Clairmont walked a few paces to his window and gazed out.
"Neville and Somter have taken their leave," he commented, no doubt seeing their departure from his window as it faced the street.
"About bloody time," Graham whispered lowly.
"I say you're bloody talking to yourself all the time. Should I be concerned?" Clairmont spoke snidely.
Graham offered him a bland smile and took a lingering sip of brandy—
"What did you think of Bethanny?"
And promptly choked.
"Graham?"
It was a ring of fire in his throat, burning as it descended into his stomach and scorching his lungs as he coughed and sputtered.
"Damn it all, don't waste my good brandy by breathing it in." The duke shook his head as Graham tried to gain a semblance of composure.
"It wasn't that difficult of a question."
"No, no I simply…" Graham began to explain but another fit of coughing overtook him.
"Are you going to live through it, then?" Clairmont spoke sardonically.
"Through sheer force of will," Graham ground out, his throat still on fire.
Clairmont laughed.
"You're a lot of bloody help."
"I'm not the one who breathes brandy."
Graham glared; after all, what could he say? Clairmont was right. At least he didn't know why he'd breathed in the brandy.
"Now, if you're once again in control of yourself, I'd like to know the answer to my question." Clairmont rocked on his heels.
"What question?" Graham asked, though he knew the question full well.
"What did you think of Bethanny?"
"Ah." Graham stood and took a few steps toward the fire. Shrugging slightly, he replied, "I am in agreement with you."
"Oh?"
"Yes, I was just told a few moments ago that I was only allowed to be on your side. So therefore, my opinion must align with yours," Graham teased.
"Nodcock."
"Why, thank you."
"Honestly, though."
"I appreciate your sentimental name calling."
"Not that. Damn, you're damn irritating. You know that?"
"I know."
"So?"
"So what?"
"I swear, I feel as though I'm talking with Berty, when she was seven!"
"Delightful child."
"Pain in my… er… yes. Delightful child," Clairmont amended, a wry grin teasing his features as he shook his head. "If you please." He exhaled.
Graham sighed in defeat. So much for trying to distract him from the question. It was a simple enough answer, but he didn't know if he could keep the truth, the raw honesty of it, from leaking through his tone and being noticed.
"She's… exquisite." Graham breathed, turning to the fire lest the Duke see the longing in his eyes.
"She is. You didn't recognize her, did you?" Clairmont offered lightly.
"No."
Graham heard Clairmont's footsteps till he saw him out of the corner of his eye, standing beside him as he gazed into the fire as well.
"Tell me the truth, no sides, no sarcasm. Are my fears founded?" Clairmont asked with sincerity to his tone that pierced through Graham.
Because Graham was the wolf that Clairmont was concerned about.
He was exactly everything the duke wanted to protect Bethanny from.
But Clairmont was his friend, his best friend. And he'd not betray that, regardless of how much he wanted to.
"Your fears are most assuredly founded, my friend," Graham replied, closing his eyes.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Clairmont murmured.
Me too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Are they gone, then? Beatrix poked her head into the salon, asking the question only after making certain that she was only asking the obvious.
"Indeed." Bethanny sighed, exhausted. Who knew entertaining could be so tiring?
"Anything interesting happen?" Beatrix asked, her face alight with curiosity and wonder.
"Ah, no. Wait. Yes!" Bethanny leaned forward and watched her sister's smile grow as she hurried to sit next to her.
"What happened?"
"You've heard of Lord Neville, correct?"
"The recluse?"
"Yes!"
"Was he here?" Beatrix asked.
"Yes, and he was by far my favorite."
"But I thought—"
Bethanny reached out and covered her sister's mouth with her hand.
"Hush!"
Beatrix nodded, and Bethanny removed her hand. "Sorry."
"Not like that."
"That?" Beatrix's brow furrowed in confusion.
"He rescued me." Bethanny shrugged, watching closely as her sister's expression became shocked and brimmed with expectation.
"How so?"
