"I wanted you to feel confident about your pathetic attempt."
"You!"
"Now there, little kitten, pull back those claws. Your quarrel is not with me." He grasped her wrists and pulled her in close.
Bethanny narrowed her eyes.
"I'm intimidated," Graham mocked.
"You should be," Bethanny ground out, still piqued.
"Then I simply must disarm you." He chuckled and kissed her lightly on the lips. "You were saying?" he whispered a moment later.
"It's not fair," Bethanny murmured. "I've only ever kissed you. For someone—"
"A hypothetical someone, mind you."
"Regardless—"
"You need to kiss me more."
Bethanny paused. "On that we utterly agree." She grinned and rose up slightly on her slippered toes and kissed him.
"However…" Graham pulled back, "the truth is that we do not have time to continue… arguing."
"Is that what we're doing? Remind me to provoke you more often."
"I? You were the one provoked. I'm the pacifist in this arrangement." He nibbled her lower lip.
"We need to return."
"I know… but that doesn't mean that I like the idea."
"I utterly agree," Graham whispered.
"But perhaps… I can arrange for us to argue again soon?" Graham took a step back, releasing her and giving them a respectable distance, perchance someone should come upon them.
"I would love that above all things," Bethanny answered, her heart swelling with joy.
"Then, Miss Lamont, dear Bethanny, I bid you adieu until later." He bowed crisply.
"Until later, Lord Graham, dear Edward." She grinned.
His eyes danced as he turned and strode out from the balcony, passing four debutants as they made their way out into the fresh air. Four sets of eyes followed his departure. Then the girls turned and sighed contentedly, till they saw Bethanny.
"My, my…" One of the debs eyed her meaningfully.
Bethanny recognized her, Doris Hawkes, a girl in her third season, who loved gossip.
Delightful, Bethanny thought with annoyance.
"Fancy meeting you two out here… alone." Doris made her way, the three other debutants following behind, eyeing each other meaningfully.
"It's a beautiful evening." Bethanny shrugged. "And it is quite the crush within." She nodded toward the exit.
"Indeed." Doris raised an eyebrow.
Bethanny offered an innocent smile. "Enjoy the sunset," she spoke politely as she made her way past the girls and to the exit.
"Oh we will," Doris responded then added lowly, "Though I'd imagine you hardly noticed it."
Bethanny pretended not to hear and made her way into the ballroom.
After all, what she'd said wasn't far from the truth!
CHAPTER NINE
Graham couldn't wipe the smile from his face. After his clandestine interlude with Bethanny, he was soaring on hope's wings. Surely, if he explained his intentions, Clairmont would agree to his suit.
Graham was a decisive man. Once his mind was made up, it was very difficult to alter it; and his mind was made up that he wanted Bethanny. It was the strangest of irony, that he would be asking his best friend for permission to court and marry her. Even stranger that he sincerely was anxious on the duke's answer to that very question. For a moment, he questioned his quick decision, his immediate and passionate attachment to her. Was it too quick? Would it fade with time, leaving him lamenting the fact that he'd chosen so quickly?
No.
While he hadn't been in her company for long, now that she was grown, he had been around her quite a bit when she was younger. People did change, but it was clear that all of Bethanny's metamorphosis happened on the outside. Her heart, passion, and lack of grace that she exerted in life remained true; it was evident in her candor and honesty; it was evident in her very ability to dance. Bethanny would continually challenge him, excite him, and remain fiercely loyal.
Was this love? He wasn't sure, yet he knew if he continued on this path, it would either lead him to love or madness.
Likely both.
And what a delight to find a woman capable of creating such emotion. Such… a profound reaction in him. Graham knew he'd have secured a rare treasure if the duke allowed his suit.
Perhaps he should approach him now? Patience had never been his strong point, so with a determined air, Graham's gaze searched the ballroom for the duke's face, but couldn't locate him through the crush.
"Blast," Graham murmured.
"You!"
Graham turned at the sound of his friend's voice.
"Clairmont? Clairmont! Just the man I've been searching for." Graham began to grin a welcome to his friend but halted, a chill rushing up his spine as he took in the cool anger simmering below his friend's gaze.
"What happened?" Immediately Graham was on alert, his gaze darting about.
Bethanny!
"I believe that is the question I am to ask you!" Clairmont bit through clenched teeth. "Blessed providence is on your side that we're in a crowded ballroom." He fumed.
