Good Earls Don't Lie (16 page)

She ought to shove him away, but the moment he kissed her deeply, every rational thought fled her brain. His mouth was sensual and warm, his tongue reaching out to hers. She heard a breathless gasp that came from her, and her own heart stuttered in time with his.

Thomas had never kissed her like this. She’d never known anyone could kiss in this way. With every stroke of his tongue, Iain was pulling apart her good sense, arousing her deeply. Her breasts were erect beneath her shift and corset, while between her legs, she felt a phantom ache.

My God, the man could kiss. Although it was wrong, she could not bring herself to pull away. Not yet. Instead, she met his kiss with her own, learning what it was to slide her tongue inside his mouth in a daring way.

The primal groan that resounded from his mouth made him take her harder. He threaded his hands into her hair, kissing her soundly until she was breathless.

She needed to tell him no, to shove him back. But she was dizzy from his touch, shocked by the sensation of his mouth as he kissed a path down her throat. He tasted her like a starving man, and every part of her yearned for more.

His hardened muscles were beneath her hands, and she couldn’t remember when she’d taken her gloves off. But the need to touch him, to explore his warm male skin, overrode common sense. She allowed him to pull her so close, her skirts grew tangled up, and she was lying atop him.

Sweet God above, she could feel the ridge of his arousal. When her hips pressed against his, the aching between her legs made her restless. She was beginning to understand how a woman could fall prey to a man who wanted her.

His breathing was labored, and when she saw the heated look in his green eyes, she began to come to her senses. She had promised herself that she would go back to London to be with Lord Burkham. Instead, she was kissing another man in Yorkshire. It made no sense at all. What was wrong with her? Why was she allowing herself to fall beneath his spell?

She never should have come here alone. The moment she’d seen Lord Ashton, she should have left and gone home. The man was not to be trusted.

She pulled back from Iain and pressed her hand to his mouth. “No. I cannot do this. Please stop.”

Iain did, but she was well aware of his desire for her. She reached for her shoes, trying to put them on, while her fingers trembled. The buttons wouldn’t work, and her eyes blurred with tears. She didn’t even know why she was starting to cry. She hadn’t betrayed Thomas, since they had never been engaged. What did it matter if she kissed another man?

It mattered because she’d felt more in Iain’s stolen embrace than Thomas had ever made her feel. And she knew why Iain had kissed her. He needed a bride, and her dowry would indeed be enough to help improve his estate. All he had to do was sympathize with a poor, helpless, crippled woman.

Her broken pride only made it harder to fight the tears. She fumbled with the buttons until the first shoe was back on. Lord Ashton helped her with the other, but his touch upon her foot was more than she could bear.

“Please don’t,” she said. Not while she was trying to hold her feelings together.

She pulled her foot back and reached for the edge of the stone, trying to hoist herself up to a standing position. Even using all her arm strength, it wouldn’t work.

“Allow me.” Lord Ashton didn’t wait for her to answer, but lifted her back into his arms. He said nothing at all about his actions, but brought her to her waiting mare, placing her on horseback.

“I won’t apologize for kissing you,” he said at last. He rested his hands upon her mount, his expression serious. “But you should ask yourself if you truly want a man like Burkham after the way he’s neglected you.”

Or after the way I kissed you,
was the unspoken message.

Rose’s face burned with humiliation. She didn’t know what had possessed her to allow the kiss. But she honestly didn’t know what she wanted right now. When Lord Ashton had looked into her eyes, she had lost sight of all the reasons why it was wrong to let him kiss her. Like a pirate, Iain had taken what he wanted. And she could not deny that she had done nothing to stop him.

Why? What was the matter with her? She didn’t understand how any of this had happened. This wasn’t the sort of woman she was, to succumb to temptation.

But it was as if Lord Ashton had awakened her senses, raising questions she didn’t want to face. She’d wanted to believe that once Thomas saw her again, the old feelings would return . . . but what if they didn’t?

“You startled me, Lord Ashton,” she said, trying to gather herself together. “I apologize if I led you to believe that I wanted you to kiss me. I hope we can return to our friendship with no harm done.”

He said nothing, but his thumb stroked her palm. The gesture echoed deep within her very skin, reminding her of the shocking feelings.

