Bethanny's heart hammered with anticipation and fear.
Fear because the last time he'd kissed her, it had been followed by astounding rejection. Of course, he hadn't been aware of her identity then.
Now he was.
And he wanted to kiss her anyway.
The idea made the moment even sweeter.
"Miss Lamont." Graham toyed with the leather reins, his brow furrowed and uncertain.
Bethanny's heartbeat stuttered.
"I find I'm now questioning my impulsive nature—"
Not letting another moment pass, Bethanny gently reached up and ran her finger down his jawline and softly encouraged him to turn his head. His eyes were tortured, uncertain. She only hoped it was because he was trying to be more honorable than he ought… not because he didn't want her.
Yet he had said he liked her earlier; in fact, implied far more than that. So without any more hesitation, she slowly leaned forward, gaging his reaction. His expression changed from uncertainty to a smoldering passionate gaze that warmed her from her toes to the tip of her head.
Slowly, he leaned forward. Bethanny closed her eyes and memorized the soft press of his lips to hers. The kiss was so light, so soft that it was over almost before it began. Bethanny waited, eyes closed and her heart hammering with anticipation and hope.
He kissed her again, just as light as before. His lips molded to hers, lightly nipping and teasing, but he backed away before she could fully give herself to the sensation.
"I'll not break, my lord," she whispered, a smile teasing her lips as she opened her eyes.
"Are you so sure?" Graham asked just before he teased her lips once more, this time slightly more demanding.
"Hmm. Indeed. Why don't you find out for yourself?" Bethanny whispered boldly, her heart hammering with her wanton request.
Graham chuckled. "Says the lamb to the lion."
He leaned down and nudged her jaw with his nose till she tilted her head slightly, offering him unhindered access to her neck. "What a foolish lamb."
"Sometimes risk is worth the reward," she replied breathlessly. His tongue swirled against her flesh, creating a heat that welled within her.
"Indeed it is," Graham agreed and all but attacked her lips. His kiss was immediately demanding. Gone was the gentle coaxing, the teasing nipping. He reached out and held her tightly. "This will not do." Graham growled.
For a moment Bethanny's heart stopped.
Was he referring to kissing her? Had he changed his mind?
But before her mind could wander far, he stood and pulled her up as well. A moment later, he leaped from the curricle. After adjusting his jacket, he turned and wrapped his hands around her hips, lowering her to the soft grass. Immediately, he pressed her against the curricle, his hands grasping her back and then tracing down to her hips. His kiss was hot as he teased her lips open with his tongue and then groaned when she met his passion with her own as she pressed into the kiss, mimicking every movement he made. He tasted of mint; his kiss was both playful and passionate, a perfect combination that sent her heart racing.
The passionate spell around Bethanny was shattered when Graham broke the seal of their lips and then covered her mouth with his hand as she began to speak. Then she heard it.
Laughter.
Graham shook his head and removed his hand slowly after she nodded in understanding.
The laughter continued, and Graham began to glance about the grove of trees, then paused. Without a word, held out his hand for her to grasp as she alighted into the curricle. He hopped up and gazed at her, his expression one of annoyance at the interruption of their burning desire.
She understood the sentiment.
With a sigh, he coaxed the horses to leave the grove. Bethanny glanced back to their private haven as they left, wishing they could have stayed longer.
Wishing she could stay forever in his warm embrace.
"I thought it wise to not tempt fate, Miss Lamont," Lord Graham murmured. "Though I sorely wished to do so." He turned and offered her a small smile, his eyes still smoldering with passion.
"I understand," Bethanny replied as she smoothed her skirt.
"Though I think I might have been mistaken in one thing," he commented lightly.
"Oh?" Bethanny turned to look at him.
He nodded, and a slightly worried expression crossed his handsome features. "You, Miss Lamont, are the lion. And I am nothing more than a foolish lamb," he replied. He smiled then, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes.
Bethanny didn't know what to say. After all, how does one lay to rest all the worries upon men's shoulders?
Especially when they have the makings of potentially ruining a lifelong friendship.
Though she didn't think the duke would object so severely to Graham, if he were to officially pursue her, she wasn't sure.
And if she wasn't sure…
Then Graham was not either.
"Perhaps we are both lambs," Bethanny whispered.
"Indeed, Miss Lamont. Indeed."
Graham waited silently as he surveyed the Symores' rout. It was a smaller affair than Bethanny's debut; however, it was still well-attended. After the amazingly confusing interlude in the park with Bethanny, he had avoided the duke's residence like the bloody plague. He had already failed in keeping his distance; he couldn't afford any further slip-ups. Not till he was sure.
Not till he was certain he wouldn't break her heart… or the duke wouldn't break his neck. But, in avoiding the residence, his insatiable craving for even a small glimpse of Bethanny had multiplied one-hundred fold. Like a man starved, he scanned the sea of people, knowing that once he found her, he'd be powerless to stop approaching her, dancing with her, stealing away with her to taste her kiss once more.
