To Tempt an Earl

by Kristin Vayden

  Graham paused in front of the low-burning fire, inhaling the faint scent of smoke.

  He could visit the duke again.

  But he didn't truly have a reason to visit… and he wasn't of the habit of dropping by anyone's residence simply to… chat.

  He wasn't a woman.

  He glanced at the clock and noticed the hour. It would be quite fashionable to take ride through the park. Perhaps if Bethanny…

  Before he could finish the thought or consider the repercussions, he was striding toward the door.

  "Please have the curricle readied," he asked of his aged butler.

  "Of course, my lord." He bowed with practiced ease.

  Graham turned and bounded up the stairs. After changing into a finer coat, he made his way to the curricle. Snapping the whip, the bays charged forward, pulling the stylish carriage into the street. Graham refused to think about his actions, rather focusing on the slight breeze that alleviated the air of some of the London stench. The trees were green, and the air warmer than yesterday. The sun hung in the lower western sky, and the clouds seemed friendly, rather than threatening rain.

  Truly London was beautiful when the weather allowed.

  He guided his bays to the duke's residence and pulled them up just before the house. The stately stone structure boasted several floors and impeccably manicured boxwoods. Graham knocked and withdrew a card, waiting.

  "Yes, Lord Graham?" Murray answered, his face the usual unreadable mask.

  "I'm here to see…" he cleared his throat, "I'm here to see Miss Lamont."

  "I see." The butler accepted the card and disappeared into the house.

  He was impatient and anxious, curious as to what was taking Murray so long. Had the duke rejected his request? Was Bethanny out already?

  Was she with another gentleman?

  Graham began to clench his fist.

  "Right this way, my lord." Murray appeared and guided him to the usual receiving parlor. "Miss Lamont will be down directly."

  Graham nodded.

  "And His Grace will also be here shortly," Murray added.

  Graham nodded tersely. What's done is done, he thought, but how to—

  "Graham! I saw your curricle, and Murray said you're here to speak with Bethanny? No doubt you'll wish to take her out for a ride — a brilliant idea. Wish I would have thought of it myself. She can get her practice in with you rather than I."

  "Practice?" Graham asked, his elation at the duke neatly taking care of his predicament taking a nosedive as he considered the reason.

  "Why yes! She's been invited by several gentlemen for turns about the park, but she declined. I'm assuming it's nerves. I imagine it would be quite tedious the first time. You're a good egg to consider her. Surely she'll feel quite relaxed with you. Take the pressure off, so to say." The duke rocked on his heels, a very self-satisfied smile on his face.

  One that Graham wanted to remove with bodily force.

  "Indeed," Graham replied, because what else could he say? Actually I'm here as one of those lovesick swains hoping to steal a few precious moments of her undivided attention…

  "Ah, here she is." The duke held out his hand to Bethanny as she entered.

  Graham was thankful Clairmont was preoccupied, for surely he would have seen the truth written clearly across his face in that moment. Like a man starved, he feasted upon the sight of her in the neat green dress as it darted in at her hips and rounded her curves in the most delicious fashion possible. It was as if the dressmaker had designed the dress to tempt a man, to lure his thoughts into forbidden territory, all with the guise of modesty, as it covered all the areas it also deliciously highlighted.

  Fashion be damned.

  "Miss Lamont." Graham bowed and forced his thoughts into submission. Taking a deep breath, he flashed her one of his most charming grins.

  Her color deepened with an innocent blush, causing his blood to simmer with unfulfilled desire.

  Forbidden desire.

  "Lord Graham." Bethanny nodded, her eyes sparkling with secrets that Graham shared.

  And heaven only knew how many more secrets he wanted to share.

  "Isn't this grand?" the duke commented.

  "Indeed," Graham murmured, his gaze trained on Bethanny. "Shall we, Miss Lamont?" He offered his arm.

  Softly, she placed her hand on him. The comfort of her touch was as peaceful as it was alarming. Who was this woman who could provoke such strong sentiment and emotion? What was it about her that caused him to react so? Graham prided himself in his self-control. He made women swoon.

  Not the other way around.

