Good Earls Don't Lie (27 page)

“No. Only my pride.” Rose folded her hands and ventured a slight smile.

The duchess stood beside her and remarked, “I admire your bravery for returning to the ballroom. When I was your age, I would have run away.”

“I wanted to. But I thought it might make the gossip worse.” She tried to muster a smile. “Even now, I suspect they are discussing my lack of grace.”

“Not at all.” The duchess lowered her voice. “That is why I asked my sister Amelia to intervene. She is a notorious gossip, and everyone adores her.” She leaned in and added, “She is telling everyone how miraculous it is that you learned to walk again, and how no one ever dreamed it would happen.”

When she looked around the room, Rose realized that the duchess’s assertion was indeed true. Many people
were
smiling and nodding at her. The Countess of Castledon had most assuredly interfered.

“Please tell your sister that I wish to thank her.”

“I will.” Her Grace gave Rose’s hand a squeeze. “Now I must go and speak to my guests. But I
am
glad to see you walking again.”

Soon enough, Lord Burkham returned with the glass of lemonade, and Rose drank it dutifully. “Forgive me, Lady Rose, but I did promise to dance with Miss Everett.” He nodded in the direction of the young girl whom he’d escorted in the park. “I shall return to you shortly.”

“Of course,” she murmured, though she wanted to tell him not to bother.

Once he was gone, her mind blurred with thoughts of Iain. He had danced with four different women, and she had no doubt that all of them were enthralled with him.

But by the end of the last set, she caught him watching her. He was standing near the terrace with his own drink in hand. Although three other ladies stood nearby, conversing and flirting with him, his attention was not fixed upon them at all.

Instead, he was watching her.

Rose flushed beneath his attention. She remembered the wicked words he’d spoken during their dance, and her body was imagining Iain’s touch upon her bare skin.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was possible for
her
to become his bride. He needed a bride to help him restore Ashton. And while her dowry was not as large as Miss Sinclair’s, it was respectable enough.

It was irrational to even consider marrying him, when it meant leaving her homeland and living in dangerous conditions in a country torn apart by famine. But she let herself envision it, wondering whether it was as bad as he’d said it was.

Rose decided to walk in the garden once again. The terrace wasn’t so very far away, and she could sit down on a bench and breathe in the night air. She hobbled her way through the throngs of people, stopping to tell Lily where she was going. Her sister promised to accompany her, but Rose waved her away. Instead, she signaled for Hattie to join her as a chaperone.

Before she reached the doors, Iain was waiting for her. It seemed that he had guessed her intentions. Though he didn’t smile, his expression revealed a man who wanted her fiercely. The moment she reached his side, he took her hand and tucked it underneath his arm. “It’s never wise for a lady to be alone at a ball.”

“I’m not alone. Hattie is just over there.” She nodded to her maid, who kept a discreet distance. But her cheeks warmed at the touch of his gloved hand upon hers. He guided her away from the open doors toward a stone bench.

“I am glad you came to join me,” he said. “I was about to abduct you from your chair.”

“Would you have dragged me across the room?”

“I would never drag you anywhere,
a ghrá.
I would lift you into my arms and carry you off.”

And what would you do then?
she wanted to ask, but didn’t. Instead, she shifted her attention from his handsome face and looked out at the garden. The moon grew obscured by a cloud, and she saw a man and a woman slip behind a very large lilac bush. She frowned, wondering what was happening. Iain caught the direction of her gaze and took her hand in his.

“Are they . . .?” She didn’t finish the question, but Iain caught her meaning.

“Aye.” His green eyes held a trace of his own wickedness. “There are many places within this garden for a man and woman to be alone. Were you wanting to walk with me?”

Rose closed her eyes, not knowing what to say. She ought to inform him that no, she would never consider such a thing. And yet . . . she missed the rough bristle of his cheeks when he had kissed her. She missed the softness of his mouth and the way his hands awakened such feelings inside.

“You need to stop looking at me like that,
a ghrá,
or I’ll kiss you right here.”

I want you to.
But she only smiled instead.

Iain let out a soft curse in Irish. “You’re killing me,
a mhuírnín.
” By way of changing the subject, he asked, “So, did Burkham grovel for what he did?”

“He didn’t
do
anything,” Rose felt compelled to point out.

“Aye, and that was his own idiocy. He should have caught you before you fell.”

Rose studied the lilac bush, which was rustling slightly. She rather wondered if she should say something, since the pair of lovers obviously were engaged in an illicit moment.

Iain followed the path of her gaze. “Is something wrong?”

She nodded toward the bush and remarked, “I do hope the woman
wanted
to go with him.”

