"Who I supposedly have paternal feelings for," he mocked, his face twisting in a sneer as he glanced to her.
"Or decidedly unpaternal feelings… perhaps the feelings of a potential suitor?" she asked, a delighted gleam in her eye.
Graham wanted to poke her in that blasted eye.
"Have you lost your mind?" Graham spun and faced her, calling her bluff and hoping he hadn't exposed just how close to the truth she was.
"No, I'm quite certain I'm in full possession of my faculties. You, dear brother, are the one I'm questioning."
"I, how could, why…" Graham took a deep breath and turned away from his sister.
"Sputtering always implicates you, Graham. You might as well admit it." His sister shrugged.
Shrugged, as if what she was implying wasn't damning. Or potentially ruining of a lifelong friendship.
"I admit nothing," Graham spoke through clenched teeth.
"Admission is not necessary for it to be true."
"I still do not see why I must pay a call on her this morning," he replied after a moment.
"Uncomfortable with the topic at hand? Is a change in conversation necessary? Hmm?" His sister's gaze narrowed in delight as her lips bent into a knowing grin.
"Actually, if you remember, that very question was the first that began this whole demented conversation."
"Demented? I fail to see how that adjective applies." She raised her chin a notch.
"Demented. Dear sister, most conversations I partake of that include you often include that very adjective."
"I'm insulted," she huffed.
"But not shocked." Graham grinned.
His sister's eyes narrowed, and if the two siblings had been younger, he no doubt would have seen her stomp her foot and growl. However, her irritated expression fazed into a knowing one.
Graham knew that expression. Whatever she was thinking was not good.
At least, not good for him.
"You're afraid," she challenged.
"Of what?" Graham scoffed.
"A deb."
"That's… you mean to say… I cannot… won't dignify that statement with a response." Graham sneered and turned away.
But stopped when his sister began clapping.
"Pardon?"
"I'm applauding you," she replied as he turned an annoyed glare to her.
"For? Or dare I ask?" he replied tightly.
"You finished an entire sentence after your stammering. You've come quite a long ways. I know how difficult it must be for you to lie about something so… delicate."
"I—I—" Graham sputtered, fully exasperated and furious.
"Don't choke, Graham. After all, if you're not afraid, why so adamant? And yes, I do believe delicate is the correct word for this subject, or woman." She took a few steps forward, her smile fading into concerned pinch in her brow.
Bloody hell, it was the look of pity.
Anything but pity.
"I want to see you settled. You yourself even said this was the season. There's no way you didn't notice the girl, Edward. I watched you. I saw your expression. Don't let a little bit of age difference and an irritable duke stand in the way of what could be life-changing."
"I have no idea as to what you are referring," Graham replied succinctly, biting the words as they came from his mouth.
Wishing that it truly was as simple as his sister had said. But she hadn't been there when Clairmont had confided in him. And even though his sister knew him well, she didn't know him that well, and if she did, she certainly wouldn't be suggesting that he pursue the purity of Bethanny Lamont. No, she'd be protecting her from him. That knowledge alone was enough to remind him of his place, of his necessity in staying away from her.
But oh, if she didn't tempt him, then nothing in this world ever would.
"I appreciate your sentiment. Truly. However, all is not as you expect, dear sister. You might think differently, but you are not omnipotent, and in this, you are mistaken." Graham bowed, turned on his heel, and left.
His sister's silence echoed louder than anything she could have ever said. She'd known he was lying, just as easily as he'd known the lie himself. And if he'd known she'd never believe him, why had he done it?
The truth was far more frightening than the possibility of admitting his feelings. Because the truth was, he wanted to lie to himself, but the problem with lying to oneself is that one never truly believed it.
Even if one wanted to.
CHAPTER SIX
Graham called himself ten kinds of fool as he handed his card to the butler while he waited outside the duke's residence. He hadn't even planned to make a call. It all had started out as a walk to clear his head, and being near Hyde Park had necessitated that very park be the one he'd ambled through. However, after that amble, his clarity of mind had not improved, so he'd continued walking, and had found himself across the street from the duke's residence.
Just as Lord Neville was allowed entrance.
It was well-known that Neville was a recluse, and if he was visiting the residence of the duke, he had a bloody purpose in mind.
And all Graham could think of was that the purpose in mind was to court Bethanny.
Which was a wretched idea. She'd never be happy with the likes of someone like him. Of course he didn't rationalize why. Simply thinking it was enough, and soon he found himself knocking on that very door, swearing in Italian as he waited for the butler to return.
"Lord Graham, please follow me," Murray spoke in his mild manner.
Graham nodded and soon was led to the red salon. Upon entering, all other details faded into the background as searched for her.
"Lord Graham." Her melodic voice reached his ears a fraction of a second before his gaze found hers. She was a queen holding court with a room full of suitors, all vying for her attentions.
"Miss Lamont." He bowed crisply.
"Would you care for some tea?" Standing, she walked over to him, her gaze illuminated as if harboring a secret.
A secret he shared.
Immediately his irritation melted like a spring snow, and he felt himself grinning.