  Graham led her to the curricle and glanced to the sky. Puffy clouds were swept across the late spring horizon, outlined in silver and far too lightly colored for rain. Sending up a prayer of thanks, he helped Bethanny in and then entered as well. The carriage was well-sprung, and Graham couldn't help but feel the elation of pride as he took in hand the reins.

  "So, I find myself curious as to why you are here. Not that I object, mind you," Bethanny asked in her honest manner, her brown eyes clear.

  "Can I not enjoy a turn about the park with a lovely lady for company?" Graham asked back smoothly. He resisted the urge to clear his throat as Bethanny's gaze sharpened as if trying to lift the reason from his mind.

  "You are indeed free to do so, as I am free to be flattered by your compliment. However, we both know that you do not wish to draw the attention of my guardian. So my curiosity isn't exactly satisfied, Lord Graham." She grinned lightly, leaned over, and bumped his shoulder playfully.

  "Minx. Must you always be so curious?" he grumbled, though a grin broke through.

  "Indeed. It's why you like me so," she replied cheekily.

  "Is that so? And here I was simply taking you out so you'd not be nervous for the other more… suitable… gentlemen who wish to bask in the glow of your company," Graham replied, then watched as her brow furrowed. He hadn't meant to hurt her tender feelings, yet she had a way of putting him on the defensive, as if he needed to take extra measure to protect himself.

  To protect his heart.

  A grin tipped her lips. "Lord Neville did mention an outing. How kind of you to take me out so that I may rid myself of all anxiety." She hitched a shoulder.

  "Neville?" Graham asked lightly, though his grasp on the leather straps tightened considerably.

  "Indeed. Amicable fellow."

  "Amicable," he muttered.

  "That is precisely what I said." She shrugged. "Oh, look! There's Lady Symore! Her rout is in a few days. Will you be attending?"

  Graham nodded to the gentle lady as they passed her and a companion. "I believe so."

  "Then I shall save a dance for you." Bethanny beamed at him a charming grin.

  "How kind of you to read my mind and give me the true desire of my heart," Graham teased.

  "You are most welcome. But back to our original conversation—"

  "Good Lord, you're like an elephant."

  "I hope you are referring to my intelligence rather than the size of my nose, Lord Graham." Bethanny gave him a stern glare, though her eyes danced.

  "Of course!" He waved impatiently.

  "Then I'll accept your compliment. Now, at the risk of causing you to think that perhaps your attentions are unwanted, because I believe I've make myself quite clear on that particular subject—"

  "Honesty and all—"

  "Indeed." She shot him a glare and waited, as if making sure he'd not interrupt.

  Graham gestured for her to continue.

  "What I mean to ask is… Do you like me, Lord Graham?" She asked the pointed question and shifted to face him.

  Graham exhaled a frustrated breath. Did he like her? She was a borderline obsession! Against everything he knew to be safe or wise, she had vaulted every barrier, boundary, and taken up residence in his heart without any invitation.

  And he wouldn't have it any other way.

  Yet the issue with the duke was a continual d
ouse of cold water over the burning embers of desire that smoldered, carefully restrained, within him. It was no small matter.

  "A direct question."

  "I do not like to beat around the bush. I could be coy, flirtatious—"

  "You do not think yourself flirtatious?" Graham interrupted, shocked.

  "Er… no. Why? Do you think I'm flirtatious?" she asked, a question in her gaze.

  "Well… yes. Quite."

  "Oh, well. That's because it's you."

  "I see. But wouldn't that mean that you did know you were flirting—"

  "I suppose… yes. You are correct. I have been flirting. I don't think I truly was trying, though. It's more of a… natural reaction."

  "Natural reaction?"

  "Yes. To you. Because whether or not you like me, Lord Graham, I do like you." She lowered her gaze, a rosy blush highlighting her cheekbones and making her beauty appear even more exquisite.

  Graham's throat went dry; all he could do was stare, memorize the exact color of her blush. He'd find roses that same color and deliver them to her house tomorrow.

  Of course, he'd not add a note.

  But she'd know.

  And that was enough.

  "I quite like you too, Miss Lamont," he whispered softly, hesitantly, as if saying the words out loud would damage the truth, the fragility of the emotion.

