Lord Ashcroft had found her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Ashcroft…” Diana’s chest constricted with agonized denial.
All her schemes and stratagems closed in and threatened to crush her. Now he was here, he’d inevitably discover what she did.
He’d never forgive her.
Ashcroft surveyed her from unreadable dark green eyes. His face was a magnificent mask. She had no idea what he felt or thought. Was he furious? Puzzled? Impatient? Triumphant?
“What are you doing here?” With an unsteady hand, she clutched the back of a chair.
Ashcroft sent her an insouciant smile that made her hack-les rise. He looked reckless and arrogant and more handsome than any man had a right to be.
With a nonchalance she both envied and resented, he prowled past Laura and set gloves and hat upon a table. “I was passing.”
“Liar.”
His attention dropped to the head of the cane he carried, and his voice emerged quietly but implacably. “I’ve shot men for saying less.”
She straightened, suddenly not needing the chair’s support. Damn Ashcroft. Damn him to hell. He’d broken their agreement. He knew she didn’t want him to invade her life outside what they did in bed.
“So shoot me,” she said flatly.
“Diana!” Laura gasped.
She darted a glance at her friend. “Why did you let him in?”
Ashcroft had rattled the usually imperturbable woman. “He wouldn’t…”
Diana was stirred up enough to speak over Laura. “He barged in without permission? What was James doing while Ashcroft stood on the front step? Picking his teeth?”
“Your footman recognized a hopeless battle,” Ashcroft said grimly. He turned to Laura. “Miss Smith, I suspect this is turning ugly. Perhaps you should retire.”
“Perhaps you should—right back to Mayfair,” Diana sniped.
Ashcroft gestured toward the door. “Miss Smith?”
“Laura, don’t you dare go!” Diana leaped forward.
Laura dodged her and backed toward the door. “I’m sure you want privacy.”
“I’m sure we don’t!”
It was too late. Laura had rushed down the hallway and was halfway up the stairs.
Diana couldn’t bear to stay and face Ashcroft. She set off after Laura at a determined march, only to come to a trembling halt as he lifted his stick and swung the door shut in front of her.
Seething, she whirled on him. “Let me pass. I have no wish to speak to you.”
Keeping the cane pressed to the door, he leaned back against the delicate desk. “You know, I find your temper exciting.” His low drawl scraped across her nerves. “But then I’m sure you’ve guessed I find everything about you exciting.”
She sucked in a breath, fighting to come up with something to make him realize how he’d betrayed her. He seemed to consider what he did a lark, a joke, just another game they played.
For Diana, Ashcroft’s arrival was unmitigated disaster. If he’d found his way to Chelsea, surely he’d trace her back to Burnley. Then it wouldn’t take him long to unravel the whole sorry plot.
He’d hate her. He’d despise her. He’d believe she’d lied to him with every word, every caress, every sigh.