Good Earls Don't Lie (28 page)

Her mother behaved as if he hadn’t spoken a single word. She continued to stare out the window with her hand pressed to the glass. The viscount sent her a questioning look, but Rose simply shook her head. It was best to leave her be.

He cleared his throat and said, “I spoke at length with my family yesterday. They were quite surprised to hear that you had regained your ability to walk.”

Rose had never particularly liked Thomas’s parents, for they only cared about appearances.

“Pleased, even,” he added. “And I was glad to tell them that they were wrong about you.”

She thought about pretending that she was happy, that all was forgiven. But no longer did she yearn for Thomas’s approval. Iain had been right about him—Burkham was little more than a puppet whose strings were pulled by his parents. What did it matter if they now believed they were wrong about her?

“Why didn’t you come to see me, even once, when I was ill?” she asked. “I mistakenly thought you cared about me.”

“I did. That is, I mean, I do. But I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought you would wish to convalesce in peace with no one to bother you.”

“Did you never think that I might need comforting and encouragement? Or was it simply that you thought I would embarrass you if I could only sit or be pushed in a Bath chair? You didn’t want a cripple for a wife.”

He sighed and colored at her accusation. “You’re right, of course. I should have come.”

Thomas drew his chair in closer and lowered his voice. “I wronged you, and I deserve all this.” He reached out to her gloved hand. “I know it’s too much to ask for your forgiveness. All I would ask . . . is that we might start again.”

Start again?
Was he serious? “Lord Burkham, I am sorry, but no. At one time I thought we might suit one another, but not anymore.”

The viscount appeared confused. “But . . . Lady Rose. Whyever not?”

“Because you don’t love me. You never have.”

“What has that got to do with it?” There was genuine bewilderment on his face.

A soft sound caught her attention, and her mother was now walking toward them. “He only wants your fortune, Rose. If you were penniless, he’d have nothing to do with you.” She sat down and in her hands, she held several pieces of paper. “But it no longer matters. It’s all gone now. Gone. Every penny given to help bring him back.”

“What is gone?” Lord Burkham asked.

A chill slid through Rose, a premonition of something terrible. “Mother, what are you talking about?”

Iris held out the papers and Rose took them. “Lord Burkham, I think you should go. I must speak with my mother in private.”

“Perhaps I should read the letters,” he offered. “I may be able to offer you help.”

But there was no way of knowing if this was another moment’s madness or something real. It wasn’t his concern, and for that reason, Rose shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

He cast another look toward the folded paper, but acceded to her wishes. “Let me know if you have need of me.”

She thanked him, inclining her head when he bowed and departed. The coldness inside her had intensified, and she opened the letter, reading its contents. It was from their land steward at Penford, telling them of an audit that went badly. He wrote that Lady Penford had taken a great portion of the rents and given them away once again—only this time it was far more than a thousand pounds. No one knew what she’d done with the money, and there was little left to pay the bills.

Her heartbeat pounded, and Rose forced herself to keep her voice calm. “Mother, did you give the rents to someone?”

Iris paled and confessed, “He said that he would help us. That he would keep the money safe for me.” Her voice grew distant, and she said, “I think he’s going to bring George back. He’s not dead, you see—he’s being held captive in India.”

Rose closed her eyes, feeling sick to her stomach. “Mother, we buried our father. You were there at his funeral.”

“No, no. It was someone else. George isn’t dead.” Her face tensed with unshed tears. “I promise you, we’ll bring him back from India.”

Dear God, now she was confusing James with her deceased husband. How could this have happened? Their land steward was responsible for collecting the rents and depositing the money. She didn’t understand how their mother could even have access to the funds. “Mother, tell me who took the rents. Who was he?”

“I—I don’t remember. It was several weeks ago.”

“Tell me what he looked like.” Rose was trying to keep the panic from her voice, for she had no idea how much money had been lost. “How old was he?”

“I don’t know.” At that, her mother began to cry. “He was kind to me. I gave him all the money I could find. Every penny. I don’t know if it was enough to save George.”

Rose sank down in a chair, wondering how dire their situation was. She needed to return to Penford immediately, to find out their financial state and alert the authorities.

“Mother, is there anything—”

“Wait.” Iris’s face brightened. “There is something I do remember about the gentleman who promised to help us find George.”

Rose paused, allowing her mother time to speak. Iris straightened and admitted, “He was Irish. I’m sure of that.”

Iain drove his curricle along the banks of the Serpentine, toward the stone bench where Lady Rose had asked to meet him. Her unexpected note had been terse, stating only:
I need to speak with you.

Instinct warned him that he would not like what she had to say. And when he found her waiting for him, her expression revealed that she had been crying. A footman stood nearby, and Iain wondered what was the matter.

“Lady Rose.” He greeted her with a slight bow and helped her into the curricle. “Is everything all right with your family?”

Her lips tightened, and she shook her head. “We have much to discuss. But not here.”

Her footman took his place upon the rumble, once Rose was seated. Iain drove along the water’s edge, waiting for her to speak. Rose’s face held tension, as if she couldn’t quite decide how to begin. At last, she stared at her hands and said, “My mother gave away a large portion of our rents to a stranger. And now that our debts must be paid, we have very little remaining.”

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.