  "I am very… thankful to hear that, Lord Graham," Bethanny replied then glanced up to meet his gaze. Her brown eyes were smoldering with a passionate acceptance of his words.

  There was a but on the tip of his tongue, yet he held it, restrained the intense desire to preserve his emotional pride. Because if there was one thing that Bethanny Lamont had taught him, it was that learning to love meant eliminating pride of any sort.

  It was a bloody difficult lesson.

  Yet as he glanced to the road and then back to her unflinching gaze, he realized he knew the cost was minimal compared to the reward.

  "There's a question in your eyes, Lord Graham. Rather, a obstruction. You wish to tell me that what you feel isn't license to act upon it," Bethanny replied, her brow pinching slightly as a bit of the light faded from her eyes, like the sun slipping behind a cloud, still present, yet dimmed.

  "I…" He took a deep breath and exhaled, focusing on the road ahead.

  "Tell me about yourself as a boy," Bethanny questioned suddenly.

  "Pardon?" Graham asked, turning to face her again.

  "Your boyhood. You see, Lord Graham, I'm quite aware of your adult life, credit being applied to your sister. However, your childhood I know little about. I suppose I never asked that of Lady Southridge, and I find I'm curious," Bethanny asked, a kind smile fixed on her face.

  "Oh, I suppose it was average."

  "I sincerely doubt that." Bethanny shook her head and smoothed her skirt.

  "Why? Is it so difficult to imagine my average tutor? My average growth? My average adventures…" he trailed off, grinning.

  "Yes. It is. Rather, I see you as exceedingly mischievous, haltingly rebellious, and far too charming."

  "And you said you didn't know about my childhood," he scolded good-naturedly.

  "I don't. However, I assume the man before me had to have grown from a similar boy." She grinned.

  "Oh? So I'm a — what did you say — exceedingly mischievous, haltingly rebellious, and far-too-charming gentleman?"

  "Precisely." She laughed, the sound like chimes.

  "Very well." He chuckled. "Now tell me about your childhood."

  "It was…" She paused, glancing ahead.

  The pause lingered till Graham felt a furrow in his brow

  "Lovely," she whispered.

  "Forgive me, but your reaction doesn't match your description," Graham said quietly.

  "Lord Graham, we are opposites in some ways, and some ways we are alike. We are alike in the aspect that we have both lost our parents." She glanced back, a small smile in place. "I say my childhood was lovely because it indeed was. I had love, security, warm embraces, and hot chocolate by the fireplace where my sisters and I all gathered around our mother, who would read to us. Yet my heart grieves that those lovely times shall never be had again. It is possible to feel joy and pain. The important part is to let the joy in through the pain, and to never lose hope." She reached out and placed her gloved hand on his as it held the leather straps, then she removed it.

  "Well said, Miss Lamont."

  Bethanny studied the man that she had secretly loved for so many years. Exhaling a soft breath, she glanced away and watched the scenery of Hyde Park pass her by. A comfortable silence hung in the air as the soft clipping of the matched bays carried them onward.

  "I wish I knew them better," Graham spoke softly.

  "Your parents?" Bethanny asked as she turned toward him once more. His golden hair was glistening in the rare sunshine, yet his topaz eyes were troubled, lonely.

  "Yes." He nodded once then turned to directing the team. "I was quite young, so I don't remember much. What I do remember is hard to distinguish between my own memories and the stories I've been told by my sister."

  "I see. It is a blessing to have your sister, though, for her to remember so much and share that gift with you."

  "My sister does have a gift for speaking endlessly on subjects. I'm quite thankful one of those subjects was my parents." Graham chuckled, the mischievous light returning to his eyes.

  Bethanny laughed. "How fortunate."

  "If we were talking about any other subject, I'd be disinclined to agree with you, but since we are referring to my parents, I must agree."

  "Sounds painful."

  "Indeed it is." Graham winked.

  Bethanny shook her head.

  "Tell me about Neville," Graham asked abruptly.

  "Pardon?" Bethanny felt her brow furrow at the quick change in conversation.