Iain took her hand and guided her to stand. “We could go and find out.”

“No!” Her words came out in a loud whisper. “She was smiling at the man when she went behind the bush, but—”

All of a sudden, the rustling grew louder, accompanied by a woman’s moan. Rose frowned. “Is he hurting her, do you think?”

Iain’s face turned amused. “No,
a chara,
I doubt he’s hurting her. Quite the contrary.”

“But she’s making very strange noises. It might be that you should make certain they’re all right.”

“Only if you come with me,” he said.

She didn’t think that was a good idea at all. It wasn’t her place to judge what others chose to do, but if the woman was unwilling or had changed her mind about kissing the man . . . well, she wanted Iain to do something about it.

“You can go on without me,” she urged. “I’ll just stay here.”

But he pulled her back to her feet, holding both hands. “We won’t intrude,” he told her. “Believe me when I say, they won’t even know we’re there.”

She wasn’t certain what he meant, until he led her down a brick stairway toward a small fountain.

“Stop here,” he murmured against her ear. For a moment, she didn’t quite know why he’d stopped, but then she realized there was a bare spot in the lavender bush that gave her a clear view of the couple. She didn’t know either of them, but the man was kissing the woman wholeheartedly. His hands skimmed the woman’s bare shoulders, and she tilted her throat back, letting him kiss her there.

When Iain leaned in close, she felt his warm breath against her own neck and shivered. She could almost imagine herself in the woman’s place, while he kissed her. But then the man bent lower, kissing the woman’s bare bodice.

“Let us leave them alone,” Iain whispered. “Are you satisfied that he’s not hurting her?”

She was, but the scene before her was fascinating. The woman’s breathing had come faster, and she was panting and moaning as the man continued to kiss her.

A light wind grazed the trees, scattering lilac blossoms across the lawn. Rose frowned a moment. Was the man putting his hand beneath the woman’s skirt? Surely she was only imagining it.

But Lord Ashton took her hand and drew her back up the stairs and toward the bench, away from the couple. The woman’s moans were rhythmic now, and Iain was shaking with suppressed laughter.

She couldn’t understand what was so funny, but he took her hand in his again. “You’re looking worried. I can only assure you that the woman is fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.” Iain sent her a lazy smile. “So did your viscount propose to you?”

“He wanted to start again.” She leaned back, enjoying the night air. “But I told him no.”

A look of satisfaction crossed his face. “Good.”

His answer lifted her spirits, and she decided to probe him for information. “And how goes your quest for a bride? Miss Sinclair seems quite taken with you.”

“You were right about her shyness. But I do like her.”

The prick of jealousy was irrational, and she forced it back. Iain gave her hand a friendly squeeze. Undoubtedly others would chastise her for letting him show such affection, but she didn’t want to pull away. And anyway, the couple had emerged from the shrubbery at last.

Rose pretended not to notice them, though she was well aware of the young lady’s swollen lips and rumpled bodice. She was attempting to repair her mussed hair, and the gentleman helped, tucking a long strand of hair into her updo. She sent him an adoring look, and her companion kissed her hand.

“They appear to love each other,” she murmured. “How beautiful.”

“Unless he refuses to offer for her. Which is an unfortunate possibility.”

She didn’t like to think of it, but of course, Iain was right. “
You
would never do such a thing,” she pointed out. “It would be dishonorable.”

“I am not in a position to refuse any bride,” he admitted. “But don’t be trying to make me into a saint, Rose. I’ve had my share of dishonor.”

She was afraid to wonder what that meant. But she amended her words, saying, “But you would never ruin a young woman’s reputation. You would marry her first.”

“I might. If she would have me.”

She tensed as he took her hand in his. Deftly, he unbuttoned her glove, sliding his thumb beneath the kidskin. He removed the glove, and his caress warmed her, echoing in other places. As he stroked her palm, he locked his gaze upon hers.

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

“Giving in to temptation.” He continued to touch her, and she couldn’t understand why such a simple gesture was undoing her senses. Her breasts tightened into hard nubs beneath her gown, and for a moment, it felt as if he were stroking her nipples.

“I didn’t like seeing you with Burkham. He isn’t the right man for you.”

Her heart pounded, the heat spreading over her skin. Right now, her brain was muddled with confusion, and she could hardly gather a sensible thought.

Are you the right man for me?
she wondered. This time, she gave in to impulse and stroked his cheek. His face was smooth, and he turned to press a kiss against her palm.

