Good Earls Don't Lie by Michelle Willingham Read Free Book Online Page B

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