Good Earls Don't Lie (19 page)

When they reached the door covered with rose brambles, he lowered her to stand. Rose placed the key inside the lock and turned it. The door opened easily, the hinges silent. She stood at the doorway but could not yet see the garden.

“Do you want me to carry you inside?” he asked. She nodded, and he lifted her up once again, bringing her into the walled space.

The moment she saw the flowers in bloom, tears welled up in her eyes. All around her, it was as if her father’s spirit remained. She couldn’t help but remember how he used to bring flowers to her mother each morning. The loss of him caught her without warning.

Roses climbed across the brick wall, and were only starting to bloom. In another corner, she saw bright red tulips and purple grape hyacinths blooming. A hydrangea bush was budding, and a willow tree hung low over a clear pool of water. A waterfall descended over a few larger stones into the pool, and sunlight reflected in a golden shimmer over the surface of the water. The pool was so clear, she could see the river stones lining the bottom.

Lord Ashton set her down upon a stone bench beneath the willow tree. He walked around the perimeter, studying the flowers. The garden was larger than he’d expected, and soft grass carpeted the open space. She could almost imagine her parents enjoying private moments alone in this Elysium, perhaps sharing a picnic.

“It’s beautiful here,” he remarked. “But why haven’t you come to sit here each day? The gardeners have taken such good care of the grounds.”

She raised her eyes to his. “Perhaps because it reminds me too much of Father. The memories are still strong.” Though Iain didn’t ask how he had died, she offered, “My father grew very ill, and at the end, he was in a great deal of pain. I am glad that he is no longer suffering, though I miss him.”

Lord Ashton sat beside her and studied their surroundings. Although the serenity soothed her sadness, she saw the tension in him. In spite of her better judgment, Rose asked, “What happened to your father?”

“He died before I was born. I never knew him.” He spoke in a flat voice, as if it didn’t matter. And yet, she imagined that life must have been very difficult without any father at all.

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard for you.” She leaned closer to him, offering her hand in sympathy. “And your mother.”

“The earl was murdered by one of our tenants,” he said flatly. “And I’ve no wish to speak of it.”

Dismay filled her heart, and she had no inkling of what to say to him. She had never heard of the tragedy. Yet, she squeezed his hand in silent support. He wasn’t wearing gloves like she was, and the touch of his bare hand felt intimate, despite the fragile silk barrier between them. He held her palm, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

He wasn’t looking at her, but she was keenly aware of his caress. Her mind warned her to pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

After a time, he squeezed her palm. “It was a long time ago, Lady Rose. There’s no sense in dwelling upon the past. Only on what lies ahead.” He released her palm and added, “Let us enjoy the day in this garden. You can teach me what to expect in London. I will keep you from drowning.” His last words were spoken with a hint of teasing.

It was a welcome change of subject. She folded her hands in her lap and said, “Tell me more about what you already know. Surely you attended supper parties in Ireland.”

He sent her a chagrined look. “Only once, during the last few months. Michael attended all of them in the past.”

Her suspicions rose up again. It was unnatural and uncalled for if both sons were not in attendance. An unsettling feeling came over her, but she held back her uneasiness. “Did you ever attend a ball in Ireland?”

He shook his head. “No, never.”

She was appalled to hear it. “I cannot believe your mother would be so shortsighted. Regardless of her personal feelings, it’s irresponsible for you not to attend.”

It was one matter if he had been too young to attend—but it seemed that the countess had deliberately shut him out. All members of the nobility would have attended a ball, solely for the purpose of learning proper behavior.

“So you remained at home while your brother attended?” she clarified.

He inclined his head. By way of a distraction, he stood and snapped off a twig from the willow tree. Rose turned over the matter in her mind, trying to understand the countess’s reasons for isolating her son. She herself had been taught the rules of etiquette ever since she was able to speak a full sentence. It was as natural as breathing to her, and she understood that this man stood at a great disadvantage if he dared to set foot in a ballroom.

