"Yes, I will. I'll be her bloody guardian angel if I need to be. There's nothing you have to fear." Graham stood and shook his friend's hand.
"Thank you, and in return, I'll ask Carlotta to give you the names of few good women of the ton. Your sister could do the same, but I'd trust Carlotta's taste over Dianna's."
"I agree wholeheartedly." Graham nodded.
"I thought you might." Clairmont grinned.
"Yes, well, I'd best be going. I will see you at the ball."
"Until the ball," echoed Clairmont.
Graham took his leave, his boots making short work of the stairs that led from the duke's resident to his awaiting carriage. Once inside, he released a pent-up breath.
Though the envy still stirred slightly, he felt a pinch of pity for his good friend. If his ward, Bethanny, was as beautiful as he'd said, then he had good reason to worry. But in Graham's experience, the father, or in his case, guardian, usually looked at the girl with a jaded view. While it was possible she was as perfect as Clairmont thought, it was very unlikely.
However, it mattered not. Because it wouldn't change his resolution to watch out for her this season. And who knew? Perhaps while watching out for her, he'd come across his future countess. It was entirely possible. So with a slight shrug, Graham glanced out across the flurry of passing buildings as he made his way back to his residence. An errant thought tickled his mind before dismissing it.
He hoped he recognized Bethanny. He wouldn't be much help unless he knew which debutant to keep an eye on. But, as soon as the thought passed through his mind, he dismissed it. After all, it was her ball. He'd have to be bloody blind to miss her.
CHAPTER TWO
Now that the whirlwind of activity had ebbed slightly, her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for his face. Hundreds of London's most elite were gathered in the duke's grand ballroom, but, of course, the one she was searching for was absent. He was late. Very late. If he were coming at all. But her heart whispered assurances that he would be there. After all, he had promised the duke.
And when one promised something to a duke, they followed through. Didn't they?
With a hopeful heart, she cast a final glance about the room then sighed heavily when her hope was met with defeat.
"Are you well, dear?" Carlotta, Duchess of Clairmont asked, her voice soft and kind, concern lacing the tone.
"Yes, I am. Simply… overwhelmed," Bethanny answered, and it was the truth.
Just simply not the whole truth.
"It is quite the crush." Carlotta gazed about the room, her eyes slightly wide.
Crush was an understatement. Of all the invitations they had sent out, not one had been refused. In fact, she was quite certain there were people here that most had only heard about, never actually seen.
Rumors, or ghosts of the ton.
Like the Viscount Neville.
It was well known among the ton that he had gone into seclusion after the death of his betrothed. Although the rumors abounded, no one seemed to know the full story. The speculation ranged from murder to a quick demise brought on by a broken heart in finding him with another woman.
Honestly, Bethanny hadn't paid much mind to the gossip surrounding him. But he was far more handsome than she'd anticipated. In a word, he was dark. Jet-black hair, olive skin, and, from this distance, even dark eyes shaded by severe eyebrows.
And a gaze that was met by her own. He lifted a dark brow as if questioning her.
Quickly, Bethanny glanced away. She was curious for heaven's sake, not interested.
After a moment she dared a glance back, curiosity overwhelming her good sense. Thankfully, he had turned his attention to Lord Benbrooke.
Indeed, everyone was in attendance save the one she wanted.
Suppressing the urge to sigh, she felt Carlotta grasp her hand lightly. "There is no reason to be anxious. You're a huge success," she whispered encouragingly.
Bethanny offered her a confident smile.
But her heart was anything but.
"I think I need some air," Bethanny spoke after a moment. Perhaps if she simply cleared her head, she'd be able to be more circumspect.
Carlotta glanced to her, her expression curious and distrusting.
"I'm in my own home. Honestly, I'm not going to wait in a darkened corner for some rake to assault me. I'll go around to the part of the house closed off from guests. I'll be perfectly safe," Bethanny assured.