And when she rode back to Penford, she was only too aware of her bruised lips and the pounding of her heart.

Chapter Nine

Iain had been invited to join Lady Penford for tea, along with her mother. But before he could enter the drawing room, Calvert barred the way. It was irritating the way the footman took it upon himself to guard the women.

“You, sir, are a
foul
villain. After what you did to poor Lady Rose . . .” The man’s face was nearly purple with outrage.

Iain had no idea how to respond to that, for there was no way to know what Rose had said. Instead, he remarked, “And just what am I accused of this time?”

“I saw her when she returned from her morning ride. She was most distraught, and I have no doubt that you were the cause of it.”

He supposed, in this instance, the footman was correct in his assumption. And truly, the man’s loyalty could not be faulted.

Iain ignored Calvert’s remark and said, “The ladies are expecting me at tea. Kindly let me pass.”

When the footman did not move, Iain added, “Though I am certain you believe you are guarding Lady Rose, I am no threat to her. Leave both of us alone, or I’ll be forced to inform Lady Wolcroft of your interference.”

The footman scowled, but was wise enough to retreat. When Iain entered the drawing room, he found Lady Penford standing beside the window. She wore a lopsided crown of yellow daffodils over her tangled, unbound hair. At the moment, the matron appeared to be in a state of childish joy.

“Come and see!” she blurted out with no greeting.

Iain crossed the room and stood beside her. Outside, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was likely that she was caught up in another of her spells. “What is it?”

She pointed to one of the hedges. “Look, just there. Do you see the bird’s nest?”

He peered closer at the greenery but saw nothing at all. “I’m afraid I don’t, Lady Penford.”

Her expression grew wistful. “They must all leave the nest, I fear. And sometimes their mother has to give them a push.” She glanced back at him, and a daffodil slid over one eye.

He asked, “May I?” before he adjusted the crown. “Were you outside in the garden this morning?”

She nodded. “My husband, Lord Penford, used to bring me flowers every day. I do miss him.”

“These are cheerful,” he admitted. “Did you make the crown yourself?”

“I did.” With a rueful smile, she confessed, “I used to make them when I was a girl. I was merely giving into an impulse, though I suppose I must seem like a foolish old woman.”

Ian didn’t think there was any harm in it. “My sister, Sybil, used to tell me that when she grew old, she would wear whatever she liked, and devil take the consequences.” He recalled that on Sybil’s fifteenth birthday, she had worn her favorite ball gown inside the house, just because it made her smile. “If you want to wear a daffodil crown, I say you should.”

Her face brightened, and she took his hand in hers. “You
are
a kind young man. Your mother must be very proud of you.”

My mother loathes the sight of me,
he thought, but didn’t say so. In many ways, Lady Penford had treated him more like a son than Moira ever had. She took his arm and led him back to the sitting area, patting his hand as they walked. He helped her sit down on a gilded chair. Since they were alone, he decided to broach a different subject. “What are your thoughts on finding Rose a husband? She said something about a Lord Burkham.”

Her smile faded. “The viscount is not right for Rose.” With a dismissive gesture, she added, “He would bore her within a year.”

Good
, Iain thought. He was glad to hear it. Though he supposed he had no right to feel possessive of Rose, he couldn’t deny that her kiss had affected him. It had been an impulse, misguided by the need to touch a beautiful woman. The moment he’d tasted her lips, he’d known how forbidden this was. And perhaps that was why the memory lingered.

But more than that, he liked Rose. She had wit and humor that made her easy to be around. He genuinely wanted to help her walk again, though he knew how difficult it would be. Every time she stood, her face brightened with such joy and wonder, he felt the echo of pride in her accomplishment. Being around her made him feel that he could have a purpose, and she had never once made him feel inferior.

“What about you?” Lady Penford was asking. “What sort of bride are you hoping to find in London?”

Her question caught him off guard. He didn’t quite know how to answer it, and finally said, “Whichever woman will have me, I suppose. I cannot say that I’m much of a catch.”

“In that you’re wrong, Lord Ashton.” Lady Penford smiled warmly and plucked one of the daffodils from her crown. “You are handsome and kind. Any woman would be glad to wed a gentleman like you.” She snapped the stem and gave it to him.

