Good Earls Don't Lie (5 page)

“I won’t be leaving her with the likes of you,” Calvert countered. And while Rose could understand his reasoning, the idea of a ride tempted her. It
was
a lovely evening, and despite her inner doubts, was there any harm in riding a few miles down the road? She didn’t think so.

“Put me upon Molly,” she ordered her footman. “I’ll be fine.”

“But, Lady Rose, you cannot consider this.” Calvert appeared aghast at the idea. “You don’t even know this man.”

“No,” she agreed. But she did want to know more about him and why he had come to Penford. It would give her the chance to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. “You are welcome to follow on your own mount, if you wish. Or Nelson can accompany me.” The coachman looked uncomfortable at the idea.

Calvert also appeared uneasy. “I can’t be leaving you alone with the Irishman.”

“Then come with me.” She pointed toward the mare. “But help me onto Molly first.”

He brought her over to the horse, looking uneasy about her decision. Rose sent him a pointed look, reminding Calvert that he was in her employ. Eventually, he lifted her onto the mare. She sat sidesaddle and guided the animal to the door. “Thank you. I shall wait outside until you decide whether to attend me yourself or send another servant.”

The footman sent her a weary look, but nodded. “I know my duty, Lady Rose.” With the greatest of reluctance, he went to fetch his own horse with the help of Nelson.

Mr. Donovan clapped his arm on Beauregard and followed. “Come, lad. We’ll get you washed up before you go home.”

Resentment was written all over the boy’s face, but he obeyed. Rose guided the mare out of the stables and toward the path. A moment later, Mr. Donovan led the adolescent boy from the stable toward the water trough, and ordered the boy to strip off his shirt.

Beau looked disgruntled, but did as he was told, washing his face, arms, and torso. Donovan did the same, splashing water on his face and throat. Droplets of water spilled over his skin, while his hair was wet along his forehead and cheeks. He turned to her, as if he’d sensed her watching, and he sent her the pirate smile again.

Rose felt her cheeks warm, unsure of why she was so intrigued by this man. There was a sense of rebellion about him, as if he obeyed no rules but his own. But she felt her own mouth respond with an answering smile.

He’s dangerous
, she thought to herself. Her skin tightened, as if by an invisible caress. She followed the trail of a water droplet as it slid down his throat to his chest. Never before had she been so entranced by a man. It was better to avert her gaze, to prevent herself from imagining such wickedness.

She didn’t understand her own reaction, for she should not be looking at Iain Donovan. He was a visitor, nothing more. Her heart belonged to Thomas, and this was nothing but idle foolishness.

The mare started to graze as she waited. Beauregard finished washing, while the Irishman helped Calvert saddle up their horses.

When Mr. Donovan returned, he was riding the black gelding he’d taken earlier, while Nelson led a second horse outside. The coachman helped Beauregard mount the animal, while Calvert followed on his own horse. Then Mr. Donovan drew his gelding beside her mare. Although their horses were of similar size, he was still far taller than she.

“This is Darcy,” he told her. She leaned over to touch the horse, and the gelding snorted.

“He’s beautiful.”

“He’s friendly enough. But I can’t say as he’s the most intelligent horse I’ve ever had.” He sent her a conspiratorial smile. “Frightened of everything, he is.”

“Then why did you choose him?” Most men would take a spirited stallion instead of this one.

“Because no one else wanted him.” He gave the horse’s jaw a friendly pat. “He may not have the wits of a field mouse, but he’s a good sort, is Darcy.” With that, he gestured for her to move forward. “Lead on, Lady Rose.”

She did, and oh, it felt wonderful to be ambulatory, even if it was only on horseback. Rose breathed in the evening air, sighing with thankfulness. For a moment, she pretended that her legs were whole, that she was not dependent upon others. She held fast to the dream, knowing that it would end as soon as Calvert helped her dismount.

But for now, it was enough.

She wanted to urge the horse faster, to feel the wind against her hair. That would only end the ride sooner, so she refrained. Instead, she drank in the sight of her surroundings, enjoying the sunlight as the last of the day disappeared. The dirt road meandered over hills and by the river, and she felt the breath of spring upon her face.

