To Tempt an Earl
by Kristin Vayden
Blue Tulip Publishing
www.bluetulippublishing.com
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
TO TEMPT AN EARL
Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN
ISBN: 978-0991099870
ISBN 10: 0991099877
Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design
PROLOGUE
Bethanny Lamont closed her deep brown eyes and sighed, knowing she'd never be able to sleep.
But she was trying to, nonetheless.
How could one partake of something as trivial as sleep when tomorrow was her debut? Every moment of training, every lady-like pursuit would come to a pinnacle tomorrow when she was announced at the ball held in her honor. Her skin felt feverish with excitement, her heart danced an excited rhythm, and her toes curled in anticipation for the final arrival of such a long-awaited night.
She sighed contentedly, secretively.
Because, well, she did have a secret after all.
It was entirely possible that she had subtly asked Lady Southridge — her self-declared grandmother — if Lord Graham — Lady Southridge's much younger brother — would, by chance, attend her ball.
Which he would!
And this knowledge was the true cause for her inability to sleep even a wink. But it wouldn't have mattered if she slept or stayed awake; her dreams would be the exact same variety and feature a very striking hero.
It had been two years since she'd last seen him, but every moment was etched in her mind as only a thousand remembrances can do. The slight curl of his hair, the exact golden hue of his skin, the way his cheeks dimpled when he flashed a smile.
She sighed. And relaxing into the soft comfort of her bed, she allowed her mind to wander into familiar territory; memories of Graham.
One of her favorites took place while only sixteen. She still hadn't blossomed — as Carlotta had called it — and already struggling with her awkward grace, she was striving to learn to waltz with some decorum.
She had thought she was alone. The library had certainly seemed empty, and she'd taken full advantage. With just enough space in the far corner of the room, she practiced a poised curtsey and began to waltz with an invisible partner. Whispering the count to keep from missing a step, she spun and swirled; keeping to her toes, her movements would be hopefully less clumsy. Unfortunately, all that keeping to her toes had done was to increase her lack of grace, and she tripped over her own feet and stumbled to the floor, arms flailing.
She swore.
After all, at sixteen one truly believes that the world does revolve around the ability to waltz. For if a debutant cannot waltz, how can a gentleman fall in love with her grace and beauty?
"I don't believe the duke would approve of such language from his ward." An amused voice shattered her irritation, replacing it with humiliation.
Bethanny glanced up, her eyes widening as dread chilled her heart.
Anyone but him. The Prince Regent, the worst gossipmonger. Just not him.
But as fate, or failure, would have it, it was the very handsome and dashing Lord Graham. His smile could warm her insides for days at a time, and, truth be told, he was the very person she hoped to waltz with someday.
Too bad that would never happen now.
Bloody waltz.
She never liked it anyway.
"I do find that perhaps my assistance is needed." He walked around the chaise and extended a gloved hand to her, his golden hair falling forward slightly as he bowed.
"Pardon?" Bethanny blinked.
"Come, let's try this again. I'm told I'm a wonderful teacher." He winked and then smiled when Bethanny placed a trembling hand in his. His amber-colored eyes danced with a mischief and merriment that immediately set her to ease, yet awakened some swirling emotion she couldn't name.
"You see, Miss Lamont. To waltz is about two people moving as one. So it's only natural that you'd find it exceedingly difficult to practice by yourself. Allow me the honor." He began to hum, his rich voice vibrating against her, melting her.
Unable to resist, and not wishing to, she delighted in the pleasurable sensation of his hand at her waist, radiating warmth. He was the perfect height, not towering over her, but tall enough to make her feel feminine, petite and… safe in his arms. He continued to hum and, exerting the slightest pressure, he led her in a waltz that, though was still somewhat lacking in grace, was far improved over her original attempt.
"See? You only needed an experienced partner." He glanced down and colored slightly.
Bethanny felt her brow furrow at his reaction, curious as to what secret meaning could have made him blush slightly.
"Well, you did say you were a good teacher. You have been proven correct in your assessment, my lord. I thank you," Bethanny replied, hoping she sounded more mature, more knowledgeable than her sixteen years.
"Thank you, Miss Lamont." He nodded. "Now, let us step this way." He tenderly led her to the left. "And you must remember that a gentleman will always keep a proper distance between himself and you. Don't let someone bully you into a more… intimate… embrace."
"Oh?" Bethanny swallowed then gathered her courage. "And how close would be too close, my lord?" she asked as she blinked innocently — or so she'd hoped.
"Hmm." Lord Graham's brow furrowed. "I'd think that anything closer than this would be considered too close, Miss Lamont."
Drat. He didn't pull her in closer. Thinking quickly, she tried again.
"Say some cad tried to pull me in. How would I extricate myself?" she asked.