Carlotta's eyes narrowed for a moment. "I'll go with you—"
"No, it will seem far less conspicuous if I'm alone. If you're with me…" Bethanny let her words drift. "Forgive my interruption," she added belatedly, abashed at her rudeness. After all, Carlotta was a duchess, and one did not interrupt someone of such high rank.
"I understand. " Carlotta regarded her then nodded. "I understand, but you must not be gone long."
"I'll only be gone a short time. I promise. I just… I just need a moment to myself." Without giving Carlotta a chance to change her mind, she spun on her slippers and walked away.
Bethanny felt Carlotta's gaze on her back as she meandered her way through the crush. She didn't want to appear in a hurry; she'd only draw attention. Slowly, she made her way to the edge of the ballroom, having only stopped for conversation twice. Each time it had been a gentleman, the wrong gentleman. Of course, it would be impossible for the right gentleman to speak to her, him being absent and all. Thankfully, all that had been needed was short polite conversation and a winning smile, and she'd been on her way.
Quietly, she walked down the hall, passing a few ladies and offering them a humble smile as they nodded in her direction. She placed her hand on the cool knob of the door to the powder room and cautiously glanced behind her. The women were just rounding the corner… and were out of sight. Quickly, she lifted her skirts and darted down the hall, passing three doors, till she came to the one she was looking for. Silently, she turned the knob and entered one of their many sitting rooms; however, this particular room had an adjoining door to another sitting room, which opened to a separate hall. After making her way through both rooms and into the secluded hall, she exhaled a deep sigh.
It wasn't to be this way.
It was her debut; it was her night. It was to be perfect, and it… was not. Chiding herself for being so selfish, she'd rather focused on remembering her guardian's pride as she'd been announced. The duke and duchess had beamed, and the crowded ballroom had hushed as her moment arrived. Every eye had been on her, every gaze but the very one she was anticipating the most.
Irritated that she was back where she'd started, she strode down the hall, past the duke's study and out to a small balcony that few knew existed. The cool night air felt refreshing on her skin, prickling it with a chill that was welcome after being confined in the crush earlier. The night was full dark, the only light a half-moon arched in the sky, offering silver beams. Her skirts whispered against the marbled floor as she made her way to the rail. Resting her hands upon the cool stone, she gazed out into the garden, seeing nothing, but giving her mind freedom to wander. As a moment passed, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the world began to shimmer.
"I wasn't aware that this part of the house was open to the guests." A rich masculine voice startled her from her musing.
"Pardon?" Bethanny immediately stood, straightened her posture, and felt the wild gallop of her heart.
This couldn't be good.
She was alone, with a stranger, on a secluded balcony.
The duke was going to murder her.
If she made it out without being ruined.
Dear Lord.
"It is not. What, might I ask, are you doing here?" she asked in her firmest tone.
"I only just arrived, and, after the evening I've had, found I needed a moment to regain my composure. I'm a friend of the duke and am quite certain I'm allowed on his private balcony. What about you?" he asked, a slightly teasing tone to his voice.
Bethanny narrowed her eyes. They h
ad adjusted to the dim light, and as recognition dawned, her heart hammered in her chest.
Graham.
"I'm quite certain I'm permitted to be here as well," she responded, not quite knowing what to say. Did he recognize her? Was he simply teasing because he already had figured out who she was?
"Ah, a friend of the duchess then?" he asked lightly as he made his way toward her.
He definitely did not recognize her.
However, she couldn't determine if this was a bad thing or a good one. And it was rather dark. After a moment's deliberating, she decided to play along.
What could it hurt?
"You could say that." She shrugged. Then, feeling mischievous, she lowered her gaze and offered her most flirtations smile, hoping his eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could perhaps notice it.
At least she hoped it was flirtatious.
After a moment, she risked a glance up to his shadowed features; a playful grin was tipping his lips and showed off the fairest hint of those beloved dimples she so fondly remembered.
She sighed… inwardly, of course.
"It's quite a nice view, peaceful, if I may say so." He came to stand beside her.
He was taller than she remembered, and possibly broader as well, but she couldn't be sure with the faint light.