"Not at the moment, but I thank you," he offered, his tone dropping slightly.
As if realizing the intention of his tone, her cheeks blossomed with color, adding to her already-staggering beauty.
Graham's grin widened.
"Won't you please…" She paused, glancing around. Every chair was occupied with a hopeful swain. "Excuse me a moment. I'll have Murray fetch a chair." She rallied quickly.
"No, there's no need, Miss Lamont. I'm needing to speak with His Grace. However…" he paused and leaned in slightly, thrilled when she followed suit and leaned in as well, "I will return when all the… children… leave." He glanced over to a few hopeful men seated on a couch, each wearing disgruntled expressions, which pleased him greatly. With a wink, he reached for her hand. Without breaking eye contact, he kissed the soft flesh on her wrist, hanging propriety, and let his greedy lips partake of her lavender-scented skin.
Her breath caught, her eyes widened, and just when he thought he had rendered her senseless, one of her delicate brows rose in challenge, as if she was humored by his display. Like a peacock displaying his feathers for the rest of the suitors to stand by and envy.
"Oh, well, thank you for stopping by," she murmured, her tone provocative and low, meant for his ears only.
His blood stirred, and a devilish grin played at his lips. With another wink, he bowed and turned to leave but not before noticing a suppressed grin from Lord Neville. Graham paused and regarded him. Lord Neville raised his chin defiantly, though his lips were pressed together as if suppressing some merriment of sorts.
Graham nodded then left, curious as to what was so entertaining to the reclusive lord. It truly was an odd reaction to have, considering the circumstances. Unless the gentleman thought Graham was not a threat; if so, Neville was sorely mistaken.
Shaking his head, he made his way to Clairmont's
study. As he strode down the hall, his mind wandered back to Bethanny. Her hair had been pulled up prim and proper, but the mass of hair had seemed to strain the pins, as if only needing the slightest encouragement to break free and tumble down unconfined. A wall of desire hit him, unforgiving as he tried to overcome the intense craving to see her in such a state. Because if her hair were down, then certainly she wouldn't be wearing such a proper day dress, which would mean she were wearing something softer, something easier to—
"Graham?" The duke's voice shattered his immoral daydream like a mirror dropping from a balcony.
A very tall balcony.
"Er, hello." Graham cleared his throat and pulled on his cravat.
Dear Lord, it was times like these he was thankful God had seen fit that no one could read another's mind.
"Good to see you. Are you quite well? You seem a bit… unsettled," Clairmont said as he studied Graham.
"Between you and my sister, I feel as though I'm back in short pants," Graham grumbled, feeling more of himself.
"Apologies…" The duke glanced about for a moment. "I assume you were searching for me?"
"Yes, I had a question about…" Graham glanced behind him. "Could we continue this conversation in your study, perhaps?"
"That type of question, eh?" The duke's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Indeed."
Clairmont nodded and went back into his study, standing to the side as Graham entered. Graham closed the door, and took a step toward Clairmont's mammoth desk. Pausing, he turned back and locked the door. Nodding once, he resumed his course toward the duke's desk and took a seat, facing his friend.
"Very well. What was your question?"
Bethanny couldn't focus on Lord Somter's voice, nor could she recall exactly what they'd been conversing about. However, with Lord Somter, one rarely had to follow the topic closely; all that was needed was a nod or a well-placed Yes, my lord, and he'd continue to prattle on.
And on.
And on.
And Bethanny was far too distracted to pay attention when she kept checking to see if Lord Graham had shown up once again.
I'll return when all the children leave.
A smile struggled to break free as she remembered his verbal challenge. She was delighted with it, with him and his playful manner. It was the brightest spot of her day.
"Wouldn't you agree, Miss Lamont?" Lord Somter asked.
Bethanny's gaze met his, but before she could offer her agreement, or disagreement — though either would have been a blind guess, seeming as she still wasn't sure of their topic of discourse — he continued on, speaking about his estate's landscaping.
At least she knew the topic of conversation now. Not that it was particularly interesting.
She offered the middle-aged lord a polite smile as he continued. It wasn't that Lord Somter wasn't handsome enough to tempt her — if one could get past the endless prattle — it was just that neither he, nor anyone else in attendance, was Lord Graham. And that alone was enough to disqualify him. She glanced about for a moment, searching for a polite excuse to extricate herself from his one-sided conversation, and her eye caught Lord Neville's.
He was watching her with amusement softening his dark features. As if enjoying her torture, his eyes danced with merriment. Unable to ignore it, Bethanny raised an eyebrow of challenge.
To which Lord Neville simply smiled.
Never before had she seen him smile, and good Lord, if she weren't so attached to Graham, she'd have set her cap for him.
His smile was glorious, masculine but dark, brooding somehow. Deeper than a simply expression of the face, it was an expression of his soul.
A moment later, he stood and walked toward her. Quickly, Bethanny turned back to Lord Somter, who was, of course, still talking, and waited, curious as to what Lord Neville was planning.
"Somter? I'm about to take my leave, but before I go, would you allow me to give my regards to the lady?" Lord Neville bowed graciously.