"Well, Lord Somter was quite determined to converse the entire afternoon away. And when I say converse, I mean he was the one talking, the only one talking."
"What a bother." Beatrix rolled her eyes.
"Indeed. Well…" Bethanny went on to explain the whole fiasco to Beatrix, who giggled with delight.
"He sounds perfect." Beatrix sighed.
"For someone, but not me," Bethanny replied honestly.
"Did you happen to see… Mr. Perfect?" Beatrix asked, her expression teasing.
"Yes… in fact, I did. And he was quite improper." Bethanny bit her lip.
"What?" Beatrix's eyes widened.
"Don't fuss. It was all in fun. In fact, I was waiting in here because he said he'd return. But it's getting late, and I don't think he's going to make good on his word."
"Perhaps he's simply speaking with the duke."
"He said as much."
"Carlotta says that those two together chatter like old dowagers." Beatrix shook her head and giggled.
"She does not." Bethanny gently pushed her sister's shoulder, grinning.
"Yes, she said it to me earlier when she saw them disappear into the duke's study."
"Hmm… is he still there?"
"I'm not sure… but I'm certain we can find out." Beatrix smiled wickedly and stood. "Well, are you coming?" she challenged, her eyes dark and mischievous.
Bethanny exhaled, debating. "Yes," she answered hesitantly. The last thing she wanted was to be caught searching for him.
Even if it was the truth. A lady had her pride.
"Berty is with Carlotta, so we can be ever so quiet," Beatrix whispered as she eased the door open and glanced out.
"I say, that girl is louder than elephants," Bethanny whispered.
Beatrix shot her a look of complete agreement and gasped.
Without warning, Bethanny was shoved into the hall.
Directly in front of the duke and Lord Graham.
Wide-eyed, she simply blinked at the gentlemen, who were now regarding her with a mix of alarm and puzzlement.
She was going to murder her sister.
"Bethanny, didn't see you there, er, have all your swains left then?" the duke began, his expression no longer surprised.
That she was able to shock him at all was quite impressive.
"Y-yes, Your Grace." Bethanny stammered, her eyes darting between the duke and Lord Graham.
"Ah, the little boys all went home, did they?" Graham's eyes gleamed with amusement, adding to the already enticing dimpling grin he was displaying.
"What the devil are you talking about, Graham? You honestly can't think that she'd want to marry someone as old as you, can you?" the duke huffed, his expression intolerant.
Graham's dimples disappeared.
Bethanny grinned.
"There is something to be said about maturity, Your Grace," Bethanny offered, dipping her gaze to the floor with a flutter of her lashes.
"There's a distinct difference between maturity and age, darling. Many gentlemen may have one, but not necessarily the other," the duke corrected kindly.
Bethanny glanced up, first meeting Lord Graham's gaze, which was heavy with awareness. His a
mber-colored eyes were warm, yet restless, as if fighting some internal battle.
Not wanting to betray her affections, she turned to the duke and his warm blue gaze that bespoke the affection he harbored for her and her sisters.
"Indeed," she agreed.
"However, I would have to say that Graham has exceeded my expectations and has reached a level of maturity I did not anticipate." The duke turned to his friend, a wry grin tipping his lips.
"Your kind words set my heart to fluttering," Graham replied sarcastically.
"I'm sure it's more of a compliment than you'd hear from your sister," the duke dared.
"In saying that, you're implying that my sister has something important of which to notify me, and I find that exceedingly unlikely."
"For shame!" Bethanny scolded before she thought better of herself.
Both gentlemen turned to her with surprised expressions.
"Forgive me," she paused, then soldiered through, "but your sister is a dear woman who loves you, and you as well, Your Grace. Her attempts to display that affection are oft times…" She tried to think of the correct word.
"Ludicrous?" the duke offered in a helpful tone.
"Fraught with terror?" Graham added a moment later.
"Abhorrent?" the duke tried again.
"Meddlesome," Bethanny ground out, her tone impatient.
Lord Graham snorted.
