Good Earls Don't Lie (36 page)

“It does. It’s not finished yet, but in time, perhaps.”

He carried her around the side of the house, back toward the new stone walls that stretched twelve feet high. When he reached the doorway, he lowered her to her feet. “I thought I should bring a garden to my Rose.”

He unlocked the door and guided her inside. Though he was still conscious of the rotting odor that lingered at Ashton, he’d done what he could to bring flowers into the space. Most of them were potted. There were urns of climbing roses and he’d brought heather and gorse. It was a wild cacophony of color, with little order to it. But it was the best he could do with so little time. He let her look for a moment while he locked the door behind him. Here, they would have complete privacy with no one to intrude upon them.

In the center of the space, he’d piled several blankets and pillows. Her gaze went toward them, and she raised an eyebrow. “Is this meant to be our garden of Eden?”

Iain shot her a wicked smile and nodded. “I’ve been wanting to make love to you for so long, I thought we should return to the moment I first loved you.” He reached for one blanket and spread it over the green grass. Then he set down a pillow, making a bed for her beneath the stars.

Rose turned her back to him, and then whispered, “I need you, Iain.”

He took his time about it, unbuttoning each of the buttons along the back of her gown, pressing his mouth against her skin. Gooseflesh rose over her nape as he continued kissing her. And despite how he ached for her, he would do everything to make this first time last.

He removed her gown and set it on the ground. Then he began unlacing her corset, slowly loosening the barrier that hid her skin. He saw that her hands were trembling and soothed her, “Don’t be afraid,
a ghrá
.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “But I want to please you.”

“You do this already.” He set aside the corset and cupped her breasts. Her shift was of the finest linen, and he felt her nipples harden at his touch.

God help him, she was lovely. He wanted to rend the fabric in half, but that would only frighten her. Instead, he turned her to face him. She sent him a wry smile. “You need to remove your clothing as well, Iain.”

She helped him remove his coat and waistcoat, unbuttoning the two buttons on his shirt before she lifted it away, baring his chest.

“Now you,” he urged. But instead of allowing him to finish undressing her, she untied her petticoats and stepped out of them, leaving only the shift. And when she removed that, he was staring at the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen.

Her breasts were slightly more than a handful, tipped with pink. A light dusting of darker hair covered the triangle at her hips, and he couldn’t stop himself from closing the distance. He needed to touch her with a desperation he’d never known.

But she held him off, keeping her hands at his waist. Her fingers moved toward the buttons of his trousers, and he overpowered her. “Not yet, Rose. I won’t be able to control myself if you touch me.”

He lowered her to rest upon the blanket, and she shivered, her nipples bared and erect. “I’m cold, Iain.”

“When I’m through with you, you won’t feel the cold at all.”

His mouth covered her nipple, and Rose arched up in shock. The aching warmth of his mouth suckled against her, and she felt the echo between her legs. She clenched her knees together, unable to bear the relentless needs that he’d conjured. When he kissed her other nipple, he continued tormenting the first, rolling it between his fingers.

And he was right. There was a heat she’d never imagined before. She dug her fingers into his hair, feeling a delicious sense of the forbidden. Though the garden was locked, she had never imagined her wedding night would be outside. And yet, all around them, she could smell the roses blooming. It was a heady sensation, to feel this man touching her while the moon rose above them and her body was cradled upon a soft blanket. He pushed her wrists back, using his mouth to kiss her lower, and lower still.

“Keep your hands there,
a ghrá.
” He reached down to part her legs, and when she did, he touched her intimately.

“I love you, Rose. And I will treasure you all the days of my life.”

“I love you, Iain.” Against her center, his warm breath hovered. She was terrified of the wild feelings coursing through her, but she trusted him. Her heart was beating rapidly, and when he tasted her wetness, her fingers dug into the grass. It was a sweet torment, feeling his tongue caress her hooded flesh. He cupped her bottom, lifting her hips as he tasted her. She was utterly helpless, letting the feelings sweep over her. The gentle pressure continued in a rhythm that would not stop. She strained against him, while his tongue stroked. And yet, it seemed that he brought her to the edge, only to pull back. Her body was shaking with desire, and she begged, “I need you inside me, Iain. I can’t bear it.”

His eyes were dark with passion, but he nodded. Within seconds, he had removed his trousers and underclothing and was naked. She opened her arms to him, and he lay upon her, skin to skin.

Against the juncture of her thighs, she felt the blunt head of him. And she couldn’t help but arch, reaching down to guide him where she needed him.

“You’re not ready for me yet, Rose,” he protested. But she refused to let him leave her. He bent to take her mouth, and she kissed him hard, opening as he slid his tongue within her mouth. She moved her hips, fighting against him as she tried to take him inside.

Instead, he reached down and began stroking her with his fingers. Gently, he circled, while his thick erection was poised to enter her. From deep inside, a shimmering sensation began to take hold. It brought her back to the edge, and his fingers pushed her toward a release that shattered through her body, past every inch of her naked skin. She convulsed against him, the wave pulsing through her. And when he entered her body, there was no pain at all. Only the sense that he belonged inside her.