Already Graham had spotted Lord Neville, who he detested on the principle that Bethanny had a diverting tale of which he was the unlikely hero. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he was fully anticipating that her disclosure of earlier would involve him, but to discover it was Neville? His blood boiled hot with jealousy in simply thinking of it.
Damn the man for adding to the thick pea soup of emotions brewing within him. For that very purpose, Graham had been keeping an eye on the reclusive lord, evaluating his competition.
Competition, as if Graham was in the running in the first place.
He was a man divided. Half of him was insistent on the honorable behavior of a gentleman that necessitated his loyalty to the duke. Which, in turn, meant that he was unable to pursue Bethanny.
The other half of him said to hell with it and take her anyway.
He was quite in agreement with the second half. But couldn't get his bloody conscience to agree.
As if his thoughts conjured her, the object of his desire appeared. She was clothed in a light blue velvet gown that displayed just a hint of her luscious curves. Her creamy white skin was luminescent, angelic almost in its beauty. Her thick mane was intricately styled in a manner than drove Graham wild with the distinct desire to unwind it and unwrap the present beneath.
Her gaze searched the room, as if simply observing, then she paused and tilted her head slightly, like a bird. A breath later, her gaze found his and locked, a smile flirting on her alluring visage.
Graham nodded, forcing himself to grin in response, though there was nothing amusing about her beauty, her allure. Rather it was acute torture.
Bethanny's attention was then captured by Carlotta, who touched her lightly on her shoulder.
The very shoulder that would haunt Graham's feverish dreams that night.
She turned.
Graham followed her gaze then swore.
Neville.
Narrowing his eyes, he swore again for good measure. He was unable to see Bethanny's expression, but judging from the grin on Neville's face, she wasn't exactly telling him to jump in the Thames.
Pity.
It was a capital idea.
Bethanny was nodding and her shoulders —
bloody hell, he loved her shoulders — shook slightly as if she were laughing.
Devil take the man for making her laugh!
Unable to stand aside while Neville charmed his way into Bethanny's good graces, Graham strode forward, silencing his conscience and gagging it.
Lord Neville stepped back and took his leave as Graham stepped forward, bowing crisply.
"Lord Graham." Bethanny's eyes danced with delight. How he loved that he was the cause!
"Miss Lamont, beautiful as ever." He placed a very proper air kiss to her wrist, but not before he winked scandalously, just to remind her of their earlier flirtation.
She blushed, and he felt exceedingly pleased.
"Always the flatterer." Bethanny sighed, teasingly.
"I'm an honest man, Miss Lamont. Don't impugn my integrity by implying my compliment was not utterly sincere."
"Very well." She chuckled softly.
"May I have the supper waltz?" Graham asked, praying that Neville hadn't asked for that particular honor.
"Of course."
Graham exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Delightful."
He seized the ripe opportunity to linger in gazing at her, offering his most winning smile, one that had caused many a woman to fall under his spell.
Judging by the color rising in Bethanny's cheeks, she was no exception.
"There's no need to use your excessive charm on me, my lord," Bethanny demurred.
"Oh?" Graham asked, a wicked grin teasing his lips.
"No. You see, I'm already quite aware of your dimpling grin that drives us ladies mad. In fact, I remember it from quite a long time ago. Its… potency hasn't faded with time," she confessed, her rosy color heightening.
"I shall have to remember that. However, if I must not use my charm, what device is left to me?"
"Device?"
"Indeed. What allurement shall I use?"
"Ah, Lord Graham, I thought you far keener of mind than to ask such a simple question."
"Simple? You think my inquiry a simple one?" He pretended to be affronted.
"Indeed. For if my memory serves correctly, which it almost always does," she said with a sly wink, "then you have already the answer. Of course, when you employed it first, you were not aware of my identity," she added, somewhat reluctantly.
Good Lord, was she asking for another kiss?
Her confident gaze faltered slightly then lingered on his lips
The possibilities… The temptations were overwhelming, slamming into him with a force that caused him to catch his breath. Quickly he glanced about, further silencing his nagging conscience and searching for a private balcony or alcove where he might taste the delights of her mouth once more.
Of course, that was when the first strains of the quadrille began.
As if restraining a smile, she bit her lip then glanced away, taking the heat of her gaze and its implications with it.
"If you'll excuse me, I do believe I… ah, Lord Neville!" Bethanny beamed a welcoming grin.
And all the pulsing of desire that flooded his veins switched to the fury of jealousy.
With effort, Graham suppressed a growl.
Substantial effort.
"The breathtaking Miss Lamont," Neville murmured, bowing crisply and holding her gaze.
Unable to suppress his immature reaction, Graham cleared his throat.
"Ah, Graham, pleasure to see you this evening. I must say, Miss Lamont must find your presence quite comforting."
"Comforting?" Graham questioned, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Neville had the audacity to shrug. "Indeed! It's well known you are chums with His Grace. To know you are looking out for Miss Lamont's best interest would most assuredly qualify as comforting, I would assume." His expression was far too innocent.
Graham felt mocked.
And old.
Bethanny turned to him, offering a smile.
And Lord Neville arched a brow, grinning wickedly.