“You look as if you’re starving to be outside,” Mr. Donovan said. “How long has it been?”

She stiffened in the saddle. “I sit in the garden every day.”

“How long has it been since you’ve left the estate?” he corrected.

“Since we arrived in early December.” They had only a few neighbors who dwelled in the country, and when her mother’s mental state had worsened, it had seemed prudent to bring her here, where it was private.

When Mr. Donovan looked as if he wanted to ply her with more questions, Rose patted the horse and urged the mare into a trot. He countered by bringing his horse alongside hers. “Are you afraid of me, Lady Rose?”

“Now why should I be afraid of a groom?” she countered. “That is who you are, am I right? You seem to know your way around a stable.”

“You know that’s not who I am.” He kept his pace even with hers and sent her a dark smile. “I told you. I am the Earl of Ashton, and your grandmother invited me here.”

She still didn’t believe that. There were too many flaws in his story, most notably, the absence of servants. A peer would never arrive at an estate on horseback. And although he claimed that there was a coach accident and that he’d left his servants behind, she could never imagine an earl doing such a thing. For one, it was dangerous. For another, it made no sense at all.

“My grandmother isn’t here,” she reminded him. “Why would she invite you to come if she was on holiday in Bath?”

“She told me I was welcome to visit your family anytime this year. I sent word, but apparently my letter didn’t arrive.”

She glanced at him again, wondering if he might be telling the truth. Letters were frequently missed, so it was indeed conceivable. But she couldn’t bring herself to trust him. At least, not yet.

“My grandmother is not a fool. If she does not believe your tale of being the Earl of Ashton, she’ll toss you out on your ear.”

“As you would like to do?” He shrugged. “You’ll see, Lady Rose. She
has
met me, and your mother and mine were friends.”

Highly unlikely. “Then why have I never heard of you?”

His expression grew shielded. “I’ve never been to England before, unlike my older brother.”

She didn’t miss the hint of pain when he mentioned a brother, but she didn’t inquire about the family death. Yet his claim, that he had never visited England, struck her as preposterous. A younger son would have to visit London from time to time.

“So your family neglected you in your training to become the earl.”

His hands tightened upon the reins of his horse. “That was their choice, not mine. And I intend to remedy that immediately.” He glanced behind him at Beauregard. “This lad stole my brother’s signet ring. So
he
knows I am the earl.”

The boy let out an exasperated huff of air. “I never saw a ring. He probably
is
a groom. And I’ll tell Father how he forced me to shovel dung. If you hadn’t come when you did, he might have forced me to eat it.”

The boy’s resentful words were spoken as if he wanted Rose to be aghast at his misfortune. Mr. Donovan only laughed at the boy and said, “Hardly. But if you don’t bring back everything in the morning, I might consider it.”

He winked at Rose, and the harmless teasing unnerved her in a way she didn’t understand. Even if, God help her, he
was
an earl, he would never spend this much time flirting with a woman like her.

Unless he desired her fortune.

Yes, that was undoubtedly the reason. He hardly knew her at all, and she couldn’t even walk. She decided to ignore his flirting, for it meant nothing.

They continued riding down the dirt road, and she grew quiet, savoring the evening light. The sky was transforming from a soft blue into a darker indigo. Upon the horizon, the setting sun gleamed its golden rays.

Beauregard looked as if he wanted to ride on ahead of them, but Mr. Donovan kept him close, holding the reins of his horse.

“I can go home on my own,” the young man asserted. “I know the way.”

“Children should be seen and not heard,” was Iain Donovan’s answer. Rose had to hide her smile at Beauregard’s indignant glare.

“I’m not a child.”

“Aye, you are. Only a child bent on mischief would be stealing a man’s shirt and coat. Unless you believe yourself to be a man, in which case I’d have to bring you to the authorities for a more appropriate punishment.”

Rose glanced back at Iain, wondering if he truly meant it. But she spied the amusement in his eyes.

“Go and ride alongside Calvert,” he bade the young man. “But don’t try to flee home without us, else I
will
drag you back.”