"However, the end result is not a testament of the depth, the intention is," Bethanny finished.
"Ah, well said, my dear." the duke nodded sagely.
"Er, yes," Lord Graham agreed, somewhat reluctantly.
Bethanny smothered a grin.
"Oh, don't let propriety steal your amusement at my expense, Miss Lamont." Graham held out his hand in a welcoming gesture. "By all means, dazzle us with your beautiful smile," he challenged in a teasing tone.
Unable to restrain herself, Bethanny allowed her smile to break free, along with a small spell of laughter.
"I say, are all your wards this outspoken?" Graham mock-whispered to the duke.
"Yes, I blame Carlotta."
Graham nodded sagely.
"And your sister."
"Quite right," Graham agreed
A moment of silence descended in the hall, a stalemate.
"I do believe I will bid you farewell." Graham bowed then turned to his friend, grasping his hand and shaking it.
"Very well," the duke replied. "You will be at the Symores' rout later this week?"
"Er, yes." Graham responded, but not before cutting a quick glance to Bethanny. It was far too quick for her to read its possible meaning.
Drat.
"Until then." The duke nodded and strode down the hall then paused. "Beatrix? Am I mistaken, or do you have studies to attend to?" He didn't even turn around, simply spoke aloud.
Bethanny turned and watched a very flushed Beatrix step out from the large fern and make her way down the hall. "Yes, Your Grace," she murmured, turned around and winked at Bethanny, then carried on behind the duke.
"Minx of a little sister you have there," Graham commented.
"You have no idea." Bethanny shook her head.
"Did you enjoy your afternoon?" Lord Graham asked, his golden eyes drawing her in.
"Some moments more than others," Bethanny offered with what she hoped was a flirtatious grin.
"Ah, I suppose a lady is entitled to selecting her amusements."
"Indeed. I must say, though…" she leaned in slightly, overjoyed when his eyes glinted in merriment and he leaned in as well, "Lord Neville is quite the unexpected hero," she teased, hoping to provoke a reaction.
"Neville?" Graham repeated, his tone tight.
"Yes. Perhaps later this week at the Symores' rout I'll share my diverting tale." Bethanny gave him a saucy grin, turned and walked away.
As she took a few steps, she bit her lip in anxiety, praying that her ploy had worked.
She had only made it seven steps before she felt a tug on her hand. Her heart racing and her skin feverish with awareness, she turned. Lord Graham's dimples were in full force, adding to the captivating smile and straight white teeth he boasted. The cut of his jaw somehow accentuated the shape of his eyes.
Bethanny tried not to hold her breath—
But failed.
"You cannot say such things and expect for me to be patient." He shook his head and tugged her hand till she followed him. He glanced down the hall and pulled her into a room, one she knew wasn't used as often. The pale yellow parlor was small, and therefore remained unoccupied most of the time, making it the perfect place for a bit of privacy.
"I choose to keep my diverting tales till a later time," Bethanny teased. "And I fear there is nothing you can do, Lord Graham, that will change my mind. Consider this fair warning." She raised a daring eyebrow.
"A challenge? I accept." Lord Graham released her hand and bowed. "I've uncovered a fair share of secrets, Miss Lamont. Consider this my warning." He reached down and grasped her hand once more and pulled her in toward him. "Some secrets are worth more than others. Just how much should I risk in trying to uncover yours?" he whispered, his eyes roaming her face, sending shivers of anticipation through her.
"I don't know many secrets, I hate to waste your valuable time," Bethanny responded, thankful her tone wasn't as breathless as she felt.
"Hmm… tell me about Neville," he murmured, and reached up and traced the lines of her neck with his gloved hand. The smooth texture of his glove felt like silk against her skin, cool yet leaving her feverish.
"What about him?" Bethanny asked, curling her hands into fists till her nails bit into her flesh, hoping it would help keep her wits about her.
"Did he rescue you? That's what I've been told."