"Exactly why I came to this very place."
"Is it quite the crush inside then?" he asked. There was a slight lilt to his voice, not quite a brogue, but not the crisp English she was accustomed to hearing. He must spend quite a bit of time at his estate in Edinburgh to have taken on the faint accent.
She would have to thank Lady Southridge later for all the helpful information regarding her brother.
"Crush would be an understatement," she replied too quickly, her tone a bit wry.
"Not a fan of the crowds?" he asked, his tone light. "Or were there far too many gentlemen seeking the attentions of so beautiful a lady?"
Even in the darkness, his gaze was powerful, spearing right through her causing a myriad of strange sensations to swirl around in her belly.
"Or perhaps I simply wanted a moment to myself." she answered, her tone far more breathless than she would have liked.
"Perhaps." He shrugged.
"You don't believe me." She narrowed her eyes.
"No," he replied, unfazed.
"Why ever not?" Bethanny asked, turning to face him fully.
"In my experience, ladies do not visit deserted balconies unless they wish to be found."
Slightly shaking her head, Bethanny replied, "Which is exactly why I choose to use the private balcony? The one closed off from the party?" she asked in a disbelieving tone.
"Well…"
"I thought not." She shrugged her shoulder, a smile teasing her lips at besting him.
"You're a cheeky one," he replied, his tone holding a hint of awe.
"I prefer intelligent."
"Yes, I believe you would." He nodded, his grin widening.
"That sounded dangerously like an insult, my lord," she teased.
"No, no insult… simply… delayed respect."
"Respect?" Bethanny asked with a dubious tone.
"Indeed. Certainly a lovely lady such as yourself has to be aware that social functions can be quite… tedious."
"I'm sure the duke will be thrilled you think so highly of his party," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.
"You mistake my meaning. People can be tedious. Petty even. It's simply… refreshing to speak with a woman who doesn't fall into those categories."
"I do believe that was a compliment."
"It was, and you should take it as such."
"Why, thank you." Bethanny stepped back and performed a deep curtsey, as if being presented at court.
"And a sense of humor to boot. I might have to actually find out your name." Graham chuckled, his dimples in full view.
"And ruin the mystery? I think not." Bethanny rose from her curtsey, her heart pounding.
"I do love a good mystery."
"Avid reader?" Bethanny asked.
"Yes… but that's not what I was referring to."
His posture changed, as did his expression, and at once, Bethanny's heart took flight because some instinct, some feminine awareness told her with all certainty that he was no longer simply teasing an innocent.
He was pursuing.
"Oh?" Her tone was breathless to her own ears, and she silently scolded herself for the betrayal of weakness.
"So, mysterious miss of the duke's balcony…" he teased, offering her a dramatic nickname.
"Is that the best you can come up with? Mysterious miss of the duke's balcony?" she asked, a laugh escaping her restraint.
"I thought it was quite clever myself." Graham paused his pursuit, his smile widening.
"It sounds like a Gothic novel."
"You know, you're quite right. I could have a future there if I ever so desire."
"Writing?"
"Gad, no. Offering my service for creating titles."
"I'm not sure that's a lucrative endeavor."
"Perhaps." He shrugged and took another step forward. "But you must admit, you'd be curious hearing that title. I know my curiosity is quite piqued."
Bethanny took a deep breath, as deep as her corset allowed, and drew up all her courage. "Perhaps. I might be curious… but there would have to be something more than a catchy title, my lord." She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but it was a game she had dreamed of playing since she'd first seen Lord Graham.
The memory of him trading banter with Berty over dinner one night flashed to her memory. Most lords wouldn't give a little girl the time of day, yet Lord Graham had traded wit with her, enjoying himself even. Bethanny had been envious of her little sister's ability to bait him. She'd sworn that someday she'd have her turn.
That day had finally come.
It didn't matter that he didn't recognize her. Regardless, he was still there speaking with her.
And for now, that was enough.
She opened her mouth to speak, but her nerves got the best of her and, rather than speak, she dropped her fan.