He remained motionless, letting her grow accustomed to his size. When he began to withdraw, she murmured a protest, only to feel him slide back into place.

“My God that feels good,” she whispered. “Do it again.”

He did, and it felt as if he were caressing her on the inside. Her body quivered around him, her breasts tightening even more. He entered her slowly, grasping her hips as he thrust. She opened her eyes to look at him, and it was wondrous to watch her husband making love to her.

She tilted her hips as he continued, squeezing his length inside her depths. The husky groan that erupted told her that he liked that. She experimented, trying to find a rhythm that suited both of them. And as she continued to squeeze him, she found that it brought another wave of pleasure.

“I need . . . to go faster,
a chroí,
” he gritted.

She opened her legs wider, and he began to pump harder. The heat of his flesh, the intense pressure, was shocking, and she felt every inch of him caressing her.

She
had done this to him. And God above, the power was intoxicating.

Against his thrusts, she pushed back, and he grew consumed by it. He murmured endearments in Irish, kissing her while he palmed one breast.

She came apart again, and squeezed both legs around his waist. Sweat made their bodies slippery against one another, but she didn’t care. Iain let out a low growl and she gasped when he thrust hard and shuddered against her as his own release came.

He stroked a few more times, and then collapsed atop her. Rose held him until his shaking abated. Then he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. He drew one of the blankets over their bodies, cocooning their joining.

She rested her head against his chest, feeling beloved. Never had she imagined that a half-dressed Irishman would walk into her life and steal her heart. But he was hers, now and evermore.

He rested his palm upon her spine. “Are you wanting to go back to London, Rose? You could leave all this and return later.”

But she shook her head. “My place is with you. There is so much to be done, you’ll need my help.”

“There’s one thing in particular that I’ll be needing your help with,” he admitted.

“The tenants, I know, and the supplies. We should—”

“Not that.” He bent in and nibbled her ear. “I’ll be needing your help to make children, my darling wife.”

A deep ache caught her at his words. “So you’ve changed your mind, then.”

“Aye.” He kissed her deeply. Above them, the darkening clouds threatened rain. He had begun touching her again when suddenly, the skies opened up, the droplets soaking through them.

Rose let out a stifled cry. “I suppose we’ll have to go inside now, Iain.”

“We will. And I’ll have to dress you in warmer clothes before you get cold.”

She drew him to her and kissed him hard. “You won’t allow me to get cold, Iain, and we both know this.”

He traced the outline of her jaw. “Shall I take you somewhere and warm you,
a ghrá
?”

She put her hand in his and smiled. “Anywhere at all.”

Epilogue

Three years later

Iain walked through the fields of barley and wheat, while the summer sunlight illuminated the golden crops. He held the hand of his young son, Aidan, while he stopped to talk with several of the laborers.

They had stopped growing potatoes and had kept a portion of the wheat to help feed the workers. It filled him with a sense of pride to know that they were not dependent upon the potato. He had used Rose’s dowry to buy seed, and in time, the estate had become self-sufficient. The tenants had returned to help farm the land, and no longer did he see hunger in the faces of the children.

His mother was walking along the road, accompanied by a footman. When she saw the two of them, her face brightened. “Now there is my wee grandson. How is my Aidan?” She held out her arms, and Aidan went skipping into them. Moira dug through her reticule and gave him a sweet. She ruffled the boy’s hair, and then met Iain’s gaze with a gentle smile.

Her demeanor toward him had transformed over the last three years, with Rose’s help. His wife had bridged the distance, asking Moira for advice, and helping Colleen and Sybil find husbands. And in time, his mother had let go of the anger born out of fearful memories.

They began walking back to the house together, and his mother lifted Aidan onto her hip. She adored her grandchildren and spoiled them at every opportunity. When they reached the house, Iain opened the door for both of them. Inside, they heard the sound of a baby shrieking.

Rose was pacing the halls with their infant daughter, Deirdre, against her shoulder. She was murmuring to the baby, and Moira went to them, setting Aidan down.

“Let me take her,” his mother urged. “You look as if you’ve had a dreadful night.”

There was no doubting that. Iain had taken turns with Rose, getting up with the baby, but neither one of them had slept well.

His wife handed the baby over, and smiled gratefully. “I think she’s getting teeth, and it hurts her so.”

Moira placed her finger against the baby’s mouth, and Deirdre gnawed at her. “Why don’t you both go and have a lie-down while I look after them?”

“You are a saint,” Rose proclaimed.

Iain took her by the hand, and his mother took both grandchildren toward the library. “Aidan, come and show Granny your blocks.” With a wink to Iain and Rose, she departed with the children.

“I feel as if I could sleep for a fortnight and never wake up,” Rose admitted.

Iain took her by the hand and guided her up the stairs. “I think my mother is right. We should take advantage of our opportunity to escape.”

She smiled sleepily at him. “I am so glad to see her happy. She truly loves our children.”