"Perhaps. I do believe you've also been told that you'll learn the full story later. Are you so impatient?" she asked, then felt a daring grin tug at her lips. Slowly she reached up and ran her palms across his shoulder and down his arm, tracing his form.
Lord Graham's teeth clenched.
Bethanny grinned wider.
"Two can play, Miss Lamont."
"Undoubtedly." She shrugged and bit her lip, glancing down at her own boldness.
"I never expected you'd grow into someone so stubborn," he spoke after a moment, his caramel-colored eyes searching hers as she raised her gaze to meet his.
"We all change."
"Indeed."
"Some more than others," she added with a grin.
"Yes… well." Lord Graham appeared uncomfortable and took a step back, clearing his throat.
"Lord Graham, I do believe you're blushing," she teased.
"I am not." He looked offended.
Bethanny didn't believe him. "You must know that I do not hold the fact that you did not recognize me against you. Don't you? I'm quite aware that I don't look very similar to the young girl you left behind."
Lord Graham cleared his throat." Dear Lord, what am I doing?" he murmured softly and turned.
"Wait," Bethanny called out as he started for the door.
He paused but didn't turn, his head hanging as if berating himself.
Bethanny strode forward and placed a hand at his back, encouraging him to turn. He obeyed, his eyes tormented.
"Yes?" he asked hesitantly.
"Don't," Bethanny commanded softly.
"Pardon?" His golden brows furrowed, giving him the expression of a confused Greek god.
"Just… don't. Because all the things you're berating yourself for are the very things I'll be dreaming about tonight," she whispered, praying her confession of bold truths wouldn't leave her brokenhearted.
"You don't know me." He shook his head.
She reached up and cradled his face in her hands. "Yes, Lord Graham, I do. I know you, I know your family, I know your friends, and, more so, I know you deeper because of how I've come to know you through them." Softly she reached up and kissed his cheek. "And for me, that is enough."
Lord Graham
was still as she whispered her final words. She backed away a step and waited.
He regarded her softly, as if unsure yet hoping, wanting to believe her. Then, just as she was afraid he'd leave without another word, he reached out and grasped her hand.
"Until later," he murmured. Tugging on each individual finger of her glove, he slowly removed the soft leather from her hand, never once breaking eye contact.
The soft halo of light gold in the middle of his amber gaze was illuminated with a delicious seduction that held her captive. She gasped softly, remembering the life-giving breath she was so desperately in need of, and struggled to continue her rhythmic intake. Slowly, feeding the already swirling anticipation, he raised her hand and kissed her wrist, allowing his soft lips to graze along the sensitive flesh before pressing another warm and alluring kiss. His nose drew a lazy circle as his warm breath tickled her skin.
Straightening his posture, he gently handed her back the removed glove and winked then walked away.
Bethanny's gaze greedily took in the strong shape of his shoulders and how they tapered to a trim waist. The soft thump of his boots on the floor helped slow the rapid cadence of her heartbeat.
Later couldn't arrive soon enough.
Graham tapped his boot on the wooden floor. Though the sound was of his own making, it annoyed him all the same. So he stood and paced.
Bloody hell.
It had been two days since he had last seen Bethanny, and he was acting like a caged tiger, so desperate was he for the sight of her. He had fought back and forth, a civil war within himself, over the reasons he should or shouldn't pursue the consuming attraction toward the girl.
Because she was a girl, young, untainted, pure.
Honestly, his antithesis. She deserved far better than he, yet he found that he wanted her all the same.
Which was only proof of the depravity of his soul.
Oh, he hadn't been too bad…
Or perhaps he had, but regardless, he never thought a deb would ever wield such power over him. It was… unsettling.
Yet he was powerless to stop it.
He needed to clear his head. But so far nothing had worked — not brandy, not cards at White's, nor riding breakneck speed through Hyde Park. He desired no woman save the one he shouldn't want. And he wasn't a fool enough to think a quick tumble with another would solve anything; rather, he was quite certain it would make matters worse.
To Tempt an Earl Page 8
