He'd continue their… conversation… later.
And that thought alone would lend to the most delightful dreams for which a girl could wish.
CHAPTER TEN
"Bethanny? Bethanny!"
Slowly Lord Graham's voice changed pitch till it sounded identical to her sister Beatrix's.
"Bethanny, for pity sake, get up already!"
That was most assuredly not Lord Graham speaking.
"Ugh," Bethanny moaned, trying to roll over.
"I'll get the pitcher," Beatrix warned, her tone low and threatening.
"Why?" Bethanny whined, not caring that she sounded eleven, which, ironically, was the same age that Beatrix had learned about the effect of dumping a pitcher of cold water on her sister when she wasn't willing to rise from bed.
"Because you'll murder me if you find out from anyone else."
"Find out what?" Bethanny asked, her eyes unwilling to open. The soft comfort of her bed called to her with its inviting warmth. Her body relaxed, her mind drifted—
"You'll thank me later." Beatrix sighed.
A tepid deluge of water cascaded over Bethanny's hair, soaking her pillow and sheets.
"Ah! Ah! Beatrix! I'm going to—"
"He's gone, Bethanny."
Bethanny had just shot out of bed, her blurry vision searching for her sister's form so she could throttle her.
But her words halted her threatening advance.
"Who?" Bethanny asked, though she feared, dearly feared she knew the answer already.
No. No. No.
"He left for Edinburgh this morning," Beatrix whispered.
Bethanny stumbled backward and landed on her soggy bed. Rivulets of water dripped down her nose and cheeks from her wet hair, but she hardly noticed.
He left?
Why?
Hadn't he said, hadn't they made plans to see each other again soon?
So perhaps the plans weren't exactly set in stone, but he had said they would meet again soon.
It didn't make sense.
But that didn't stop the pain, the rejection, from piercing her heart with dread.
"I'm so sorry, Bethanny," Beatrix murmured.
Bethanny glanced up, through the wet strands of hair clinging to her face, and watched her sister place the miserably empty pitcher on the side table. Beatrix's expression was full of empathy, pain.
Beatrix had always been the most sympathizing of the sisters.
Also the most inventive — thus the pitcher of water.
"How did you find out?" Bethanny asked.
Beatrix walked toward her, reaching out she smoothed the hair out of Bethanny's face and sat beside her.
Then jumped up, patting her bum, casting an apologetic grin at her sister.
Serves you right, getting wet too. Try the whole pitcher over your head.
Beatrix kneeled in front of Bethanny, grasping her hands and holding them tightly. "I heard the duke and Carlotta talking over breakfast. They didn't know I was approaching, so I hid behind the wall and listened once I heard Lord Graham's name mentioned. Something about Lord Graham having business in Edinburgh. Carlotta questioned his sudden disappearance, and the duke didn't answer. I left soon after, knowing you'd want to be aware after…" Beatrix bit her lip.
"After?" Bethanny asked, her eyes trained on her sister's expression.
"After you two disappeared last night," Beatrix finished then proceeded to bite her lip.
"Oh no." Bethanny groaned and leaned back on the bed so that her legs still dangled off the side. "Where did you hear that?"
"Carlotta." But don't fret! I'm sure no one else noticed," Beatrix spoke then paused, "though I think Lady Southridge might suspect—"
"Oh, she is far past suspicion," Bethanny mumbled.
"Don't you find it odd that Carlotta hasn't questioned you?" Beatrix asked.
"Lady Southridge mentioned something of that. She implied that Carlotta has other things pulling at her attention… whatever that means."
"Hmm."
"Hmm?" Bethanny asked, propping herself up on her elbows.
"You don't suppose…" Beatrix stood and took a step around the bed.
"No. I don't," Bethanny replied, not caring. Not when everything in her wonderful world had simply gone topsy-turvy.
"You don't?" Beatrix asked, her expression curious.
"Hmm?" Bethanny glanced to her sister, quite lost in her own misery.
"You're a lot of help."