  "Neville." Graham spoke the word like it tasted foul. "You said he championed you, or something of the sort. You also promised to tell me what happened." He speared her with an impatient gaze.

  "Do you normally charm your female companions with such sparkling conversation?" Bethanny crossed her arms, her ire raised by his suddenly surly demeanor.

  "No. I'm not nearly so emotional around other women."

  "You mean moody."

  "I mean emotional. Women are moody. Not men."

  "Says the moody man."

  "I'm brooding," he replied.

  "Brooding?" Bethanny asked, her eyebrows shot up in surprise. No. Neville was dark and brooding. Graham was flirtation and charm all rolled into a shockingly handsome gentleman with secrets behind every gaze.

  Bethanny felt overly warm simply thinking about it.

  "You, Lord Graham, are not brooding. Or dark, or… whatever other adjective you were conjuring up to futilely name yourself."

  "Conjure?" He grinned and shook his head. "You are overly efficient at changing the subject, Miss Lamont."

  "You are overly efficient at distracting me, Lord Graham."

  "It's the smile." He winked and grinned, showing off every dimple.

  Bethanny sighed then scolded herself for being so easily melted. Squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze. "It's certainly not the personality."

  "You wound me!" He grasped his heart and gasped.

  Bethanny rolled her eyes. "Neville neatly dispatched Lord Somter There may or may not have been tea involved… on offending gentleman's clothes. It was quite an entertaining few moments, I must say."

  "Somter? That windbag?" His golden eyebrows arched in surprise.

  "Yes."

  "Oh."

  "Oh?"

  "Well… yes. I rather thought it was some sort of heroic act. Not the outwitting of a fool." Graham snorted dismissively.

  "Pardon me, but what he did was heroic! The way Somter was carrying on, I'd likely still be there listening to his prattling on and on about some forsaken horse, flesh or… maybe it was his garden? I'm not sure. I lost interest." Bethanny waved dismi
ssively as Lord Graham chuckled. "However, the point is, he noticed my plight. And acted." Bethanny nodded firmly and waited.

  "I'm exceedingly grateful that your threshold for heroic acts is so incredibly low. It bodes well for all your swains."

  "True heroism is kindness, Lord Graham," Bethanny spoke directly. "Noticing someone else and putting their comfort, their needs, before your own… It's an act of selflessness, the first trait a woman should look for in any gentleman. Love could never grow where there is no kindness."

  Graham watched his team intently, but Bethanny could see by the slight squinting of his eyes that he was considering her words carefully.

  "Wisdom and beauty." He turned toward her, a soft glowing in his gaze. "Rare traits indeed. I have been properly chastened, Miss Lamont." He bowed his head and glanced back to her. "As much as I resent that Lord Neville was your hero of the moment, I'm indebted to his actions as they were surely a blessing to you."

  Bethanny smiled. "Thank you, Lord Graham. I'll be sure to pass along your sentiments—"

  "Minx."

  Bethanny laughed loudly, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

  Graham shot her a sideways glance, his eyes full of mischief. "Never muffle such a glorious sound, Miss Lamont. A laugh such as yours should echo through the park."

  "Flattery." Bethanny teasingly tapped his shoulder.

  "No, Miss Lamont. Honesty."

  "Ah, that I can accept, then. I thank you for the compliment."

  "You are quite welcome. Now, I must confess to the sins in my blackened heart because I have been silently searching for a small shred of privacy in this blasted park, and I have found none." He exhaled in an exasperated manner.

  "Privacy? What sort of secrets were you planning on disclosing?" Bethanny asked, suspecting his intentions but wanting confirmation, praying for it.

  "My secret was that I was searching at all, Miss Lamont. Because we both know what would happen if I had found it." He turned his gaze to her. It smoldered with restrained desire, with promised affection.

  "It is a pity, then. And I'll lament the loss. For surely…" Bethanny leaned forward just enough to inhale the spicy scent coming from his fine coat, "I would have loved nothing more."

  Graham's eyes widened slightly and then shifted to frantically glance about the park. "There." He urged his horses at a faster gait as they rounded a corner. A grove of trees stood close together, yet far enough apart for a curricle to enter into the grove. He slowed the horses and maneuvered them into the trees.