My Reckless Surrender - Page 8

Burnley stopped, and his cold green eyes ran over her with an assessing glance she’d become used to in recent weeks. “Don’t be a fool, girl. You’ll prove utterly irresistible.”

“Well, that certainly wasn’t the case today,” she said with asperity.

His thin mouth lengthened in displeasure, whether at her failure or her defiance, she didn’t know. “Try again. I’ve fought this bastard in Parliament for ten years. For all his numbskull ideas, he’s damned clever. But I know his weaknesses. You’re just the woman to appeal to those weaknesses.”

Even she, who didn’t follow politics closely, was aware of the long-standing enmity between the draconian Edgar Fanshawe, Marquess of Burnley, and the reformist champion, Tarquin Vale, Earl of Ashcroft. The two men clashed over and over, with the marquess usually emerging victorious because his cruel, eye-for-an-eye principles received general support from the upper classes. Burnley viewed Ashcroft’s unreliable politics as a sign of his unreliability as a man.

The tall old man leaned back against the desk and folded his arms over a chest that had once been broad and powerful and was now thin and hollow. Diana hid a shiver. In spite of the obvious differences between the two men in age and vigor, the stance was exactly like Lord Ashcroft’s when he’d sent her packing.

Today had been painful and frightening. Her brief was clear—seduce the Earl of Ashcroft. So simple at a distance. So complicated now she’d met her quarry. Already events teetered out of her control, and Ashcroft hadn’t even touched her yet.

For one dizzying moment, longing to be safely back at Cranston Abbey made her heart clench. She didn’t belong here in London. She belonged in that beloved place, the house and estate she’d devoted her life to as much as any mother devoted herself to her offspring.

She reminded herself that if she held fast to her purpose, Cranston Abbey would be hers. This was one case where ends really did justify means. She did no harm to Lord Ashcroft if she persisted, and in return, all her dreams would come true.

She forced herself to sound stalwart. “I haven’t finished with Ashcroft.”

A smile twisted the old man’s thin lips. He was still handsome, but illness took its inevitable toll. Deep lines scored his cheeks and drew down the corners of his mouth. His eyes sank into their sockets. “You always had spirit, I’ll give you that. Even when you were a brat.”

Wearily, Diana brushed at the stray tendrils of hair that tickled her forehead. After her stymied attempt to engage Lord Ashcroft’s interest, she was tired and humiliated. Keyed up in a way she didn’t dare examine too closely. She felt like someone had rubbed her skin with glass paper, excising a layer or two, leaving her too exposed to the world. The sensation was unfamiliar, unwelcome, uncomfortable.

She’d give her right arm for a cup of tea and five quiet minutes in a chair to enjoy it. But such prosaic luxuries were out of reach. When she’d returned from the debacle at Lord Ashcroft’s, Burnley had been waiting.

Burnley frowned thoughtfully. “I can’t stay. If we’re seen together, the scheme will unravel. Remember what’s at stake.”

Oh, she remembered. She thought of little else.

Had she always coveted the magnificent house and its rich acres? She didn’t think so. But when Lord Burnley offered her a chance to guide the estate’s destiny into the next generation, it was as though she suddenly lifted her head and saw to the horizon instead of just the patch of ground at her feet. Ambition and determination had filled her with purpose. Her love for Cranston Abbey would find its true expression at last. She discovered a task fit for her intelligence and abilities.

The reminder of that revelatory moment steadied her nerve, reminded her why she was in London. Her voice rang with certainty. “I’ll write with my progress.”

“Daily.”

“I hope you’ll leave me time to accomplish my charge,” she responded with a trace of sarcasm.

He laughed, the sound scratching like dry sticks in a winter wind. “You’ve become insolent since I raised you in the world, Mrs. Carrick. Don’t think I’ll forget if you fail.”

She rubbed at her temples where a headache gnawed. In spite of the fortifying memory of what she set to gain, anxiety made her belly cramp with nausea. Burnley had chosen her because he thought she was strong. After meeting Lord Ashcroft, she didn’t feel strong.

“I won’t fail,” she muttered, even as her heart quailed to recall the finality of Lord Ashcroft’s dismissal. Surrendering her virtue promised to prove more difficult than she’d originally thought.

“You’d better not. For your father’s sake as well as yours.” The old man straightened from the desk and stepped nearer, using his height to intimidate. “Don’t think to fob me off with false coin. I’ll know whether you’ve seen Vale naked. He’s the only man you’ll take into your bed.”

Dear God, as if she’d toss another person into this poisonous mix. The old man must be going mad. “I gave my word, my lord. If I promise something, I carry it out.”

The smile crooking his lips sent fear oozing down Diana’s spine. With one desiccated finger, he tapped her cheek. “I know that, child. It’s one reason I chose you for this honor.”

She bit back a bitter laugh. “No honor. Dishonor.”

“Cranston Abbey and my fortune, not to mention becoming a marchioness, will compensate for any spots on your soul. You’ll find after you lose it, that a soul is a completely unnecessary encumbrance.”

She shivered, although it was a decision she’d already made. She’d long ago decided Edgar Fanshawe was Beelzebub incarnate. Was she wise to deal with the devil? She was merely human, and he’d used both threat and reward to lure her. Too late now to renege.

“I won’t play you false,” she said stonily.

“You have too much to lose if you do,” he said in an equally unrelenting voice. “I hope your wrong step today doesn’t spoil my plans. I shall be most…displeased if it has.”

When the Marquess of Burnley expressed displeasure, people got hurt. Nonetheless, she still had to make him see reason. “There’s a possibility Ashcroft won’t want me. There’s a possibility his no today means no forever.”

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
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