"Clever question." He offered an approving grin. "Now, Miss Lamont, I'm going to attempt to pull you in, and you must resist. You see, a gentleman, or rake, will not want to draw attention to himself on the dance floor. He'd want to be secretive about his intentions, assuming your youth to make you easy prey."
"Am I?" Bethanny asked.
"Are you?"
"Easy prey," Bethanny asked, leaning slightly forward.
"Er…" Lord Graham blinked, then his gaze sharpened. He didn't answer right away but studied her for a moment, as if judging his answer.
"Actually, no. I don't believe you are."
"Good." Bethanny nodded, her toes tingling from his intense gaze.
"Do not let my answer give you a false sense of security. Rakes love a challenge." He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh." She glanced down to his shining Hessian boots.
"Now, if you feel that some scoundrel has pulled you in too far, and you cannot extricate yourself…" Lord Graham pulled her in.
Bethanny felt her eyes widen as her lips parted in shock and wonder. He smelled of cloves and cinnamon with a hint of peppermint. She'd never forget that scent.
"Yes?" she whispered breathlessly.
"Simply step on the cad's toes. Hard." Lord Graham replied, grinning widely.
"Pardon?"
"Shove your heel into the cad's boot—"
Bethanny began to follow his advice and stomped her heel on his boot.
"Bloody — er, drat. Miss Lamont, I didn't intend for you to…" He took a deep breath and broke the frame of their waltz. "I didn't intend for you to practice on me." He p
laced his hands on his hips and shot her a longsuffering glare.
"Oh. Er, forgive me?" Bethanny felt her face heat with a deep blush.
Lord Graham shook his head and glared.
Bethanny gulped.
Then a grin broke through. "Of course!" He chuckled.
"Unfair! You had me frightened that I had severely offended you!" Bethanny scolded, and, before she could think, reached out and swatted his shoulder.
"You should have seen your face." Lord Graham laughed.
Bethanny glared.
"Hey, must I remind you that your foot inflicted serious damage on my highly polished boots? My valet is going to be livid! I'll be sure to place the blame on you."
"Afraid of your valet? Here I thought you were braver than that."
"You, miss, have never met my valet."
"True." Bethanny giggled, thrilled to be in such easy conversation. It was a dream. Ever since she had first seen him upon returning from Greenford Waters — the Duke's estate in Bath — Bethanny had harbored a secret obsession with Lord Graham.
"Miss Lamont, this has been a joy, but I'll now take my leave." He released her and stepped away, immediately rendering her chilled and craving his presence.
Bethanny shook her head at the fading of the memory. Time had been kind to her over the past two years, and she had finally bloomed — Carlotta's words — and now she actually had a chance to catch Lord Graham's attention and — God willing — his affection. The last time she had seen him was when he had bid them all farewell. She had cried for a fortnight afterward, knowing she'd not see him for at least two years. But now with her ball on the horizon, and with the good fortune of Lord Graham finally returning, there was finally hope.
She'd at least catch his eye. Though she had to admit that she'd catch everyone's eye. It was after all, her ball. But surely he'd see her as more of a woman than the child he'd been introduced to; at least she hoped for it.
Every fiber of her being hoped it.
Her governess-turned-guardian — who was actually more of an older sister — Carlotta Evermore, Duchess of Clairmont, was thankfully unaware of her secret. If she had any suspicion, she would have told her husband, the duke, who would have already taken it upon himself to have a long — or several long — lectures with her on the need to be extremely cautious in any sort of attachment. Bethanny found it very ironic, and, frankly, amusing that her guardian was so overly protective and overbearing, given his former reputation.
And she was quite sure that the information she'd been given concerning said reputation was of the tamest variety.
Also, the fact that Lord Graham was not much younger than the duke wouldn't help her cause either.
And quite the rake himself.
But rakes could be reformed, at least that's what always happened in the gossip, and, being a student of observation, she could readily attest to the truth of that gossip. The duke's intense love for his wife, Carlotta, was a testament of that fact.
And it wasn't an understatement when she said the man was reformed. Because if there ever had been a rake, it was he, and if there had ever been a man to make a complete about-face with his nature, it was also he.
For pity sake Bethanny and her sisters couldn't sneeze without him asking if they were catching cold. It was endearing, but also quite… smothering.
Bethanny's mind began to wander, and, as it usually did, found its way back to its favorite subject of pondering, Edward Greenly, Earl of Graham. And with a soft smile, she imagined what his hand would feel like at her waist as he led a waltz, and how soft his lips would feel pressed against hers in a kiss.
And Bethanny slept… and dreamed.
CHAPTER ONE
The day before.
"No." Graham succinctly enunciated the word once more, just in case his hoyden of an older sister, who had some misbegotten notion that she was his mother, hadn't understood the first three times he'd answered her question.
"You don't have a choice, Edward."
"Yes, I do."
"No. You clearly don't understand."
