Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  Iain slowed the pace of the horses. Rose’s voice was quiet, as if she were trying to hold her emotions under control. But beneath her serene façade, he suspected a storm was brewing.

  “What can I do to help you?”

  “Nothing. You haven’t any money, either, and both of us are helpless to fix this mess. Someone preyed upon her weakness and stole our rents.” She stiffened and turned. “She said it was someone Irish.”

  The words were like a whiplash, cracking between them. “And you somehow think I’m involved in this?”

  “No, of course not.” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders lowered. “But you might know who it could be. Perhaps one of your servants who didn’t return.”

  His anger softened when he realized that she had come to him because she needed his help—not because she believed he was responsible for the losses. For a moment, he was dumbfounded that she would believe in him. That her instinct had been to reach out for him instead of laying blame at his feet.

  No one in all his life had done that. They saw him as a worthless bastard, not a man of strength. Her brown eyes studied him with worry, as if he would know what to do. And he warmed to her trust. Though he didn’t know how to help, he would try.

  She was waiting for him to respond, and he reached out to take her hand. “It could be one of my servants. Or it could be any of the hundreds of Irish who left my country,” he pointed out. “Desperate men will do anything to help their families survive. Even lie.” The weight of his own words lay against his conscience, for he was among the desperate.

  “I can’t believe this happened, Iain. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was thick, as if she were holding back tears, but her fingers laced with his. “If my mother gave the rents to an Irishman as a gift, no one can accuse him of theft.”

  Iain wasn’t so certain of that. Taking advantage of Lady Penford was indeed as good as theft. “We’ll think of something. Trust in me.” He was certain they could track the culprit fairly easily. And while the most likely candidate was his valet, Niall, it did seem strange.

  Iain glanced back at the footman, wanting a moment of privacy. “Walk with me for a few moments,” he said to Rose. The words were an order, not a question. He drew the curricle to a stop and gave the reins over to her footman, offering his arm. He was grateful she hadn’t brought Calvert, for the man would likely protest.

  She took his arm, and Iain led her through the grass, allowing her to lean against him for balance. Today, it seemed that she was struggling to walk. Though she held her head high, he didn’t miss the emotion in her eyes. He moved slowly, guiding her toward a large fir tree on one side of the gardens. Only when they were out of public view did he pull her into his embrace.

  She wept, clinging to him. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s just that it feels as if everything has fallen to pieces. My brother hasn’t returned, our debts are mounting, and my mother gave away half a year’s worth of rents.” He held her, welcoming her into his arms. She felt right there, and he let her cry, doing nothing more than holding her.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured against her ear. “I’ll find a way to help you.”

  Her hands tightened around his neck. “Thank you, Iain.” She drew back, and he wiped her tears away with his handkerchief. In her eyes, he saw the sudden yearning, and it tore his conscience apart. She had never looked at him like that before, with a nameless emotion in her eyes. One he was afraid to hope for.

  A faint blush stole over her, and she confessed, “Lord Burkham came to call, just a few hours ago.”

  The very mention of the man’s name raised his hackles. “Why?”

  “He wanted to start again.” A furtive smile crossed her face, and his gut tightened.

  It’s not your business. Let her make her own decisions.

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him no.” Her smile widened, and she said, “I wanted to tell him he was half-potted and there was nothing on earth that would make me say yes. But I didn’t.” The softness returned to her face and she added, “I thought of telling him that there was someone else.”

  God help him, he needed this woman. He wanted to kiss her, to feel the sweetness of her embrace. But how could he bring her down into the darkness that was his life? How could he dare to break her heart and make her regret every moment spent with him? The tightness in his gut spread up to his heart. “Rose, I have nothing I can give you.”

  “You stood by me, when even my own family doubted I would walk again. You helped me stand on my feet and take my first steps. And when you kiss me, you cannot deny what you feel.”

  “I don’t deny it.” He would give her that much. “But you are too far above me, Rose.”

  “How can you say that when my mother has given away everything? I’m not above you at all.” Her face turned bitter and she added, “We are equals now, I would think.”

  She wasn’t going to see reason. And the longer he held her, the more she was undoing his resolutions. With regret, he extricated her arms from around his neck and stepped away. “We are not, and never will be equals.”

  Her tears broke free again, and it was killing him to see her like this. Didn’t she know how much he cared for her? She meant everything to him.

  “You cannot be with a man like me, Rose.”

  “Why? Is it because my mother gave away any dowry I might have had?”

  He wouldn’t care if she were penniless. But he felt he owed her the truth. “You couldn’t live in Ireland, Rose. You’re not strong enough to survive a place like that, and I wouldn’t want to put you through it.”

  She paled and took a step back. “Because I can hardly walk. That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

  No, it wasn’t. But he didn’t want her to hold out hope for him, building her dreams on a life that would shatter her. “I believe that you would be miserable with me. And I don’t want to watch you throw away your life.”

  Her face turned red, and she took a steadying breath. “So that kiss last night meant nothing to you. You were using me.”