He was being mocked!
"Perhaps, I must say that I'm very thankful for the relationship I have with Miss Lamont's family. It provides the most diverting opportunities," Graham replied coolly.
"Indeed." Lord Neville's lips quirked in a sly and knowing grin.
"Indeed," Graham clipped.
"Er, Lord Neville, I believe this is our dance?" Bethanny offered as her gaze darted between himself and Lord Neville. Her tone was confused, yet amused as well.
"Of course, I shall enjoy it above all things." He grinned devilishly and led her away toward the growing crowd.
Graham kept his eyes trained on her form as he walked around the perimeter of the dance floor. As the music began, Bethanny's gaze darted to his, meeting for only a fraction of a moment. The quadrille began, and his eyes savored her imperfect grace, the slight tilt of her head as she took pleasure in the flow of the music. Lord Neville was an attentive partner, and again the fire of jealousy burned within him.
"Just what are you staring at?"
Graham startled and then turned a withering glare at his sister.
"I'm… keeping an eye on Neville," Graham answered then cleared his throat.
"Neville? Why in heaven's name are you watching—?" She waved her hand dismissively as she turned and scanned the dancers, but paused.
As fate — cruel beast that it was — would have it, she glanced at the dancers just as Neville and Bethanny were dancing in a circle, his hands holding hers as they promenaded, his expression full of interest and a dash of desire.
"Oh," she stated flatly then, "Oh!" Her eyes widened as she glanced to Graham then back to Bethanny.
"No. It's not, I assure you…"
"Complete sentences, Graham."
"No! You must cease your thinking."
"I assure you that your request is entirely impossible."
"No."
"Yes, and what's so wrong with it? She's a lovely girl!"
"That's just it! She's a girl!"
"As opposed to…?" She let the question linger, pregnant with implications, her eyebrow arching in question and devilish delight as she awaited his answer.
"Ah! This, this is why I leave for Scotland, why I travel!"
"Because of a girl? Wait—"
"No." Graham spoke with too much volume and glanced about, waiting till the few curious stares he'd attracted were cast elsewhere. "No," he continued, much softer but through gritted teeth. "I travel to get away from you, from your assumptions, your meddling nature, and the extreme irritation with which it vexes me! And the fact that Bethanny is a female is entirely different than the fact that she's a girl, as in very young. Besides, have you even thought to consider what Clairmont would do if he thought I was casting eyes at his ward? The man's in knots as it is, asking me of all people to help keep an eye on her!" Graham finished, congratulating himself on not only perfect complete sentences, but finishing the entire explanation without raising his voice… or unclenching his teeth.
He slowly relaxed his aching jaw.
"Ah, I see."
With that, she simply blinked, watching him.
As if his long explanation was nothing more than a comment on the weather.
Bloody hell. His sister was going to be the cause of his early demise. He was sure of it.
Death by vexation.
He waited, and because he was never able to claim an exceeding amount of patience, he reverted to his juvenile nature. "What?"
"Hmm?" She shrugged, a decidedly feminine action that bespoke a calm disinterest.
If she didn't kill him by vexation, he might kill her for that same reason.
"I find it remarkably difficult to comprehend that you have so little to add to the conversation."
"Graham, I find that sometimes it is far more telling to watch rather than speak." She leaned forward slightly and waved her fan, hitting him with a stale breeze. "In case you didn't gather my meaning, now is one of those times."
"Hmm," he replied, knowing that a
nything he said would be held against him as evidence of whatever she was trying to prove.
"Yes. You protest too much."
"Because you are insisting on—"
"You having remarkably superior taste in women than you have had in the past," Lady Southridge finished, a sweet smile softening her features.
"I—"
"Graham, I might be quite a bit older than you, but those years have given me something you cannot claim."
"And what is that? An uncanny ability to vex me?"
"No, experience. And," she paused and tilted her head slightly, "just to make sure I'm clear, I cannot think of a better man for Bethanny than you." She nodded then leaned back.
"Pardon?"
"You heard me."
"Clairmont is insistent that she keep away from—"
"Rakes and jaded libertines, fortune hunters and scoundrels of every sort?"
"Yes!"
"And you, dear brother, do not fall into those categories."
"Oh? When did I acquire such a pristine reputation? I was quite under the impression that I was still considered a rake by most standards."
"Oh, you're not perfect. If anyone knows that, it is I." She fluttered her fingers dismissively.
"And… you are very adequately contradicting yourself, dear sister."
"No, you might be a rake, but you're not jaded. You're not a scoundrel or even a rogue. You're a… charmer."
"Charmer… I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult." Graham shook his head; this conversation was going beyond the pale of absurd.
"Indeed. Your dimples make the ladies swoon, and I will say you are an opportunist."
"Rake. The word you're looking for is rake."
"No, rakes take and never give. You, Graham, when you find the right woman, will give everything. Which is also why you're so scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're also a terrible liar, but that's beside the point. You're scared because what if your affections aren't returned with the same fervor as given? What if you're not acceptable—"
To Tempt an Earl Page 10
