He'd never do it.
But it was a delightful thought.
However, it would be prudent to find out some information first… like her name.
The set ended, and Graham cleared his throat and headed to the alcove, hoping to get the blasted introduction over and done with as soon as possible so that he could find his mysterious miss.
Clairmont was already waiting for him, as was his sister.
"Graham, I'm quite disappointed in your tardiness. To think, of all the events you choose to be quite unfashionably late to attend, you choose Bethanny's debut!" Lady Southridge scolded.
"There were… extenuating circumstances."
"Your bloody castle is burnt… not burning," she clipped.
"I only just learned… how did you know?" Graham's irritation at his sister evaporated into suspicion.
Rather than answer, she simply shook her head as if saying, Must we discuss this again?
Which, in all honestly, was the truth. The blasted woman was practically clairvoyant for all the information she seemed to uncover.
Or she simply had very-well-paid servants.
"Ah! Here she is!" Lady Southridge's face transformed from irritation to absolute rapture as Graham could only assume the exquisite Miss Lamont made her way toward them. He cast a final irritated glace to his sister before turning around.
And his heart stopped.
Then stuttered.
Of course, that he'd stopped breathing at the same time didn't help matters.
In fact, he was quite certain that he was having an out-of-body experience as he seemed to watch himself as the whole catastrophic scene unfolded.
No. No, no, no.
Bloody hell. The duke is going to kill me.
And if he did, that would be a kindness, because Graham was quite sure the only other option was burning alive with desire.
The exquisite Bethanny Lamont was none other than his mysterious miss from the duke's balcony.
The very young lady he was supposed to protect… from men like him. And, even though he wasn't aware of who she was, he had already compromised her to an extent, and in doing that, confirmed every single one of the duke's fears.
The very fears he'd been enlisted to help prevent from coming true.
This was a bloody massacre, and he had no idea what to do. As the edges of the ballroom began to grow fuzzy, the duke thumped him on the back.
"Are you well, Graham?" the duke asked, his tone concerned.
And Graham gasped, finally remembering to breathe.
Which was another mistake — adding to his lengthy list this evening — for the air was already permeated with seductive scent of her, reminding him of the softness of her lips, the press of her soft body…
And heaven help him, he could have damned the consequences and all but ravished her right then, if not for the hesitant expression in her eyes.
Hesitation and… guilt?
And at once, Graham felt as if run over by a carriage with six horses and weighed down by bricks. Because Miss Lamont was not shocked at all to see him.
Which could only mean one thing…
While he hadn't recognized her, she had most assuredly recognized him.
Bethanny tried to keep her breathing even as she approached the circle of her family and Lord Graham. His expression would have been amusing had the implications not been so severe. To say he was shocked would have been a gross understatement. She was quite sure the man had stopped breathing, if his gasps at the duke's patting of his back were any indication. Which didn't bode well for her. He was even more handsome than when they had met on the balcony. His golden hair was slightly tousled, adding a bit of a devilish delight to his perfectly chiseled face. His jaw was set, as if angry, but his expression was void of that emotion.
His evening kit was dark and cut to perfection, accentuating his masculine frame. Her earlier assessment had indeed been correct, for he was broader than she remembered. His amber gaze was burning through her, creating the now named sensation of desire she had only just experienced earlier at his hand. It was intoxicating, it was tempting, it was… altogether frightening, because Bethanny knew that Lord Graham was beginning to piece things together. His gaze sharpened, narrowed, and then lit with awareness.
After all, as shocked as he was to see her, she hadn't the slightest surprise in seeing him, which obviously had led him to only one conclusion.
She'd known it was him all along.
But of course she would have remembered him! It was insupportable to think that a man, who had clearly matured already, would change so dramatically in a few years to make him unrecognizable. He looked just the same as he had in all her dreams: golden locks unwilling to bow to conventional style, amber eyes flashing with charm, and dimples that could make a girl melt. That his evening kit accentuated his broad shoulders and the musculature of his legs only heightened the memory.
However, a young lady could easily undergo such a transformation, such is the way of maturity, and Bethanny had blossomed late.
"Bethanny! Aren't you delighted that I reserved that fabric for you? No one will dare wear it after you are shining so brilliantly this evening!" Lady Southridge gushed and strode forward, her expression full of delight and mischief.
Bethanny felt some of her anxiety melt as she looked to her self-declared grandmother. "Yes, you always do have the best eye for color."
"She did have help, you know." Carlotta raised a playful eyebrow and joined their little circle, blocking the view of Lord Graham.
She wasn't quite sure if that was a good or bad thing.
"The gentlemen cannot keep their eyes off of you." Lady Southridge commented, tapping Bethanny lightly on the shoulder with her gloved hand.
"I'm sure His Grace is pleased with such a smashing debut." Lord Graham's voice penetrated the circle as he strode forward, his eyes cold.
Bethanny suppressed a shiver. Perhaps it was better when she couldn't see him.
"Thank you, my lord," Bethanny replied, her heart hammering as she searched his gaze for any warmth, anything that might give her hope.
