Good Earls Don't Lie (29 page)

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 her 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.

She didn’t know what to think of this. It seemed he was powerless to resist the attraction between them. And from the unfettered desire in his eyes, she could not deny him either.

Rose leaned down and touched his face. His expression tightened with need, and when she touched her lips to his, he moved his hand between her thighs. The linen was damp, and when he found the slit within the fabric, she was startled by her response.

He dared to stroke her, and sensations rolled over her with such exquisite pleasure, her knees buckled. Iain stood again, grasping her waist to lend support. “Let me touch you, Rose.”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. He rubbed his fingers against her slick entrance, and the raw sensations made her convulse against him. She had no choice but to hold on to him, her arms around his neck. Her body’s needs overrode all common sense. She knew this was wrong.

He wasn’t going to marry her—for he saw her as too weak to survive Ireland. But when he brought her to the edge of a precipice with his caresses, she didn’t want to pull away. There was a sense of power in this, and she wanted him to continue.

She kissed him hard, knowing that she was forcing him past the brink of control. And though it was a wicked thing to do, she pressed herself close to him, glorying in the groan that erupted from his mouth.

His eyes were hooded with desire when he slid a finger inside her. She shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation, her nails digging into his back.

“You’re mine, Rose. No matter what happens to us in the future, you’ll know that at this moment, you belong to me.”

He kept his finger inside her while he nudged her hooded flesh with his thumb. She bit back a gasp as he began to work her. “You’re the only woman I want.”

He was merciless in the torment, keeping up a rhythm while her body writhed against him. It had become a game of control, each trying to command the other. She was losing this battle and hardly cared. Her breath erupted in a shattering cry as he thrust against her. As he kept up the rhythm, she arched her back and the sensation transformed.

God above, she was mindless to the rest of the world. Never had she known that it could be like this between a man and a woman.

Iain plunged his tongue within her mouth and then added a second finger. She tightened around him, half-sobbing his name. There were no words for this, only savage feelings.

With every stroke, he mastered her, and she surrendered to him, craving fulfillment.

“I could touch you like this for hours,” he murmured against her lips. “
A ghrá
, do you know what you do to me?”

She was breathing in short gasps, and it suddenly felt as if they were joined together. In her imagination, she thought of his strong shaft plunging inside her.

“You’re driving me into madness.” Dimly, she was still aware that someone could try to unlock the door, and the very thought of discovery deepened the intensity.

He slowed his fingers, forcing her to hover on the brink of ecstasy, prolonging the pleasure.

“Iain, please. I can’t, I—” Her words broke off when he kept his thumb pressed against her center while his fingers invaded and withdrew. She was straining against him, and he tormented her, slowing his pace and then driving harder.

“I want to be inside you,” he whispered against her ear. “I want your legs wrapped around me while I thrust and take you. Until you can’t bear it any longer.”

With that, she shattered in his arms, kissing him hard while her wetness coated his fingers. She was squeezing him, and he continued the stroking until she came apart a second time. Her violent response was more than she’d ever imagined, and she was unable to stand any longer.

Iain supported her weight as she trembled, her body sated as he withdrew his hand and lowered her skirts. Her lips were swollen and bruised, her eyes holding back tears.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. A thousand questions rolled over her, but she didn’t want the answers. She didn’t want him to look her in the eyes and leave her again. Not after this.

Gently, he lifted her to sit upon the chaise longue, and she fumbled for a pin to straighten her wayward hair.

For a moment, he watched her, and his expression held tension and frustration. “I won’t apologize for this.”

She felt the physical and emotional exhaustion wash over her. “I was the one who started it.” It had begun as a means of proving to him that he was wrong about her. And in the end, he’d torn down her defenses, leaving her vulnerable.