countess of Ashcroft.
Did she worry that he judged Diana as equally flighty because she’d tumbled into a rake’s arms? But the situation was completely different. Hester Vale had had a husband and child.
How do you know Diana hasn’t?
“I heard all the stories about…” he began, but she spoke over him with such heat, his explanation faltered into silence.
“You’ve already told me your family have no affection for you. Even if they had, they’d hardly take your mother’s part.” He sustained a blast of furious lightning from her eyes. “What right have you to condemn your mother? You consider an affair that lasts more than a night a major commitment.”
He drew himself up, stung by her contempt. And, much as he loathed acknowledging it, hurt. His voice slowed to a coruscating drawl. “Charming. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you heard I’ll take any female into my bed.”
She flinched but didn’t retreat. “Well, don’t you?”
“No, I do not,” he bit out.
Abruptly, the fight ebbed out of her. “I don’t believe you,” she said dully.
He slid his arm around her waist, feeling her lithe shape, even through the thick woolen folds of the cloak. The anger seeped from his voice. “I haven’t touched another woman since I first saw you.”
“A few days’ fidelity? Should I give you a resounding cheer?” Her sarcasm faded to reveal piercing distress. “How can you speak of your mother with such hate?”
“I don’t hate her.” Again the truth slipped out before he could stop himself. Unless he knew better, he’d think he was in his cups. Whereas the only intoxication was Diana’s tempestuous presence. His hold tightened, and he found himself telling her what he’d told nobody else. “It’s the only way I can bear that she left me.”
He waited for a dismissive comment, scornful laughter. After all, he was a grown man. What his mother had done thirty years ago shouldn’t matter. But the wound was inflicted early, and it had never healed.
Just thinking about his mother made his stomach knot in sick misery. She’d abandoned him. Far easier to hate her than confess he’d yearned for her all his life.
Apart from Diana’s ragged breathing, the night fell quiet.
Ashcroft was devastated to realize she wasn’t far from tears. He found himself continuing, his heart leaden with humiliation. “It’s the only way I can bear m
y father’s hatred and that my family mustered little but contempt for me. If my mother was a worthless harlot, I’m equally worthless. At least the explanation offers a modicum of sense.”
He stopped, his heart beating like thunder.
He’d said too much. Far too much.
Diana was a casual lover. Nobody special. Nobody he’d even remember when the short-lived affair was over.
But his lancing anguish at the thought of losing her told him that was pure bravado. Diana touched him in a way nobody else had. And he suspected nobody ever would.
Great Jehovah, he’d had enough of this.
Flinging away from her, he strode a few restless paces up the path. He kept his back to her, afraid of what his face would reveal. His gut cramped with self-disgust as he replayed his mawkish confessions.
He couldn’t blame Diana if she left. Hell, he wished she would.