"Graham, allow me to present my ward, Miss Bethanny Lamont." The duke made a sweeping gesture, and Lord Graham reached out his hand. Bethanny placed her gloved hand in his, her whole body trembling.
"A pleasure, Miss Lamont." He bowed crisply and kissed the air above her hand.
His accusing gaze bore into her, causing her heart to beat with guilt and trepidation. One thing was for certain: he wasn't happy to find out his mysterious miss wasn't so mysterious after all.
But why?
His gaze never left hers. She tilted her head, studying him, searching his gaze for her unspoken questions. His eyes remained distant, cool. One would think they would fairly dance with their secret. After all, if she could see herself, no doubt her eyes would be all but burning with it; however, that spark was snuffed with the ice in his gaze.
Drat the man. Everything was going so well, and he had to go and ruin it.
"Graham, isn't Bethanny lovely?" Lady Southridge asked, her face beaming.
"Yes, I must say I didn't recognize you, Miss Lamont." Lord Graham raised a challenging eyebrow as he continued to gaze at her.
"Ah, time has a way of changing us all, Lord Graham. I do hope that I make a lasting impression this time, however," Bethanny replied, biting back a grin as his eyes narrowed.
"Of course, my dear! How could Graham forget an exquisite vision such as yourself?"
"Indeed," Graham replied dryly.
The duke cleared his throat. "A moment, Graham?"
Lord Graham bowed and stepped away, following the duke a few paces away.
"Graham positively couldn't keep his eyes off of you, my dear," Lady Southridge whispered, pulling Bethanny's attention from the duke and Lord Graham's conversation.
"Oh, I'm sure it's simply that I've changed so much since he last saw me," Bethanny replied, her neck and face flushing with the depth of truth to her
statement.
"Though I must say he appeared quite unsettled," Lady Southridge added.
To say the least… though I can't exactly blame him.
"He did seem to grow pale when he saw you, dear. Perhaps you remind him of someone," Carlotta added, her expression curious and watchful.
Far too watchful.
"What!"
All three ladies turned to the loud exclamation from Lord Graham who was quite upset about something.
What Bethanny wouldn't give to be three feet closer to overhear that conversation.
The duke appeared confused, yet determined, adding to the mystery.
"I say, what could they be discussing to create such a stir?" Lady Southridge murmured.
"Heaven only knows," Carlotta replied with an amused grin.
"True."
The gentlemen made their way the short distance back to the ladies. The duke was grinning; Lord Graham was… not.
Without preamble, Lord Graham addressed Bethanny, "Miss Lamont, I'd be delighted if you'd reserve the supper waltz for me." His expression was anything but delighted, as he'd claimed to be.
Bethanny glanced to the duke who appeared pleased with himself, and then to Carlotta, who was studying Lord Graham with an open skepticism.
"Of course." She nodded slowly.
"If you'll excuse me." He bowed, turned, and left.
Bethanny watched his retreating back with a heavy heart. It was difficult gaining everything she'd wanted, only to have it stolen only a short time after.
She'd wait for the waltz, and then she'd find her answers.
Hopefully he'd be inclined to share.
CHAPTER FOUR
Even as he walked away from Bethanny, he could feel her gaze on his back. He was too close, and being that near to her was already wreaking havoc on his mind. As angry as he was with her, her berry-red lips kept reminding him of her taste; the smooth texture of her skin was then brought to the forefront of his mind as he mentally replayed their kiss over and over.
A kiss he wanted to experience again.
But it was not meant to be.
As if he'd needed another reminder, the duke had pulled him aside and all but forced him to dance the supper set with his ward. Of course, that wouldn't have been an issue, but the reason he wanted Graham to do it, that was the problem.
He wanted Graham to dance with her so that her first waltz would be with someone he trusted, someone he knew wouldn't take advantage.
Ha.
Advantage.
Because kissing her on a deserted balcony was a supreme idea for protecting.
Of course, he hadn't spilled his secret to his friend. He had no desire to be hung, maimed, or called out on a duel.
However, his guilt had caused him to lose his composure slightly.
But hopefully, no one had paid attention to his loud question.
At least no one who didn't already question his sanity, i.e., his sister and, now included in that exclusive club, Bethanny Lamont.
"Bloody hell," he whispered to himself. The evening was a disaster. And as if it couldn't get worse, he heard the first strains of the supper waltz.
"Better get this over with," he murmured again, closing his eyes for a moment, simply to gather his wits. He'd need them.
As he strode over to where Bethanny waited, his eyes narrowed. Already she was surrounded with suitors, no doubt all vying for her attention. The hot stir of jealousy reared its ugly head once again. Against his better judgment, he straightened his shoulders and went into the fray.
"Miss Lamont? I believe this is our waltz." Graham offered her his most charming smile. Just as he'd intended, the group of young bucks began to back away, their expression crestfallen.
Had he ever been that green? Dear Lord, he hoped not.
"Of course, my lord," Bethanny spoke softly, her brown eyes glancing down so that her dark lashes brushed against her cheeks, which were now tinged with a becoming shade of rose.
She was far too beautiful for her own good.