Lord Ashton returned to stand before her. “I know that I lack the clothing and the demeanor of a proper earl. But I suppose you can teach me what I need to know.”

“Perhaps.” But for a gentleman, London was fraught with the potential of social disaster. She had assumed that he had prior knowledge of proper behavior.

“I may not be there to guide you, however,” she pointed out. “And I will not lie. There are gentlemen who would seek to humiliate you if you
did
win the heart of an heiress they wanted to pursue.”

He sent her a sidelong look. “I can take care of myself, Lady Rose.” His gaze passed over her. “But we could be allies in London and help one another.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there is nothing that will attract the notice of your viscount faster than if you were to dance with me. If Burkham’s feelings remain, he will return to you immediately to stake his claim.”

“You make the viscount sound like a barbarian intent upon hauling me away. I assure you, he is not.”

“Never underestimate the power of jealousy.”

“If I cannot walk again, jealousy means nothing.”

“You will.” Lord Ashton brushed the soft edges of the weeping willow branch across her cheek. Although the gesture was only meant in fun, the sensation sent a sudden chill over her skin, particularly when she studied him closely.

Was it possible that the countess had indulged in an affair without her husband’s knowledge? To the servants and outsiders, Iain would be a legitimate heir. But what if he wasn’t?

It was one possible explanation for his mother’s neglect. But Rose pushed the thought back, not wanting to think of it. Whether or not Iain Donovan was a trueborn earl didn’t matter. If the outside world and the solicitors accepted him, then the title was his.

She caught the edge of the twig and held it. His green eyes grew heated, and in that moment, her awareness deepened. Iain Donovan was truly a handsome man. His dark hair was slightly mussed, and she had the urge to straighten it. She caught the hint of his soap, a faint aroma that made her want to move closer to him.

“Don’t be looking at me like that, Lady Rose.” His tone grew rigid, like he was holding himself back.

“Like what?” she whispered.

“Like you’re wanting me to kiss you.” He moved in closer, and his expression left no doubt that he wanted to. The words made her heart beat faster, and she tried to calm herself.

“We’re only friends,” she reminded him.

“So we are. It doesn’t mean that I’m dead.” His pirate smile returned, and she did pull away this time.

“Behave yourself.” She rested her hands upon his chest to keep him at arm’s length.

“Is that what you want?” He reached out and covered her hands with his own. Her eyes locked with his, and she was conscious of his roughened hands against her gloved ones. She ought to pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

“O-of course.”

Lord Ashton slid his hand into her hair, drawing it down the edge of her cheek. His touch burned through her skin in a path of heat. She felt the echo of sensation coursing through her, and she couldn’t have moved away if she’d wanted to. His green eyes held hers captive, and she was intently conscious of his touch.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered, while he was staring at her. He let his hand linger upon her chin, sliding it down her throat to her shoulder. A thousand shivers broke over her skin, and she felt herself bloom with arousal. She imagined this man kissing her again, and the very thought made her self-conscious. They had an agreement to help one another, and that was all. She shouldn’t dream of letting down the boundaries between them.

“You’re worth more than six letters,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that.”

And with that, he released her, stepping back. Rose rubbed at her arms, uncertain of what to do or say now.

She took a moment to steady herself and then said, “I don’t want to talk about Lord Burkham. I would rather try learning to walk.”

“Do you want to start beside the water?” he asked at last.

She nodded, needing the distraction. “All right.”

He leaned down and lifted her into his arms, bringing her to the waterfall and pool. Though she was acutely aware of his embrace, she tried to push back her wayward thoughts. “While I exercise my legs, you can ask me any questions you like. About London, that is.”

He chose a place beside the pool and lowered her to the grassy bank. “I can’t say that I really care about London, Lady Rose. I’ve no questions about a place I’ve never visited.”

“Then I will tell you all about it.” She straightened, and he sat on the opposite side of her.