"I'm the one still soaking wet and trying to mend my possibly broken heart," Bethanny shot back.
"You know it's the only way to get you awake quickly." Beatrix rolled her eyes.
"Regardless—"
"Regardless, you are grateful I told you. Now, when you hear the information from the duke, you can keep your wits about you." Beatrix nodded.
"I hadn't considered that perspective." Bethanny blinked.
"That's what sisters are for." Beatrix shrugged. "Goodness knows, the duke will have an apoplectic fit once he realizes that his friend is a candidate for son-in-law of sorts. Lord Graham does have a bit of a rakish past, you know." Beatrix spoke with brutal honesty.
"Yes, I'm quite aware. Though I've never been told the details. I'm not sure I want to know them either. I might be tempted to claw out some widow's eyes. Not exactly proper ballroom behavior, you know." Bethanny sighed.
"Wise." Beatrix nodded sagely.
"However… I must know why, in your opinion, the duke would be so against Graham's pursuit? Heaven knows, it's the only pursuit I'd even consider." Bethanny blew out an exasperated sigh and sat up.
"I think…" Beatrix narrowed her eyes, "that he is simply… afraid."
"Afraid? Of Graham?" Bethanny asked, confused.
"Afraid that Graham isn't up to scratch. As much as the duke blusters about us, he's quite fond of us girls. He won't simply marry us off to be rid of us."
"Goodness knows, Carlotta wouldn't let him entertain the thought," Bethanny added, a small smile lifting her lips.
Beatrix smiled back.
"Beatrix?" Bethanny felt her brow furrow. "What do you think of Lord Graham?"
"Er, honestly? I don't know him well enough to form a positive or negative opinion. On one hand, anyone who is related to Lady Southridge must have a delightful sense of humor, patience, and deep family loyalty. I mean that in the best possibly way," Beatrix added quickly.
Bethanny chuckled.
"And he is close friends with the duke, and we know the duke well enough that he'd not surround himself with friends who had corrupt moral fiber."
"True." Bethanny nodded.
"I suppose my only fear… is that he simply wants you for your beauty. Because, make no mistake, as soon as I suspected something, I asked Lady Southridge, and she was quite adamant of how he looked at you. But attraction isn't love, Bethanny. You have so much more to offer than a pretty face." Beatrix hitched a shoulder.
Love for her sister overwhelmed Bethanny's heart.
And forgiveness for the pitcher incident.
"Thanks, Bea."
"It's just the truth." Beatrix patted the bed. Finding a dry spot, she sat.
"I'll not lie, I wished he'd find me beautiful, but when you consider just how many beautiful ladies there are amongst the ton, for him to single me out must at least imply that there is something more that he finds enticing about me, other than my beauty," Bethanny spoke softly.
"Forgive me for saying this, but I must ask. If I held my tongue and found out later that I should have said something—"
"Beatrix, just ask."
With a deep breath, Beatrix gazed directly at her sister, her eyes concerned. "But what… what if because you're the duke's ward, he sees you as an easy target?"
"I understand. But that would also compromise his loyalty to his friend."
"Indeed, but have you considered that the duke perhaps wants to protect you from that very possibility? Think on it. Has Lord Clairmont ever sought to have you en
tertain any interest in his friend?"
"Er, no."
"Why? It's not as if Lord Graham is too old, not from a good family. If anything, the duke would be pushing you toward him," Beatrix completed softly.
"I never… that's an enlightening perspective," Bethanny allowed, "but I don't see its merit. My own instinct affirms Lord Graham's integrity."
"I hope you're correct." Beatrix nodded. "But perhaps…"
"Yes?"
"Simply keep your eyes open, Bethanny. Be wise."
Bethanny nodded. "I will."
Beatrix stood.
"Bea? One more question… I'm not sure I want to know the answer… but… if Lord Graham truly cared for me… why would he leave the country," My, how dramatic, "after being… singular with his affections to me?"