And he was far too much of a rake to be put in a position where he had to be honorable.
Self-control had never been so difficult.
She was silent as he led her to the dance floor. He turned to face her and slowly placed his hand on her hip. Even through the folds of her dress, he could feel the warmth of her skin. He immediately remembered teaching her to waltz, but there was no similarity to the girl she had been and the woman before him.
Except the eyes.
Her brown depths were the same rich color yet full of experience that belied her youth. Her form was perfection, a dream in his arms. Even the slight lack of grace with which she danced didn't lighten the atmosphere about them. Everything about her pulled him in. The entire waltz was a creation of torture; it unmanned him yet created the most arousing sensation of pleasure he'd experienced in some time, possibly ever.
Needing to distract himself, he grasped her hand and began leading.
Then promptly stepped on her toe.
"My apologies," he whispered, croaked actually, because he wasn't exactly in command of himself at the moment.
Bloody hell, it could only get worse.
"Of course," she murmured, her gaze fixed on his cravat.
Graham continued the attempt to pull himself together and was failing miserably when she spoke.
"I… forgive me, my lord. It's quite apparent that you did not recognize me from earlier. I am sorry for any discomfort that may have caused you," she said softly.
"I must say, I was indeed… surprised." Graham cleared his throat. Surprised? He was bloody well shocked to the point of suffocation.
She was silent then, her gaze shifting to the dancers surrounding them.
"You didn't… seem surprised, that is?" he asked, voicing the question plaguing him.
"I wasn't," she answered immediately, her gaze meeting his. Her chin tilted up defiantly.
"Oh." Because what else could one say? "But then that would mean that…"
Her eyebrow arched in challenge for him to finish his thought.
Good Lord.
She'd known who he was and kissed him anyway!
Or had she kissed him because of it?
"Miss Lamont—"
"Bethanny, if you don't mind, my lord." Her voice was as exquisite as her body, melodic and alluring, a siren call if he ever had heard one.
"Beth — no, Miss Lamont. You mustn't let gentlemen be so familiar with you." He shook his head and scolded, aiming the chastisement at himself as well. He could not call her by her first name. It would be foolish and punishing. A first name implied certain intimacies… and in his current state of desire, he couldn't help but imagine those intimacies in bright detail.
"But it's you." She shrugged, calling his attention back to the conversation.
"Yes but—"
"And I believe, if I may be so bold to say, I am familiar with you, my lord." She smiled flirtatiously.
Blast it all, the chit had a point. But he was not going to admit that.
"But that doesn't mean…" He sighed in exasperation. "You still shouldn't let me call you by your name."
"But I like it." Her grin widened as her eyes danced.
"Good Lord, Bethanny — Miss Lamont — you cannot… you cannot say such things!"
Why was the ballroom so hot! His cravat was all but choking him, and for the second time that evening, he was struggling to breathe.
One thing was for certain, Bethanny Lamont was not good for his health.
She sincerely might be the death of him.
But oh, what a way to go.
"Why?" She shrugged delicately.
"Because the gentleman in question might take that as an invitation." Graham cleared his throat. He certainly would take it as an invitation, and if she were anyone else, he would run with that invitation… preferably to a very dark and deserted corner.
"Then the gentleman in question would finally be getting the point," she shot ba
ck, a smile teasing her lips.
"Pardon?" He almost choked on the word. Was she that bold?
"You. You are the gentleman in question, in case I wasn't clear enough."
"You were bloo — acutely clear. I say, are you always this bold?"
"No." She shook her head slightly, causing the coffee-colored curls to bounce delicately.
"I should hope not. No wonder your guardian was having a fit about your come out," Graham mostly said to himself.
"Oh, yes… he can be quite protective. But it's all done with a good heart, you understand. He was quite the rake, you know."
Graham felt his jaw drop.
"Er, yes… and in case you haven't heard, I have been known to be one myself."
"I'm aware." She shrugged.
"And yet you still bait me?" Graham felt his eyes narrow.
"I'm not baiting you, as you say. I'm simply being honest."
"Yes, well, perhaps it would be wise for you to not be so honest."
"Because you're a rake?"
"Yes."
"And you'll take shameless advantage of my inexperience?" she asked with a knowing grin, her gaze dancing with delight over knowing she'd bested him.
"Er…"
"Yes, because we simply couldn't have that happen… again. No, I'm quite sure I did not enjoy that kiss." As if to punctuate her point, she bit her lower lip then licked it as her gaze dropped to her slippers.
If her cheeks hadn't bloomed with color at her daring statement, Graham would have thought her a shameless flirt, the worst kind. Yet his instinct told him that she was doing exactly as she'd said, being honest.
Lord knew he could only take so much honesty before he went mad with it and did something brash.
Like kiss her again… in the middle of the crowded ballroom.
"Enjoyment doesn't equal affection," he forced himself to say, knowing that it was a lie. No, if this conversation was any indicator, he could very easily have more than attraction for the young lady.
"No, but it doesn't mean it isn't possible," she spoke bravely, her gaze once more meeting his.
To Tempt an Earl Page 5