  Her accusation flared his anger. “I’ve never used you, a ghrá. But if I wed you, I’d bring you nothing but sorrow. I know it.”

  For a long moment, she held his gaze with a discerning look. “Take me back to my own carriage.” Her voice was weary, and she added, “Find whatever heiress you want. I won’t stand in your way.”

  He wanted to pull her back into his arms, to show her what she meant to him. But it was better for both of them if she didn’t put her hopes and beliefs in him.

  “I will help you recover your dowry,” he promised. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  But when he saw the hurt in her eyes, it was clear she had lost faith in him. She had come to him in an hour of need, offering her heart, and he’d pushed her away.

  Inside, it felt as if his veins were frozen, his heart turned to stone. It was better this way, he tried to tell himself.

  But even he didn’t believe it.

  This woman was the best friend he’d ever had. He’d enjoyed every moment spent at her side, and she had given him a reason to smile each day. And what had he done in return but break her heart?

  “I am sorry, Rose,” he said, as he helped her back into her carriage.

  Her eyes gleamed with tears, and she met his gaze. “No. You’re not.”

  As she departed, he wanted to kick himself for the words he’d spoken. He might wed an heiress and save Ashton, but in the end, for what purpose? He would be miserable without her. And he would make another woman’s life miserable, simply because she wasn’t Rose.

  Iain watched her drive away with her footman, knowing he had hurt the one person he cared about. Once, he’d believed it was for the greater good. But now, it made him feel like a coward.

  He returned to his curricle and guided the horses back to the main road. Inside, he grew irritated with himself. All he could remember was the stricken look on he
r face.

  Let her go, his conscience warned. She’s too good for you, and you know it.

  But Rose mistakenly believed that he valued wealth over her, and that was the furthest thing from the truth.

  He sped through the London streets, passing vehicles as quickly as he could. Though he couldn’t say why, the need to see her again overcame all common sense. He couldn’t let her walk away without knowing the truth—that she meant everything to him.

  And damned if he would be a martyr about it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  All through the drive home, Rose wept in silence. Thank Heaven, she was alone in her own carriage, with only a coachman and footman. She didn’t think she could bear it, if Iain had driven her here.

  She’d been so stupid, offering herself to him. After he had kissed her, she’d mistakenly believed that there would be more between them. She had allowed her heart to soften beyond friendship, and it had brought her nothing, save rejection and humiliation.

  Her carriage slowed down in the street, their pace grinding to a halt. Rose glanced around to see what the trouble was. Dozens of men and women were walking, their faces drawn and tight. When she asked her footman what was happening, he admitted, “It’s the Irish, Lady Rose. A boat arrived from Dublin just this morning, and the people have come here to look for work.”

  She could hardly count all the refugees. Rose held a handkerchief to her nose and mouth, as the overpowering stench of human misery passed them. Their filthy clothes hung upon them, and many were coughing and sick. All around them, the police swarmed, trying to keep order as they pushed the people through the streets.

  “You’re not strong enough to survive a place like that, and I wouldn’t want to put you through it,” Iain had said.

  This was the Ireland she would face. She would witness suffering like this, every day, knowing she could do nothing to change it. It was one matter if only a handful of people were impoverished at this level. It was quite another when the entire country was starving to death.

  Her heart bled for these people—especially the young children clinging to their mothers’ skirts. Something had to be done, but she had no understanding of how to solve their plight.

  It was little wonder that Iain had journeyed here in the hopes of saving his tenants. But she simply could not imagine that any amount of money would help. She studied them as her carriage passed, and she wondered if he truly believed she couldn’t survive in Ireland. The more she thought of it, the angrier she grew. How dare he push her away, claiming she would only be miserable with him?

  In the past year, she had traveled along her own path of darkness and had emerged stronger. Iain had stood by her, helping her overcome her weakness until she could walk again. And now he didn’t believe she was able to live with him under circumstances such as these?

  Inwardly, she was seething. She had told him to find another heiress, but the idea of standing in a ballroom and watching Iain court another woman made her clench her fists.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of her townhouse. To her surprise, she saw that Iain was standing on her doorstep waiting. She had no idea how he’d managed to outpace her, but his expression held an unfathomable intensity.

  Her rage flared again, and she considered storming past him and telling him to go to the devil. But then she wouldn’t know why he was here.

  Her footman helped her disembark, and the moment she stepped out of the carriage, Iain was at her side.

  “I don’t want to see you right now,” she lashed out. “You’ve already decided what our lives will be. There’s nothing more to say.”

  “I have a great deal more to say.” He put an arm around her waist and lifted her to the top step. He set her down at the threshold, and she suspected that he would not air their disagreement in front of the servants.

  Without a word, he waited for the footman to open the front door. She sensed a tension in him, one that held an invisible warning. Something had caused him to ride like a demon from the gardens, ensuring that he reached her house first.