"Pardon? What in heaven's name are you speaking of?"
"You… come with me. Now," Clairmont ground out, then spun on his heel, heading out the main ballroom and down the hall.
Foreboding clenched his chest. Devotion, loyalty, honor — all words that were useless without action. He owed Clairmont; after all, he was the closest thing to a brother he'd ever had. So with his mouth set in a grim line, he followed his friend out.
"Get in," Clairmont ordered as he gestured to the closed carriage bearing the duke's crest.
Nodding, his lips pressed together, Graham entered the carriage, heart pounding with uncertainty.
The carriage lurched forward as the driver pulled them out of the Symores' residence and onto Curzon Street toward Berkley Square. The silence was thick and heavy as Graham folded his hands and watched his friend.
The duke was silent, brooding, and his gaze was searing as it attempted to bore a hole directly through Graham.
"Are you going to speak with me, or are we to make eyes at each other for the remainder of the evening," Graham spoke impatiently.
Clairmont remained silent.
"I don't know whether to question your sanity or to be afraid. You've never been this quiet," Graham drolled.
"That's because I'm trying to convince myself that I shouldn't call you out."
"A duel? What in the bloody hell—"
"Bethanny," the duke bit out, his eyes burning with barely suppressed anger.
"Bethanny," Graham repeated. It was amazing how one word could carry so many implications, so many emotions… so much potential.
"Yes, my exquisite ward, who I was under the misapprehension that you were to protect."
"I—"
"Don't speak!" Clairmont shouted.
Graham closed his mouth and silently fumed as his mind spun. He knew that the duke wouldn't take lightly his emotional attachment to his ward, but this was going too far.
"You… I trusted you. And what do I discover? That this evening you had her pinned to a wall, tangling with her like a common courtesan."
"You will not speak of her in such way," Graham bit out, his teeth clenched.
Clairmont gestured angrily to Graham. "I was referring to your dishonor, not hers. This is your fault. Yours. Damn it, Graham, we know how to charm women! We understand just what to say, how to say it, and are experts at executing a simple touch or kiss to create desire. We get what we want, when we want it. And damn it all to hell if you're going to take that from Bethanny!"
"What makes you think I'm simply sporting with her? Do you think so little of me that I'd greedily take what is not mine without a thought? Is my loyalty so thin? So weak that I'd forget our years of friendship and betray you in such a way?"
"I—"
"No, now it is your time to listen." Graham tugged on his cravat till it came completely loose. He tossed t
he silken scarf to the side of the bench and blew out hot breaths of frustration.
"Did it ever occur to you that I might possibly care for her? That my behavior is not selfish? How little do you think of me? In our friendship, our association, when have I ever corrupted an innocent? When?" Graham demanded.
"Well—"
"I have not ever! Nor would I! If you have a fraction of understanding of the frustration I have experienced knowing that the woman I am falling in love with is your ward? Have you any idea the sleepless nights I've endured, knowing that the very woman I'm charged with protecting from men like me, men like you, is, in fact, the very one who has slipped beneath my skin and captured me so utterly that I'm becoming much like those blasted dandies that go all mooncalf over a woman! And I don't care! Hang it all!"
"Graham—"
"I'm not finished!" Graham pointed a finger at the duke. "Don't begin to tell me I'm not up to scratch. I'm bloody well aware of it. I don't need your confirmation." Graham exhaled, his shoulders heavy, just like his heart. Because that was the searing truth. He knew it well enough himself. He'd be damned if he had to hear it confirmed by his best friend.
"May I speak now?"
"If you absolutely must," Graham replied tiredly.
"And—"
"Who do you think you are, condemning me? And just who informed you of my whereabouts?" Graham interrupted, his irritation surfacing once more.
The duke stilled, his eyes widening before softening into a hurt expression. "I saw it myself," Clairmont answered quietly, too quietly.
Graham's heart stilled.
Somehow, it was different, knowing that his friend had witnessed with his own eyes the heated exchange between himself and Bethanny. It shamed him. Because the truth was, he knew better. While Bethanny was passionate in a way that men only dream of, she was still an innocent. And regardless of how much she'd wanted the kiss, Graham had, in fact, taken advantage of her passionate nature and explored it more than any man ought — any man save her husband.
Husband.