For a fleeting moment, Beauregard looked uncertain of whether to accept the freedom. But he took advantage of the offer, guiding his mount back to ride alongside the footman. It gave Rose and Iain a slight measure of privacy to their conversation.

“Calvert, if the lad attempts to ride home on his own, bring him back to me,” the Irishman ordered. The footman only shook his head and muttered.

“He’s not very cooperative, is he?” Mr. Donovan said. “What about you, Lady Rose? If the boy attempts to flee, will you help me hunt him down?”

She started to argue, but then realized it was all in fun. With a serious nod, she said, “I shall send my mother’s wolves after him.”

A wide, appreciative smile slid over his face. “A fine idea, to be sure.”

Though there was an easy tone to his voice, offering friendship, his eyes were watching her with interest. Her cheeks warmed, and she tried to pay it no mind. To shift his attention, she asked, “Where do you live in Ireland, Mr. Donovan?”

“In the west, not far from Connemara. There are mountains there, and green meadows so beautiful, they would break your heart.” His expression held love, but there was also a trace of tension in his tone.

“I’ve heard stories about the famine,” she said. “So many have left. Is it as bad as they say?”

His face grew somber, and his eyes remained fixed upon the road. An invisible shadow seemed to pass over him, and his tone darkened. “Worse than anyone could ever imagine.”

“I’m sorry.” She had heard about the hundreds of thousands of men and women leaving their homes. The workhouses were filled with the poor, and many Irish had sought work in textile mills and factories. Even then, there were not enough positions.

“There’s hardly any food left in Ireland,” he continued. “No one has money to buy anything. My mother and sisters went to New York to stay with family, while I came here.”

“Will you join them there?”

He shook his head. “I made a promise to take care of the tenants at Ashton. I must return to them by the end of summer.”

So he still maintained he was an earl. While it was indeed possible that he could possess a title, she didn’t quite believe him. Instead, she kept the conversation centered on what she knew to be true. “Did you lose your crops?”

He fixed his gaze upon the road, expression grim. “The blight struck us hard, and a great deal of the land is wasted now. But we will bring back supplies and replant the fields.”

“
We
?” Was there someone else who had come with him?

“My wife and I.” He cast his gaze upon her again, and this time,
she
was the one who was surprised. Perhaps she’d been mistaken in thinking he had come to England in search of a wife.

“So . . . you’re already married, then?” The thought seemed impossible, especially given the way he had been staring at her.

“Not yet. But if you’re offering,
a chara,
I’d be glad to accept.” He sent her a teasing smile, and it seemed that his mood had shifted from the earlier melancholy.

She sent him a wry look. “I was hardly proposing marriage, Mr. Donovan.” She wasn’t so desperate as that. “Besides, I already have a gentleman suitor.”

“Have you?” His face brightened. “I cannot say I’m surprised to hear it. Any man would be honored to wed a
cailín
as fair as you.”

Although his words were kind, she wasn’t interested in idle flirting. “Yes, well. You can turn your interests somewhere else.”

“Is he here, then? Your betrothed husband?”

“No, he’s in London.”

“I can’t believe that’s wise. Leaving a beautiful woman such as yourself at the mercy of the local swains. You might change your mind about marrying him.”

She didn’t bother to correct him, that Lord Burkham had not yet asked for her hand in marriage. It might be true enough one day soon. She wasn’t going to fall prey to meaningless compliments when there were far more serious matters at hand.

“So you intend to find a bride with the help of my grandmother, is that it?” She wondered what sort of woman he hoped to woo. It wasn’t going to be easy, for few women would marry a man who wanted her for nothing but money. Only someone quite desperate. Ireland lay in ruins, and it was unlikely that any woman would want to live there.

“Indeed. Unless you change your mind, that is.” He reached out and took her gloved hand. His touch lingered upon her, warming the kidskin glove. When he stared into her eyes, she had a sudden rash thought that he was about to kiss her. Right here, in front of her footman and Beauregard.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Donovan. Or I shall be forced to whack you with a parasol.”

“Or a rake,” he suggested cheerfully. He winked at her, and she relaxed when she realized that he was only teasing her.

“I could be quite lethal with gardening tools. You don’t want to imagine what I would do with a pair of shears.”