He tucked it into his buttonhole. “Even Lady Rose?” Though he’d meant the remark in teasing, the truth was, he did admire the young woman.

But Lady Penford seemed taken aback by the idea. “Why, you hardly know one another. You only just met a few days ago.”

No longer did the matron appear to be an ally. Instead, she appeared every bit the protective mother. “No, I would not want Rose so very far away in Ireland. Especially with her difficulty in walking.”

She sighed, and her mind wandered back to another topic. “I wish you could see the bird’s nest. The babies have only just hatched, and their mother is looking after them.”

Iain didn’t press the subject, for Lady Penford was right—Ireland would be difficult for Lady Rose, or any bride for that matter. He stood beside the matron, wondering if he had pushed Rose too far already. Despite the neglect of Lord Burkham, she still wanted to marry the man. But he questioned whether she loved the viscount. A woman who had given her heart to another would have rejected his advances . . . but instead, Rose had kissed him back.

She’d accused him of behaving like a pirate, and it wasn’t far from the truth. He
had
stolen the kiss without asking. But her skin had been so soft, her scent alluring. He’d been unable to stop himself from the embrace, and he felt no guilt at all. Lady Rose was a beautiful woman, one who tempted him badly.

A good man would stay away from her. Let her win back the heart of her viscount and find happiness. She would never be content in the life he had to offer—even if her dowry was enough to restore Ashton to its former beauty. It was best to let her go.

Iain had already decided to stay a little longer in Yorkshire, helping Rose learn to walk again. And during that time, he hoped she could teach him everything about London society. The mutual agreement would be to their advantage.

“Lord Ashton,” came Lady Wolcroft’s voice from the doorway. “I am glad you could join Iris and me for tea. We have much to discuss.” She turned behind her and said, “Stop lurking in the hall, Lily, and come join us.”

Lily sent her grandmother a pained look, but joined them in the drawing room. She chose the seat farthest from everyone else, as if she hoped to make a hasty escape.

“You, too, Rose.” She waved at the footman, who carried Lady Rose into the room.

Given the size of this gathering, Iain was beginning to wonder if teatime would turn into an interrogation. He held out a chair for Rose and then one for her grandmother. The ladies sat, and when Calvert passed Iain, he glared at him.

Lady Wolcroft eyed her daughter with exasperation and removed the crown of daffodils from Lady Penford’s hair. “Really, Iris, you are no longer six years old. Your hair should be pinned up as suits your age.”

The matron appeared confused and troubled by her mother’s proclamation. “But I only thought—the flowers—”

Lady Wolcroft tossed the daffodil crown onto the hearth, where the flowers shriveled in the hot coals. “Nonsense. We’ve no time for such frivolity. We must plan our strategy for London. Rose and Lily need new gowns for the Season, and those will take time. But I daresay we can be ready within a fortnight.”

Lady Penford watched the flowers as they burned, her face filled with dismay. But she accepted her cup of tea when her mother handed it to her. Lady Wolcroft had already begun discussing her plans for introducing Iain into society.

“Lady Arnsbury will help us, of course. And my dear friend Amelia, the Countess of Castledon. You met her the other evening. She’s already gone to London, but I will send word when we’re there.”

“London will be wonderful to visit,” Lady Penford interjected. “I do so love it there. So many parties, and it’s never dull.”

“You cannot go with us, Iris.” Lady Wolcroft stirred a lump of sugar into her tea. “You would embarrass both of your daughters, and I cannot allow that.”

Lady Penford looked down at her tea, her cheeks flushing. In a low voice, she murmured, “No, I wouldn’t.” But Iain suspected no one heard her.

Though he understood Lady Wolcroft’s desire to protect her daughter, he saw the rise of tears in Iris’s eyes. He felt bad for her sake, for no one wanted to be left behind. From across the room, he saw the look of dismay on Rose’s face. And perhaps he was overstepping his bounds, but he offered, “I see no harm in Lady Penford traveling to London, so long as she is feeling well. She could remain at home and that would allow her to hear all the stories from Lady Lily and Lady Rose.” It was a compromise, and the matron sent him a grateful look.