Beatrix took a deep breath, her brown eyes glancing to the floor then meeting her sister's. "I don't know… but it wasn't love, that much I know. Love fights, Bethanny. Love endures, suffers the fires of hades and beyond for the simple hope of completion. Love always thinks of the lover, rather than itself. And perhaps there is some selfless motivation behind Lord Graham's behavior. I simply can't fathom what it could be."
"Nor can I," Bethanny added, sharing a pained look with her sister.
Nor can I.
Graham rocked slightly with the swaying motion of his fine carriage as he made his way toward Scotland. Normally, the soft sea breeze and familiar landscape would be calling to him, beckoning him to the safe haven of his estate near Edinburgh.
This was anything but normal.
Rather with every turn of his carriage wheels, the acute sensation of leaving behind his beating heart grew stronger and more painful. Releasing a long sigh, he loosened his cravat and leaned against the plush upholstery. He was doing the right thing.
His firm conviction in that, was his only armor against the temptation to turn tail and head back to England; if only to see her face once more.
A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. The girl had reduced him to a lovesick sop. After pitying all the other fools who had fallen so utterly over the moon for a chit, he now found himself among their ranks.
Who was he fooling? He was their bloody general.
He ran his cool fingers down his face, swearing under his breath.
"This is the right thing. The honorable act," he mumbled, trying to remind himself of exactly why he was putting himself through such exquisite torture. Unbidden, the hurt and betrayal etched on Clairmont's features came to mind, reminding Graham of just what his affection toward Bethanny had cost.
She deserved better than the likes of him. It was the harsh, cold truth. Bitter like the north wind and just as severe.
Love was every bit as miserable as he'd feared. No wonder men dreaded the marriage mart. It surely was a man who'd thought of the first arranged marriage.
Bloody stroke of brilliance.
To be free of the laceration of a breaking heart when the woman you loved either didn't return your affection, or in his case, was simply out of reach. Horrible, miserable existence, this love.
Yet as miserable, as emotionally distraught as he was, he couldn't regret one moment. One kiss.
In fact, he'd do it all again.
Over and over, because as much as the pain was slowly maiming his heart, he had those precious — albeit stolen — memories to live within him.
Such a treasure was worth any pain.
It was because of that love that he knew he needed to leave. To give her the freedom to find a man with far more integrity, far more honor, and far less of a checkered past than himself.
Oh, he had never been too scandalous, but when compared to the purity of Bethanny, it made his history seem black. He wouldn't bind her purity to his sins, past or not. She deserved more.
He wanted her to have more.
Even if it meant it wasn't with him.
However, that was the very reason Scotland was a necessity. Being near her, he would never be strong enough to allow her the freedom to find that perfect man. He would push, fight, and veritably claw his way into her line of sight so that no other man would stand a chance. Because what Clairmont had also said was startlingly true. He did know how to charm her, how to speak in precisely the most honeyed of tones that would render a woman boneless and unable to resist the temptation of his advances. He wasn't arrogant. He simply knew and had used it to his selfish advantage more than his share.
And bloody hell, he knew that given the chance, he'd seduce Bethanny. And she needed, deserved more.
He needed more for her.
Thus, Scotland. Where he couldn't stand in her way, where the duke could pick out a blameless gent from the ton and marry her into the protective safety of innocents.
Damn it all if he wouldn't give his fortune to be that gent.
The carriage hit a pothole and jostled, shaking him from his melancholy stupor. Fisting his palms, he pressed them into the soft seat and clenched his jaw. Doing the right thing had never been so difficult.
"Have you found out anything more?" Bethanny closed the door to her sister's room quietly before turning her questioning gaze to Beatrix.
"No. Believe me, I've tried as well."
"Bother."
"Agreed. What about Lady Southridge? Did you ask her?"
"I went to see her, but she wasn't available. She was out on Bond Street shopping."
"I'd ask the duke, but that would leave me in the suds."
"Quite right. He'd only demand you explained why you were interested, and we'd get nowhere." Bethanny heaved a dramatic sigh and flopped — very unladylike — onto the chaise next to the fire.
"How are you faring?" Beatrix asked quietly as she came and sat next to her sister.