"Oh, well… of course." Lord Somter seemed reluctant to let his captive audience go, but politely excused himself and took a biscuit from the tray.
After two steps, he wheeled back around and grabbed three more.
Bethanny suppressed a smile as she turned to Lord Neville.
"My lord."
"Miss Lamont." His lips twisted into a small grin.
"I thank you."
"For saving you?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Bethanny teased.
"Nothing, apparently." His grin grew.
"Are you indeed leaving?"
"I must, now that I've stated as much."
"But it wasn't your intention before you saw my plight," she stated.
"No, not necessarily." He shrugged.
"Then, I thank you for your sacrifice on my behalf." Bethanny grinned.
"Ah, but it is not sacrifice when in service to such a lovely lady. Though I suspect all of us are but distractions from someone else." His gaze was piercing and dark, but not disappointed, simply amused.
"Whatever could you mean by such a cryptic comment?" Bethanny glanced to the floor, not willing to inadvertently give away the truth of his statement by the honesty in her eyes.
"I'm simply… observant. One should always take care not to have one's heart broken," he offered while still grinning. But this time, the amusement faded from his eyes, a hint of torture, or pain lurking beneath.
"Indeed," Bethanny agreed. After all, she was too aware of the implications for herself, as well.
"I wish you a lovely afternoon, miss."
"Thank you. I offer you the same," Bethanny spoke softly.
With a single nod, Lord Neville quit the room, but not before he walked far too close to Lord Somter. In a slight misstep, he jolted the gentleman's knee where his tea was resting in his hand, spilling the contents on his breeches.
"Bloo— er, ah," Lord Somter sputtered, his face turning an unattractive shade of pink.
"Apologies! How clumsy of me!" Lord Neville replied at the humiliated gentleman. And as Lord Somter began to wipe at the tea, Lord Neville glanced back to Bethanny, meeting her gaze, and winked.
Winked, because his actions had been no accident.
She'd have to thank him later.
"Well, old chap, I guess you're leaving with me. Allow me to—"
"You've done quite enough, thank you," Lord Somter replied tightly. With a highly disgruntled expression, he turned to Bethanny. "Forgive me, Miss Lamont, but I must depart as well."
Bethanny nodded.
Lord Neville took a step behind Lord Somter and grinned.
"I understand," Bethanny replied graciously.
After a curt bow, Lord Somter turned, glared at Lord Neville, then left.
Lord Neville bowed again, this time with a slight flourish, and took his leave as well.
Bethanny turned to her other suitors. Their rapt attention had been focused on Somter and Neville, each offering delighted expressions of… gratitude?
"Would anyone care for more tea?" Bethanny offered, regaining control of her parlor.
"Indeed." The remaining men offered her polite grins and empty cups.
Now, if only there were a few more Lord Nevilles to help her remove the remaining, then perhaps Lord Graham would return.
"Miss Lamont seems to have attracted quite a bevy of suitors," Graham offered as he sipped his brandy.
Clairmont growled then took a sip of his own. "Indeed. Bloody mess."
"I thought the goal was to marry her off." Graham almost choked on the words. The thought of her belonging to any of the peacocks in the red parlor made him, well… see red. A blistering, bloody shade of it that was causing his fists to flex and his jaw to clench. But now was not the time to display his attraction.
Anytime but now.
"It is, but… men are like starving wolves," Clairmont mumbled.
"Pardon?" Graham felt his brow furrow.
"Bethanny is exceptional in beauty, exceptional in
pocket, and exceptional in her connections."
"By connections you mean, yourself, of course," Graham teased.
Clairmont simply shot him an exasperated expression.
"What I'm saying is that she'll attract them all, all!"
"As opposed to… none?" Graham offered. He was quite fond of the none theory himself.
Then he could easily sweep in and—
"No, I don't want none, I just want… I want the right one."
"So you want one?"
"Yes."
Could he volunteer? That would make it simple.
"But he has to be good enough for her."
Perhaps he shouldn't volunteer…
"Someone with morals, a clean past, someone who won't see her as a means to an end."
"Noble attributes." Graham nodded, hating that most of them excluded him.
"What does the duchess say?" Graham asked.
"To stop worrying."
"A wise woman."
"Shut up."
"I was simply agreeing with your wife." Graham shrugged and took another sip of brandy. He needed it.
"She doesn't need anyone else to be on her side."
"I didn't realize we were taking sides."
"There's always sides."
"I wasn't aware—"
"And you must always be on my side."
"Why?"
"Because…" He paused.
"You're outnumbered?" Graham offered, a grin bending his lips as he watched his friend's expression turn irritated.
"No, I'm most certainly—"
"You are, admit it."
"No."
"Admission doesn't mean it's not true," Graham replied before thinking. Then cursed.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he bit out. Of all the times to be thinking of that conversation with his sister.
Bloody hell.
"As I was saying, I need you on my side."
"But what if I disagree?" Graham asked.
"You won't." Clairmont nodded assertively.
"Confident, eh?" Graham replied.
"Completely."
"Must be nice," Graham murmured over his glass.
"What?"
"Ah, nothing of importance."
To Tempt an Earl Page 7