But Lady Wolcroft would have none of it. “And what if she runs into the streets, shrieking about imaginary wolves? How do you think that would affect their chances of marriage?” Her mother grimaced at the idea. “Or perhaps Iris might try to fly off the balcony and break her neck.”

“No,” Lady Penford whispered. “I promise. I would never do such a thing.”

“You certainly tried to, just over a week ago,” her mother retorted. “Or so your daughters said.”

Lady Penford appeared stricken by the announcement, and she looked down at her hands.

Iain leaned to her side. “Don’t let it trouble you, Lady Penford. That matter is over and done with. It won’t happen again.”

At that, Rose sent him a grateful look. He nodded, holding her gaze with his.
I won’t let anyone harm her.

“Lord Ashton, I understand that you are attempting to be kind,” Lady Wolcroft continued, “but my daughter, though I love her, is not fit to be out in society anymore. She cannot go paying calls with a crown of daffodils, thinking herself to be Queen of the May. Nor can she wear her hair down or attempt to speak with any families whose sons might offer for Rose or Lily.” With a hard look toward Iris, she added, “It would not be good for any of us.”

He disagreed with that. Imprisoning Lady Penford alone without her family might have the opposite effect. Loneliness and grief might push her further over the edge. He glanced over at Iris and could see the anxiety rising in her expression.

“I would never do anything to threaten their chances of making a good marriage,” the matron insisted. She tried to tuck in a wayward lock of hair with a pin, but it only unraveled once again.

“It isn’t finding a good husband that worries me, Mother,” Rose leaned in and admitted. “It’s simply that . . . there are far more dangers in London than here.” She seemed torn between her mother’s wishes and the possibility of Iris hurting herself.

But Lady Wolcroft had not finished. “None of you understands the greatest danger of all. If Iris has even one difficult spell in public, we cannot protect her. She will be taken to a lunatic asylum, where God only knows what would happen to her. It is far better if she remains in Yorkshire where she will be safe.”

Iain had heard of the terrible conditions in the asylums, and he glanced back at Rose again.
What do you want to do?

She could only shrug and shake her head.

Lady Penford pushed her teacup back and stood. Her hands trembled, and her eyes were filled with tears. “Since you have all decided my fate, I suppose there is no reason for me to remain here.” To her mother, she added, “Apparently I
am
six years old, for all that anyone else can see.”

With that, she departed the room. Rose turned back to her grandmother and frowned. “You didn’t have to be so abrupt with her. She was having a good day.”

“She’ll forget all about it in an hour,” the matron predicted. She set her cup to the side and regarded all of them. “I regret, Lord Ashton, that you had to witness our family disagreement.”

Lady Lily offered him a sandwich, and Iain accepted it. “While I understand your desire to protect Lady Penford, leaving her behind might cause her to fall into a deeper despair.” He hadn’t missed the looks of dismay from her daughters.

“Be that as it may, we must leave her.” Lady Wolcroft straightened in her chair and sipped at her tea. “Iris is far too ill to return to London. If she were in her right mind, she would agree. There is no sense in harming her daughters’ chances at making a strong marriage.”

The older woman spoke with the authority of one accustomed to getting her way. But her granddaughters appeared uncomfortable at the notion.

Iain met Rose’s gaze. “What are your thoughts, Lady Rose?”

With a resigned sigh, she admitted, “I suppose the best course of action is to delay our travel to London. You may go on without us, but I prefer to wait a little longer. I might be able to walk again, if I keep trying.”

Her grandmother grew impatient, as if Rose had suggested that she was learning to fly. “There are many widowers who would not care. Some of the older gentlemen who already have heirs might consider you for a wife.”

“I would rather not wed a man old enough to be my grandfather,” Rose pointed out. “I am not quite that desperate.”

“You
are
three and twenty, Rose,” her grandmother reminded her.

“Practically ancient.” She rolled her eyes and then turned back to Iain. “But I suppose I
could
get an offer from a gentleman.” The knowing look in her eyes held a note of humor.

It was almost a challenge. Iain touched his mouth briefly, never taking his eyes from her. It was a silent reminder of their kiss, and a faint blush stained her cheeks. No, she hadn’t been immune to his embrace at all.