“She does.” And he rather thought it was Moira’s way of trying to atone for the past. There was no doubting that she would do anything for her grandchildren.

When they reached their bedroom, he lifted Rose into his arms and carried her over the threshold. She laughed. “Now what are you doing, Iain? You know perfectly well that I can walk.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be overtired,
a ghrá.
Not when you’ll need your strength.” He kicked the door closed and brought her to their bed. He laid her down and sat beside her, marveling that this woman was his.

“And what will I need strength for?” she teased, her brown eyes warming to his invitation.

“I intend to ravish you, my wife. I’ve heard that it helps with sleeping.” He bent and kissed her deeply, while she twined her arms around his neck.

“I don’t think I’ll need any help falling asleep,” she answered. “But if you do . . .” She let her words trail off while she unbuttoned his shirt.

He captured her wrists and pinned them to the bed. “I do indeed.” He lowered his mouth to her throat, kissing her until she arched against him.

“I love you, my Rose.”

She smiled at him, reaching up to touch his hair. “I love you, too. Now are you going to ravish me like you promised?”

And he did. Most thoroughly.

EXCERPT FROM
WHAT THE EARL NEEDS NOW,
BOOK TWO IN THE EARLS NEXT DOOR SERIES

LONDON, 1846

Lily reached for the doorknob and turned it. Inside, the room was dark, save for the fire in the hearth and a single candle burning on the mantel. The drapes were closed, as if he was trying to shut out the world.

“Matthew,” she said softly. “May I come in?”

There was no answer. She opened the door a little wider, uncertain of whether she should enter. If he was wounded and lying in bed, it was not at all proper for her to visit.

But he is my husband,
she reassured herself. Even if no one else knew it but them, she had every right to see him. She took a single step into the darkness, wondering why he would not speak. Was he sleeping?

But no, Matthew was seated in a large wingback chair a short distance away from the fire. In the shadows, she could not see his face—only the outline of a man with his head lowered. In his posture, she sensed pain, mingled with frustration. Tension stretched out in the room, and she waited for him to speak. Long moments passed, and still, he said nothing.

“Matthew, it’s Lily,” she murmured. “Will you not look at me?”

She prayed that when he heard her voice, it would break the spell of melancholy and bring him back. The silence grew heavier, and for a moment, she doubted herself.

He is not the man you once loved.

Lady Arnsbury had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t believed the countess. She’d wanted to trust that it would be different when she saw him. But it seemed that he was locked in his own prison of nightmares, one for which there was no key.

“Matthew,” she repeated. “Look at me.”
See me. Know that I love you and always have.

At last, he raised his head. There was no sense of welcome in his demeanor, and it felt as if she were facing a wounded tiger.

“Go away.” His voice was raw, and she heard the traces of pain in it. Upon an end table beside the chair, she saw a glass. Had he been drinking? Or perhaps he had taken laudanum for his injuries, whatever they were.

She ignored his command and pulled a chair across from him, sitting so close he could touch her. Her heart was beating hard, and her emotions were tightly strung up inside her. With a glance toward the door, she saw that Lady Arnsbury and the footman had retreated into the hall, allowing them a measure of privacy while still chaperoning her.

In the softest whisper she spoke, not wanting anyone to overhear her. “I am so glad you’ve returned,” she said. “I’ve waited so long for you.”

But again, he said nothing. It was as if he were a stranger, a man haunted by visions she could not see. His hands clenched the arms of his chair, and he repeated, “I want to be alone.”

“I am your
wife
,” she whispered. “How can you ask me to go? After all that we’ve meant to one another.”

“I
have
no wife,” he gritted out.

His head dropped forward, and for a breathless moment, she knew fear. The silver chain holding her wedding band seemed to weigh against her throat. She withdrew it from her bodice and showed him the ring. It was
his
ring, the one his grandfather had once given him when he was a boy.

“How can you say such a thing?” Tears gathered in her eyes, and coldness flooded through her. “After the vows we spoke to one another.”

He leaned forward and stared at her. His blue eyes were chips of ice in a face made of stone. Gone was the man she knew, and in his place was a fighter filled with rage. She searched his expression for some sign of affection, some glimmer of hope for them. But there was not even a hint of recognition.

“Go away,” he demanded.

The logical response would be to obey him, to surrender and wait another day. But she had waited endless months for his return. And somewhere in this man was the husband she had yearned for. She didn’t know what had happened to him, but she would not step aside and fade into the shadows. They would face this together and overcome it.

“No,” she answered, reaching out to cup his cheek. “I am not leaving you.” She stroked the dark bristle of his beard, not caring that he appeared so rough and unkempt. He had been to Hades and back again. Even his hair was longer than usual, and she suspected he hadn’t cut it. Across his left cheek was a slash, a healing wound that seemed to have been cut with a curved sword.

“I promised I would never leave you,” she said, tracing the outline of his face. “And you promised to love me forever.”

At that, he caught her wrist. “How could I promise such a thing?” A faint trace of irony creased his expression. “Especially when I have never seen you before in my life.”