"Aside from wanting to throttle him…" Bethanny tried to put on a brave face, but her throat began to ache as she held in her emotion.
Ennui, be damned.
A tear made its way past her determination and trailed down her nose.
"Bethanny." She sighed. Softly, Beatrix put her arm around her sister, pulling her into an embrace.
"I'm the eldest. I'm to be the one to take care of you, not the other way around."
"Dearest, you have taken care of us, you always will too, but that doesn't mean you have to always be strong. Sisters are here for when you are weak, when you need support. Is it so wrong for you to need us as much as we need you?" Beatrix asked softly.
"I suppose not, but—"
"No arguing. I'm right, and that's that." Beatrix smiled.
"You've grow quite bossy." Bethanny gave her sister a watery smile.
"I had a good teacher." Beatrix shrugged, laughing quietly.
"Beatrix? Bethanny? Are you in there?" Berty's voice called through the closed door.
"Yes, we're here," Beatrix called out, a rueful smile tipping her lips as the youngest sister barged through the door and slammed it shut.
Not on purpose, simply because that was Berty.
Loud.
Ungraceful.
And, because it was worth mentioning again — loud.
Of course, she was also still slightly round from her baby fat, with the largest and expressive brown eyes. She could charm the whiskers off a cat.
When she wanted to, that is.
"What are you two doing hiding in here? Wait." Berty paused, her eyes narrowing then widening with alarm. "Bethanny! You're crying! Why? I'll kill him. Who is it? Who broke your heart? Wait… is it Carlotta? I didn't think anything of it when she left breakfast a little green this morning. Was it—"
"Berty, dear… sit." Bethanny shook her head and sniffed delicately.
Berty paused then sat.
On the very edge of the chair, as if expecting to jump up and… do something.
Heaven only knows what.
"All is well. I'm sure Carlotta is well, as am I. I simply—"
"No. You are not well. I don't appreciate you keeping the truth from me. I'm not a child anymore."
&nb
sp; "Of course not, Berty." Beatrix reached out and patted her sister's hand then glanced to Bethanny, raising her brows.
Bethanny sighed. "I'm simply… confused."
"About Lord Graham?" Berty asked in a hushed whisper.
"Pardon?" Beatrix and Bethanny asked in unison.
Berty rolled her eyes. "Honestly. You two…"She shook her head. "I'm not as dense as I look. I might be young, but I'm not bloody blind."
"Berty!"
"Sorry, sorry. I know, I know. I'll not say it again." Then she whispered, "It was an accurate sentiment—"
"Berty…" Bethanny warned.
"Very well," Berty huffed. "I might not be at all your parties, but I do have two eyes in my head. And two ears. Whenever the earl's name is mentioned, you bite your lip and look down at you lap, and your ears turn red."
"Oh heavens," Bethanny lamented, letting her head slightly thump the back of the chaise. Goodness, she couldn't be that transparent, could she? With a heavy sigh, she glanced up at her sisters.
"Don't worry, I don't think anyone else noticed." Berty shrugged.
"How comforting."
"I—"
"Girls?" Carlotta's voice called through the closed door.
"Honestly?" Bethanny whispered.
"We're here!" Beatrix called out as she and her sisters sat up straighter and smoothed their skirts.
"Ah, there you are. I've been looking — dear me! Bethanny, have you been crying?"
"Good Lord!" Bethanny whispered in a plea.
"Er—"
"Don't try." Carlotta held up her hand and turned to shut the door.
"I—"
"It's Lord Graham, isn't it?"
"I'm thinking I should simply announce this in the newspaper. I'm quite sure all of London knows!" Bethanny stood and huffed.
"A bit dramatic, are we?" Carlotta asked.
"You have no idea," Berty replied.
Bethanny turned and glared at her sister.
"It's the truth. After all, you're the one—"
"Berty, you're not helping," Beatrix interrupted. "Bethanny is simply concerned that someone will cry rope on her… you know, tell all her secrets?"
To Tempt an Earl Page 13