"I understand completely. I'm supposed to feel obligated to attend some chit's debut simply because you have a soft spot for the poor thing." He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not daft, Dianna. You're on some forsaken, misbegotten, bloody mission to marry me off, and I'm not going to do it!"
"You don't remember." His sister, the meddlesome Lady Southridge, shook her head in startled amazement.
"Why should I remember? All you said was that someone named Betsy is having a ball, and I was expected there at eight sharp. What part of that conversation was supposed to be familiar?" he asked. He gestured impatiently to her, awaiting an answer.
"For heaven's sake, it's Bethanny, and Bethanny is Clairmont's ward!" She all but shouted, clearly aggravated. Of course, that was the dynamic of their relationship most times.
Loud and confusing.
It was moments like these he was exceedingly thankful for his estate near Edinburgh, for it provided the perfect escape.
From his sister.
"Clairmont's ward?" Graham furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why didn't you say so? Of course I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"I did say so. I simply assumed you to be intelligent enough to remember the poor girl's name. Believe me, I'll not give you so much credit next time, Edward."
"Hilarious, Dianna." He gave her a sarcastic expression, one he had often used toward her, even as a young lad.
"I wasn't teasing." She raised a daring eyebrow.
"Hurt, deeply." He rolled his eyes and flopped into a chair, earning a glare from his sister at his poor manners.
He propped his foot up on the table just to spite her further.
"If you had been here for more than a day or so in the past two years, you would have known exactly who I was speaking about when I said her name, but no. You've been gallivanting to Italy, Scotland, and heaven knows where else."
"I've been avoiding you actually." He shrugged.
"Edward!"
"Joking, er, mostly."
His sister placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes.
He smirked, enjoying the sensation of provoking exactly the response he desired. "You know I had business to attend to."
"So why come back now?" she asked, and, honestly, he was surprised it had taken her as long as it had to ask that very specific question. Usually she was like an investigator at Scotland Yard. Though, he had only been back for a week and, well, he hadn't exactly told her he was in town until two days ago.
Though he'd assumed she'd already known he was in town. The woman had spies.
"Now that all my estate business is thoroughly established for the next generation of Grahams, I've decided it's time to marry." He leaned back, watching her expression with keen interest.
Her eyes widened then narrowed. Shaking her head, she shrugged. "No, honestly. Why?" His sister made a dismissive gesture with her hand, one that said, Quit wasting my time and give me the real answer.
"Er, I actually am." He felt chagrined. Was he that hopeless of a cause in his own sister's eyes?
"You are?" She blinked in disbelief.
"Indeed." He nodded once.
"It's about bloody time." Dianna stood and strode toward him, her eyes glancing heavenward as she mouthed a prayer. "I never thought I'd see the day."
Her eyes were glossy as she looked back to him. Was she crying? He stood up, confused.
Without hesitation, she pulled him into an embrace.
He heard her sniffle.
She was crying.
Bloody hell, he didn't realize he was that much of a lost cause.
"I, er, well." He patted her back awkwardly.
She took a deep breath and leaned back, her eyes glistening.
"It's wonderful! And I have the most perfect girl in mind—"
"No." No, no, no, no!
"What?"
"No. Dianna, listen to me. In fact, rep
eat after me everything that I'm going to say to you. Are you ready?" He reached down and grasped her hands, leaning forward till he was convinced he had her attention.
Her eyes narrowed, which he considered a yes.
"You are not to meddle." He waited then raised an eyebrow, lowering his chin while he speared her with a patient glare.
"You are not to meddle," she spoke through clenched teeth.
"Mature. You, as in… you. Try again."
"I am not to meddle," she repeated, though her cheeks were bright red and her teeth were still clenched.
"I knew you were smarter than they all claimed."
"Edward," she ground out.
"I, Edward, am the one who will be selecting the bride. Not you."
"I—" she began, intending to mock him.
"Dianna…"
"Very well. You are getting married. You'll pick the bride."
"Thank you. Was that so difficult?" He released her hands.
"Yes. In fact, I believe I'll rest all afternoon from the exertion of this very conversation." She rolled her eyes and backed away.
"Brilliant. I'll have the afternoon to myself."
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean?"
"Once you visited yesterday, I told the duchess and Bethanny of your arrival, and they immediately asked if you would attend the debut—"
"Which I've already agreed to, so I'm not seein—"
"The point? Well, that's because you're interrupting me—"
"I'm not—"
His sister raised an eyebrow and waited.
He closed his mouth.
"Thank you. It would seem that your friend, Clairmont, is not dealing well with Bethanny's debut. His experience being of the darker variety, I imagine he's conjured up all sorts of evil men lurking in the corners having nefarious schemes." She shook her head.
"Clairmont?" he asked, just to make sure they were talking about the same person. He had kept in contact with his good friend but hadn't seen much of him since his marriage. Graham's travels kept him busy, and… well, he assumed Clairmont was busy with other… er… things.
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