Likely because she had forgotten she had brought it in the first place.
It clattered to the floor lightly, and she closed her eyes in embarrassment at her own clumsiness.
"Allow me," Lord Graham spoke.
"No I've—" Bethanny's eyes flew open as she knelt down to retrieve her fan.
As luck would have it, her elbow soundly clocked Lord Graham's head as he rose from retrieving the offending object.
"Ow!" He reached up to rub the surely sore area.
"I'm so sorry!" Bethanny spoke, horrified.
"Blo—er… ah, that... is fine, miss." He closed his eyes a moment, likely from the dull pain her elbow had needlessly inflicted on his person.
"I'm ever so sorry, my lord!" Bethanny felt her face heat with a scarlet blush that had to make her practically glow. She certainly felt like it. Without thinking, she reached up to his scalp and felt for the knot, her thumb grazing slightly over the skin as to not cause him discomfort, much like she had done a million times to her sisters.
But Lord Graham was most definitely not her sister…
Her hands stilled as she realized just what she was doing. "Forgive me, my lord." She quickly withdrew her hands and took a step back, belatedly realizing just how close she had been to him. The scent of cinnamon and cedar hung in the air, wrapping a spell of enticement around her, beckoning her to come closer. She started to take a step back, away from the temptation, but his hand at her back stopped her.
Practically burned through her, or so it felt.
"I'm quite well. However, I thank you for your concern," he whispered, his voice intimate.
"I—I'm usually not quite so… graceless," Bethanny answered, her thoughts muddled by the intense gaze with which he captivated her. In the moonlight, his amber eyes were silver, his golden-hued skin a soft buttery gold. He was beautiful..
"I'm quite thankful you are… you see, I was trying to find some excuse to hold you, and you neatly provided me with the perfect opportunity," he murmured, his gaze leaving hers and traveling down the line of her jaw and the curve of her nose before resting on her lips.
Dear Lord, he is going to kiss me.
"I do think you could have done without the knot I gave you at the top of your head," she replied, her words teasing but her tone far from it.
"A small price to pay." He shrugged. "However, I do believe there is a custom, when one gets an injury."
"Oh?"
"Indeed, usually, the injured party is given a kiss."
"Is that so? Silly me. I thought that was only practiced in the nursery." Bethanny raised a challenging eyebrow as her heart raced, beating an excited rhythm that hoped he would make good on his word and, indeed, kiss her. However, it would never do to appear too eager.
"I have it on good authority that it is still practiced outside of the nursery as well… so, being with tradition and all, I would appreciate a kiss." His dimples deepened as his smile widened then relaxed as his gaze once again became deep and soulful, searching hers.
"I cannot see the harm in upholding tradition. If you'll simply bow your head—" Bethanny began, knowing full well that was not his intention.
"Of course."
And before Bethanny could even close her eyes, his lips caressed hers. The touch was soft, lingering and velvety. His warm breath tickled as he drew back slightly. Her eyes, which hadn't closed, gazed directly at his. As if spoken out loud, his gaze asked for permission to kiss her again. At her slight nod, his lips met hers once more; however, this time, Bethanny closed her eyes, not wanting anything to distract from her first kiss, and as she had always hoped, it was from Lord Graham.
Graham was trying to not show his surprise that the mysterious miss on the duke's balcony — he still thought it was a clever title — was an innocent. Though, it wasn't a bad surprise, it was still quite shocking to him. He rather thought she was at least experienced beyond a first kiss. However, as she gazed at him just before he met her lips, he saw the uncertainty, the unsophistication in her expression that told him to tread carefully. And so he did, pressing the softest, most harmless kiss to her lips that he had ever given. Normally innocents didn't attract him, but… she was different. From the first moment when he'd seen her on the balcony, her very presence had called to him, challenged him; rather, he enjoyed her company. He wasn't accustomed to enjoying a woman's company, outside the bedroom, that is. But she was refreshing, witty, intelligent, and even in the pale light of the moon, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
To Tempt an Earl Page 3