  But she would not stand down and listen to all the reasons why he did not want to be with her. Fury burned inside her that he was treating her like a delicate flower who would wither in the face of adversity. That wasn’t who she was at all.

  The footman offered to take his hat and gloves, but as soon as Iain gave them over, he walked toward the drawing room as if he owned it.

  “Would you . . . care for tea?” the footman called out, but Rose refused. Neither she nor Iain had any interest in refreshments. Instead, she followed him into the drawing room and folded her arms, waiting for him to speak.

  Iain crossed the room and stood before her. “Don’t you ever be believing that I want to choose another heiress,” he began. “I can’t let you think that.”

  “And that is the reason you came all this way? To convince me that you still want me, even though you’ve said I’m too weak to endure hardship.” She made no effort to hide the frustration in her voice. She was stronger than any woman he would find. Most London heiresses would faint at the sight of starving children.

  “I never said you were weak. I said that I didn’t want you to be miserable because of me. You deserve a better life, Rose.” In his voice, in his demeanor, she saw a visible pain. He took her face between his hands, tracing the edge of her cheek. “I’ve wanted you from the very first moment I saw you.”

  At his touch, her anger came roaring back. Why would he say this, after he’d claimed he could never marry her? Was he trying to offer sympathy or toy with her feelings? She didn’t want his pity.

  Rose was so weary of being the crippled woman left behind in the corner. She had fought hard to walk again, and now the man she cared about was leaving her. A surge of resentment filled her, and she wanted to seize her own power. She wanted him to know what he was walking away from, and God help her, she wanted him to hold regrets.

  She pulled away from him and walked to the door. Then she closed it and turned the key, locking them inside. It was a move so scandalous, her grandmother would die of mortification. And Rose simply didn’t care.

  She tossed the key on an end table and strode toward him. Words would not convince Iain to stay with her. She could give him a thousand reasons why his claims were rubbish, but he would never listen.

  Instead, she intended to show him all the reasons why he would regret leaving.

  Rose took three steps back to him, and when Iain tried to speak, she pulled his mouth down to hers, silencing him. She poured all her anger into the kiss, showing him exactly what he was leaving behind.

  Iain answered the kiss with his own fervor. It was as if he needed to touch her, like a craving he’d never managed to satisfy. Her body reacted to him with a searing response. She clung to him, and the intensity of the kiss made the rest of the world fall away until there was nothing but him.

  No man had ever made her feel this way, and she touched her tongue to his, letting propriety be damned. He drew his hands over her shoulders, and she wished there were not so many layers between them. She wanted to feel his touch against her bare skin, and when he lowered his mouth to her throat, she moaned.

  “We should stop,” he murmured. “Someone will discover us.”

  “And you would never want that,” she said drily. “God forbid that my family would try to force you into marrying me.”

  He traced his hand down the dozens of buttons that lined the back of her gown. “If the choice were mine, I would marry you now. I would take you upstairs to my bed and spend every hour loving you.”

  His words made her heart beat faster, and she ached between her legs. She imagined him above her, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. “But you’d rather wed a stranger with a fortune instead of someone like me.”

  “Is that what you think?” He didn’t wait for a reply but conquered her mouth, sliding his tongue inside. The shocking sensation made her grip the edges of his shirt. Rose surrendered to him, opening
herself and taking the immense pleasure he offered.

  He drew her hips against his, despite the layers of skirts between them. She could feel his arousal, and yet, she did not push him away. Her hair was tousled, her lips swollen.

  And then a voice broke through from beyond the door. “Lady Rose, are you all right?”

  It was the footman. She closed her eyes, feeling the disappointment of his interruption. Iain continued kissing her neck, and she gripped his hair, fighting against the intrusion of reality.

  She was aware of the need to stop. This had never been an attempt to trap him into marriage. She’d simply been so angry with him, wanting him to see that he was making a mistake.

  And now, she was the one making a mistake.

  “Yes,” she called out to the footman. “I am fine.”

  But every word fled her brain when Iain knelt down, slipping his hand beneath her skirt. His hands moved over her ankle and up her stockings as he stroked her calf. In a low voice, he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

  She closed her eyes, resting her hands upon his shoulders. I should never have let him kiss me. Especially when he’s only going to leave.

  This man had slipped past her defenses, stealing her heart. He was relentless, bold, and more than that, he’d been her friend.

  His hand paused upon her thigh, and despite the barrier of linen, she felt the heat of his touch. He started to pull away, and the thought left her bereft.

  Don’t stop.

  To the footman, she raised her voice and ordered, “Leave us, if you would.”

  Through the door, he called out, “If you should have need of me, Lady Rose, I can—”

  “No!” she answered the servant. “Please go. Truly, I—I am fine.”

  In silent answer, Iain slid his hands back into place, moving his palm until he touched her pantaloons. There was a slit between them, and he commanded, “Look at me, Rose.”

  He was offering her the choice of what would happen now. She felt as if her emotions had gone through a whirling storm. He had given her all the reasons why he couldn’t marry her . . . and yet, he had come back to her.