She didn’t want to think of the way her skin had responded to his touch or her lips had melded to his. But each time she was with this man, he evoked cravings she didn’t understand.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he said roughly. “If you were mine, I would touch you until you cried out in ecstasy. I’m wanting to touch you again,
a ghrá.
Right now.”

He stood from the bench and held out a hand to her. “You can walk back to the ballroom with Hattie. Or you can come with me.”

She understood that he was offering her a choice. If she returned to the ballroom, he would leave her alone. But with Iain, she lost sight of all propriety. He had awakened her desire, making her crave his hands upon her. If she went with him now, he would kiss her until she could scarcely stand.

And right now, she needed him. After this difficult night, she wanted to surrender to her desires and feel beloved. She rose from the bench and took a single step toward him. Glancing at Hattie, she shook her head in a silent command for her maid to remain where she was.

Without another word, Iain took her hand and led her down the brick steps toward the lilac bush. He moved slowly, giving her all the time she needed. But in her attempt to hurry, she stumbled.

He caught her in his arms and brought her into the shadows. She wanted him to kiss her, needed the touch of his mouth upon hers. When they reached the garden wall, he pressed her back against the brick.

“You’re driving me into madness, Lady Rose,” he murmured. With his hands, he framed her face, touching her cheeks, then letting his fingers trace her silhouette. She didn’t protest, but lifted her arms around his neck.

“Kiss me,” she breathed. “Please. I need this.”

And heaven help her, he did. His mouth was heated, ravaging her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and filled with intensity. She tasted the sleek wetness of his tongue, and when he stroked her mouth, she clung to his neck.

Iain was murmuring endearments in Irish as he kissed her. His hands moved to her bare shoulders, and he kissed her throat, sending shivers over her skin. “I’m not going to ask why you came to me. But I’m going to give you what both of us need.”

He drew one hand over her bodice, and he paused, watching her. She was so deeply aroused, she didn’t want him to stop. He took her silence as an invitation, and he slid his hand over the neckline of her gown. Though her corset prevented him from touching her, she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her.

She kissed him hard, clinging to him as he embraced her. And she knew, God help her, that the grounds of friendship had crumbled, shifting toward desire.

He pulled back, and a faint smile edged his mouth. Then he reached out to her hair and plucked lilac blossoms from the strands. She answered his smile and teased, “What are you doing, Lord Ashton?”

His answer was a roguish grin. “Deflowering you.”

Chapter Fourteen

Guilt flooded through him for touching her. Iain knew that Rose deserved so much more than a man like him, but he’d taken advantage of her sweet offering. God help him, when she’d welcomed his kiss, his primal instincts had flared like a Celtic barbarian:
Mine.

During the weeks they’d spent together, he had come to care about this woman. He’d watched her overcome adversity and stand tall. She was brave and resilient, and when he looked into her face, she made him want to become something more. He wanted to be worthy of someone like her.

After he’d brought her back to the ballroom, her lips swollen and her eyes shining, he realized his mistake in kissing her. She was looking at him with new eyes, as if she were contemplating a match between them.

It wasn’t right. After everything she’d endured, after all she’d fought for, how could he ask her to wed someone like him? He was worth nothing at all, and he couldn’t imagine bringing her to a famine-ridden country. She would be miserable in such a place. And if he were truthful with himself, he’d rather walk away than risk hurting Rose.

He’d returned home later that night, turning over the situation in his mind. Although he’d come to London in search of a wealthy bride, now he questioned the practicality of his decision. No woman would want what he was offering. It wasn’t right or fair to make her believe he was prosperous, when he had hardly a tuppence to his name.

Unfortunately, there was no time to earn the money swiftly. Better to choose a painfully shy wallflower like Miss Sinclair and allow her to live in England, giving her freedom, while he tended to his poverty-stricken estate.

Rose was not at all desperate. Any man would be glad to wed her, and she had choices. And despite the hope in her eyes last night, he could not imagine putting her through the hell that was Ireland. It was better to distance himself now, to choose a bride who would not care where he lived or what he did.

He ignored the tightness in his chest, shoving aside his personal wants. None of that mattered. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling bleary, for he hadn’t slept at all. Instead, he’d secluded himself in the study for hours, searching for another solution.

Iain sat at his brother’s desk and opened up the ledgers, turning back to the earlier entries. An ache caught his heart as he read unfamiliar handwriting. Undoubtedly, it had belonged to his father. Or at least, the man he’d wanted to believe was his father.

The earl had written detailed entries, documenting his investments, profits, and losses. The numbers blurred together, and toward the end of the ledger, his brother’s handwriting replaced the earl’s. Michael had become the new Earl of Ashton at the age of seven, though he hadn’t begun taking on his father’s duties until he was sixteen. In many ways, neither of them could remember having a father.

