Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  “I think you should be returning to Miss Everett now,” Iain suggested. “Be on your way.”

  The viscount appeared to consider it, but then Lady Castledon arrived, holding Evangeline’s hand in hers. She smiled warmly at Iain and said, “Do be a darling and dance with Miss Sinclair. I’ve told her all about you, Lord Ashton.”

  There was no way for him to refuse without embarrassing Evangeline, but he sent Rose a questioning look.

  “I will be fine,” she told him. “Go on and enjoy yourself.”

  Iain bowed to Evangeline and tucked her hand in his arm, but his expression held an open threat toward Lord Burkham.

  The viscount appeared pleased to see them leave. “Once again, I apologize for your fall. I should have guessed that the reason for your refusal was because you were unable to move so swiftly.” He reached out to her hand and asked, “Can you forgive me?”

  She saw no reason to be petty, but gave a brief nod, pulling back her hand from his. “I accept your apology. And now, I think you should go.”

  Once again, he wasn’t listening. “I want to begin again. I know that I’ve made mistakes, dearest Rose. I want to set aside the months we lost and rekindle what there was between us.”

  Dearest Rose? Why on earth would he call her that? And she was now well aware that there had been nothing between them. Nothing at all.

  “You sent me six letters in six months. I hardly think there was much between us, Lord Burkham.”

  “But we were good friends. That is, we are good friends,” he corrected. His smile broadened. “I still believe we would suit each other quite well. You are a beautiful lady, and friendship leads to a strong marriage, I believe.”

  No, love does, she corrected silently. But now she had the answer she’d anticipated. And while it saddened her to think of the young woman she’d been, who had given her heart so freely to this man, she was glad that she hadn’t married him.

  “We can remain friends, my lord. But that is all.”

  He appeared oblivious to her refusal and beamed at her. “I am so glad to hear it, Lady Rose.” With a glance over at the refreshments, he inquired, “Would you like a glass of lemonade? Are you thirsty?”

  Rose wasn’t, but she nodded. It gave her a way of sending him off, leaving her to be alone with her thoughts.

  She stood up again, watching the dancers as they moved across the floor. Lord Ashton spun Evangeline in a circle, catching her when she stumbled. Her shy friend appeared overwhelmed, and yet, she appeared to be enjoying herself.

  A twinge of envy caught Rose within her heart at the sight of them. She wanted to be dancing a lively reel, whirling down the rows of dancers. But it was far too soon for that. Perhaps in a few more months it might be possible. By Christmas, she promised herself.

  “Are you all right?” came a female voice from behind her.

  Rose turned and saw the Duchess of Worthingstone standing there. The matron gave her a kindly smile. “I wanted to be certain you suffered no injuries after the fall.”

  “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.”
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  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 preven
ted 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.