“There are more people there than you can imagine,” she broke out, reaching for her shoes. “I suppose it’s similar to Dublin, though I’ve never been there.” She fumbled with the buttons, struggling to unfasten them. Lord Ashton reached over and began unbuttoning her shoe without asking permission. She was grateful for the assistance, though she was well aware of how very improper it was for the pair of them to be alone in this garden without a chaperone. Undoubtedly the servants would gossip about her, not to mention that her grandmother would have a fit.

But a part of her didn’t care. Soon enough she would have to return to the outside world where others would judge her. Here, she could almost imagine that she was whole and well again.

“Have
you
ever been there?” she asked. “To Dublin, I mean.”

“I spent years there,” he answered. “When I studied at Trinity, I sometimes walked across the bridge over the River Liffey. There were moments when I liked living in Dublin, but Ashton was always my home.”

“Did your brother treat you in the same way as your mother?”

Iain shook his head. “Michael and I were as close as brothers could be. I would give up being the earl in a moment if it would bring him back again. He was my best friend.”

When he started to pull her shoe off, she stopped him. “I can manage from here.” She hadn’t worn stockings—and she did not want him touching her bare skin. The very thought brought a chill of goosebumps over her body.

She handed him the other shoe to unbutton while she hid her bare foot beneath her skirts. He allowed her to remove the second shoe, and then she used her arms to scoot closer to the water’s edge. Slowly, she lowered her feet into the water, catching her breath at the cold.

“No stockings again, Lady Rose?” he remarked. “How very scandalous.”

“It would be far worse if I
did
wear them,” she remarked. “There is nothing worse than itchy wet wool against one’s skin.”

She began moving her legs through the water. She was well aware of his gaze, and she pleaded, “Don’t look at my bare feet. It’s bad enough that I’m here alone with you.”

He obeyed, but instead of gazing into the garden, he stared at her face. “You’ve no reason to be afraid of me, Rose.”

Which wasn’t true at all. She could still remember the temptation of his mouth and the way he’d conjured up a deep response. She wasn’t afraid of him—she was afraid of herself and the way he made her feel.

Desperately, she attempted to change the subject. “Let us begin speaking of the proper way to arrive at a ballroom.”

“If we must.” Iain sat down beside her and began removing his own shoes and stockings.

She blinked a moment and asked, “What exactly are you doing, Lord Ashton?”

“Joining you.” With his trousers rolled up to his knees, he slid his own feet into the water. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that’s cold enough to freeze the teats off a witch.”

She grimaced at his raw speech. “Well, that’s . . . not quite the way I would have described it. And you cannot speak in such a manner when we reach London.”

He moved his feet in the water and shrugged. “You think I will shock the ladies with my manners.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “You must behave with the utmost propriety. Else mothers will allow you nowhere near their daughters.”

“I’m not concerned about my bride’s mother. Only her.” He stood in the pool of water, and it came up to his knees.

“If you do not win her mother’s approval, nothing else matters. She won’t let you speak to her daughter.” Although Rose had a feeling that a besotted young woman might indeed rebel against her parents. Lord Ashton was entirely too persuasive.

His mouth curved in a knowing smile. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Her thoughts were scattering like dandelion seeds on the wind, so she began blurting out instructions. His hair was still rumpled and a little too long to be fashionable, but she had no doubt that every unmarried woman would try to catch his eye.

“When you meet the young ladies, be mysterious,” she suggested. “Do not tell them anything about your poverty. For now, you are trying to attract possible heiresses, and the less they know about you, the better.”

She lowered her legs deeper into the small pool, until the water rose up to her knees. Again, she moved her legs rapidly, attempting to strengthen them.

“Will I be expected to dance with the ladies?” he inquired. “And only once, I presume?”

“Yes.” With a slight frown, she murmured, “You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

A slight smile played at his mouth. “I do. That was something my brother insisted that I learn. If he had to suffer, then so would I.”

That, at least, made it easier. She began talking more about the balls, explaining how to be introduced properly to young ladies and how to maintain good manners.