Their mother, Moira, had taken great pains to help Michael assume the role of earl. She had hired solicitors and countless experts to advise him, and Iain remembered his brother complaining about the endless hours of studying.

Often, they had escaped together, running off to go fishing in the river or swimming. And when he was old enough to help Michael, Iain had taken on the responsibilities of the land steward. He’d enjoyed talking with the tenants and solving disputes among the families. For once in his life, he’d been needed.

And when Michael had died, those families had turned to him. He couldn’t fail them now.

Iain closed the ledger, considering possible investment options. Although he had stripped Ashton of most of its funds, he might be able to sell off land that wasn’t entailed and use that as a means of rebuilding their fortunes.

The butler interrupted him with a knock at the door. “My lord, you have a caller. A Mr. Cain Sinclair is here to see you.”

It took him a moment to make the connection, but he realized this was about Sinclair’s daughter, Evangeline. “Take him into the drawing room and have Cook send up refreshments.”

He left the study and walked into the drawing room. There, he found Sinclair waiting for him. The Scotsman wore a kilt and linen shirt, and his long, dark hair hung well below his shoulders. Had Sinclair been alive two hundred years earlier, Iain would have expected to find a claymore strapped to his back.

“Mr. Sinclair,” he greeted the man, extending his hand.

The older man crossed the room, a hint of a smile upon his mouth. Without warning, he threw a punch toward Iain’s head.

Raw instinct took over, and Iain ducked the blow, seizing the man’s arm and pinning it behind his back. He’d nearly thrown his caller to the ground, but Sinclair was strong, despite his age. He twisted his way free and stepped back.

“A crow’s curse upon you,” Iain spat out. “What in the hell was that for?” He hadn’t touched a hair on Miss Sinclair’s head.

The Scotsman crossed his arms and regarded him. “You’ve been in fights before. No’ like the baw-heided Sassenachs who think they’ll be courting my Evangeline.”

“Aye.” He’d learned to fight as a boy, and he and Michael had practiced often. “But would you care to be telling me
why
you tried to hit me?”

“I wanted to see if you could defend my daughter, if need be. I’ll no’ let her be courted by a man who canna keep her safe.”

In a strange way, it made perfect sense. “I only just met your daughter last night,” Iain pointed out.

“And she was walking around with her bonny head in the clouds this morn, dancing by herself and smiling.” Cain Sinclair remained standing, and he eyed Iain as if he were considering how to best kill him.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon to be reading the banns?” Iain offered. “I danced with her a time or two, but no more than any other gentleman.”

“Aye, but she didna care about them. You’re the first one who’s caught her eye since Lord Penford left for India.” Mr. Sinclair clenched his fist in a silent threat.

“You’ve nothing to fear on that account.” Iain was glad to reassure the man. “Miss Sinclair is a lovely young woman, and—”

“You don’t think she’s good enough for an earl, is that it?” Sinclair took a step closer, his face holding fury. “Because she’s no’ a nobleman’s daughter?”

I may not be a nobleman’s son, either,
Iain thought drily. He knew that Sinclair would do everything in his power to protect Evangeline. The man had been little more than a Scottish outlaw when he had married the Duchess of Worthingstone’s sister, Margaret. Their family had fought to make a respectable name for themselves, but there were still whispers of scandal surrounding their business. Because of it, Evangeline was a wealthy heiress with few suitors.

He sent the man a half smile. “What I was
going
to say was that your daughter deserves better than the likes of me.”

The older man let out a rough sigh and sat down. “I don’t ken if I should be offended or pleased. For you’re right.”

It might not help his efforts in wooing Evangeline by being honest, but he sensed that Cain Sinclair would accept nothing less. And while the man had a fortune that rivaled the English monarchy, in many ways, they were similar.

“Any gentleman would be lucky to marry your daughter,” he began, “but I do not think Ireland would suit her.”

At that, Sinclair agreed. “Aye. And a godforsaken place it is now. The puir wee bairns shouldna be starving.”

“Most of my tenants left,” Iain said. “But I owe it to the rest of them to help. We have no crops, hardly any food at all.” He met the Scotsman’s eyes evenly. “I am seeking a bride whose dowry can restore Ashton. If Evangeline is willing, I would consider it; however, I doubt she would want a life like that.”

Cain Sinclair leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. “I ken what it is to have nothing. I came from that.” There was a glimmer of understanding in his demeanor. “Tell me more about what is needed.”

“I am looking to rebuild Ashton,” Iain admitted. “Our crops have failed, and even if we had sheep, there’s hardly enough to feed them. I thought about selling off one of the properties and investing in the railroad. But it would still take time we don’t have.”

“Don’t be doing that,” Cain said. “I know men who’ve lost everything.”

“And there were men who made more money than they ever dreamed of.” Iain wasn’t afraid to take a risk if the rewards were there.

The Scotsman shook his head. “Every fool thinks that. In the beginning, aye. There was indeed money to be made with the railroad. But no’ now. Too many have invested, and that means fewer profits for everyone.” His brow furrowed as he thought it over. “I like your honesty, Ashton. And I understand what it is you need. But I’ve not decided if I’ll let you court Evangeline.”

“I understand that. But I would welcome your advice on what to do.”

The gleam in Sinclair’s eyes revealed that he welcomed the challenge. “Indeed.” A footman arrived with tea and refreshments. Sinclair took a cup and ate a sandwich while he thought about the dilemma. “You can’t be growing more crops until the soil improves. And if it’s food you’re needing, you’ll have to get that here.”

Iain agreed with that assessment. “I can send supplies back for now, but eventually we’ll have to grow our own food.” He had no idea where he would get the money for supplies, however.

“Later, perhaps. You should find a way to bring work to your tenants. I’ll speak with Margaret about it, but if the women can sew, it might be they could help our business.”

He’d heard rumors about the Sinclair “business.” It involved sewing sensual undergarments for young ladies. Aphrodite’s Unmentionables was a scandalous concept, and many men had voiced their disapproval while secretly purchasing silken petticoats and corsets for their wives.

“I could ask the tenants’ wives,” Iain said. “But many are strong Catholic women who might think they’d be going to hell if they were to sew unmentionables. Still, it’s better than starving to death.”

Cain studied him for a moment. “I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I will donate food and supplies for your tenants.”

“I’m very grateful for it. It’s kind of you.”

“My brother and I suffered through several winters in poverty. I wish that someone had tried to help us,” was all he said. “In return, I want you to help Evangeline. Whether or not I let you court her, don’t let her hide from the world. Make her feel that she is lovely and that she can have her choice of suitors.”

“I should be glad to,” Iain agreed. “For it is true enough.”

Her father seemed appeased by it. “Good. But there is something else you should know.” Cain lowered his voice. “There has been talk about why your family never brought you to London. Everyone knew of your brother Michael, but not you. Some are whispering about why you were hidden away.”

Iain had prepared himself for that. He straightened his shoulders and met Sinclair’s gaze. “Let them whisper all they like. Suffice it to say that my mother and I never got along. She made certain that I stayed behind.”

Cain shrugged at that. Then he said, “Evangeline will be attending Lady Arnsbury’s supper party tomorrow. I would expect you to dance with the lass a time or two.” He drained his cup and reached for another sandwich.

Iain understood the man’s reasoning. Sinclair was asking him to help prevent his daughter from being a wallflower. Iain welcomed the opportunity to help the shy young woman.

And yet, inwardly, he was comparing her to Rose. Miss Sinclair reminded him of a sweet younger sister, while it was Rose who held him captivated. He wanted to dance with the woman who struggled with every step, watching her face light up with joy. He wanted to kiss her in the shadows, breathing in her soft scent while their bodies touched.

He was dimly aware of Cain Sinclair speaking about more investment opportunities and ways to rebuild his earnings, but Iain’s thoughts were tangled up in Rose. Although he was grateful for the man’s suggestions and his offer of supplies and food, he questioned whether it was right to accept the assistance. Logically, Miss Sinclair was the best choice—he knew that.

But deep in his gut, it felt wrong.

“Lord Burkham wishes to know if you are receiving,” the butler asked. Rose glanced over at her mother, who was twisting her hands and staring out the window. Iris had remained quiet during the past week, but her anxiety had heightened with each passing day. She spent her time reading, but nothing appeared to give her comfort.

“I suppose so.” She didn’t know why Lord Burkham had any reason to pay a call. But there was no need to refuse him, either.

Rose eyed her mother, wondering if she should send her away. It wasn’t likely that Iris was even aware of anything surrounding her. If she tried to remove her, it was possible that her mother would cause a scene. She decided it was best to simply leave matters alone. “I will see him here.”

When Lord Burkham entered the drawing room, Rose stood and took two steps to greet him. It was a matter of pride, of wanting him to see how she had overcome her illness. Though she had fallen on her face at the last gathering, she pretended as if it hadn’t happened.

Lord Burkham’s face brightened when he saw her. “Lady Rose, I am delighted to see you.” He then said, “And, of course, Lady Penford. It has been many months since I’ve seen you last.”