The word haunted him, taunted him with a vision that disappeared like vapor. Because the sad truth, the one he had tried to bury with fantasies of hope, was that he was not worthy of her. At once, the anger, the frustration dissipated into hot shame, into the blackest pit of hopelessness.
It was suffocating.
"Stop the carriage," Graham spoke softly.
"Graham, no… perhaps I was… too impatient with my accus—"
"Stop the bloody carriage, Your Grace." Graham locked gazes with his friend, knowing that such a formal address would gain his attention.
"Graham."
"Your Grace… the carriage. Now," Graham repeated, his tone grating on his ears as he heard his own desperation.
The duke rapped on the roof twice, and the horses slowed their pace.
Without another word, Graham opened the door and rushed into the night, feeling it swallow him, covering him in the bleak truth.
It could not be borne.
He had no other option other than to leave, to rusticate in Edinburgh where the temptation of Bethanny Lamont could only haunt him, where the visions of her beauty would be imagined, not touched.
Good Lord, not touched.
His body ached with unrequited desire.
Yes, he had no other option. Tomorrow. He'd leave tomorrow. He had work to do in Edinburgh as well; he'd pour himself into his assignment, leave behind all… hope. Because that was what was killing him now, softly, slowly, like poison. Hope. Because he knew it was a lie.
There was no hope.
"And where have you been?" Lady Southridge's voice teased as Bethanny tried to subtly enter the crowded ballroom.
"Enjoying the evening," she replied offhandedly. However, she couldn't restrain her smile or the soft sigh that escaped her lips.
Good Lord, she'd never survive at a gambling table.
"Ah, you appear to have… thoroughly… enjoyed yourself," Lady Southridge remarked.
Bethanny spun to face her, eyes wide with worry. "What do you mean?"
"Ah, dear. I'm far too… mature… to be hoodwinked."
"Ah, mature…" Bethanny grinned.
"Yes, a nice way of saying old, dear. Though I'd not claim to less than four and forty years."
"You don't look a day over eight and thirty."
"Blessed child."
"Thank you," Bethanny demurred.
"However, you didn't succeed at changing the subject. Speaking of which, you haven't seen my wayward brother, have you?" Lady Southridge's eyes danced.
"Er, no, I don't see him."
"Ah, again, I'm not one to judge, but if you wish to keep your secrets, I suggest you get better at hiding them. Of course, you don't see him now… I asked if you had seen him… as in the past. Clever wording won't throw anyone off, dear." Lady Southridge patted Bethanny's shoulder lightly, shaking her head.
"I have not seen him recently," Bethanny amended.
"Which implies that you saw him at some time. Come, Bethanny. You can do better. Truly throw me off," Lady Southridge challenged, tapping Bethanny's shoulder playfully.
"Er… I haven't seen him?" Bethanny tried.
"Perfect. Vague," she tilted her head thoughtfully, "yet honest. Good girl. Now, I hear my brother is a delightful kisser. Are the rumors true, or were they grossly exaggerated?" She leaned forward, her grin wide and her gaze bright.
"Lady Southridge!" Bethanny scolded hoarsely as her gaze darted about the room, hoping no one else could have heard such a brazen question.
"Oh heavens, girl. You must trust me. I'd not ask such a question where it could be heard!" Lady Southridge rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Bethanny's gaze shot back to the people around them, noticing that they, indeed, were not paying the least bit attention.
"I…"
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"Yes…?" Lady Southridge leaned forward, waiting.
"Yes." Bethanny straightened, affixing a polite smile in place.
"You do realize you didn't actually answer my question." Lady Southridge cocked an eyebrow.
"Yes, I did."
"But — ah... clever girl. You're learning." Lady Southridge nodded her approval.
"I try." Bethanny shrugged offhandedly, a grin teasing her lips.
"Try harder. You're going to need it to get past that guardian of yours."
"The duke? Graham's his best friend—"
"Ah… see? You admitted everything I wanted to know with just a simple sentence." Lady Southridge clicked her tongue and shook her head.
Bethanny took a deep breath. "But I'm quite sure you already knew all of this information, so why the interrogation to begin with?" Bethanny asked impatiently, though with a grin.
"Because I'm preparing you."
"For?"
"Charles, the duke, Clairmont — whatever you wish to call him." She flipped her fingers dismissively.
"But Graham—"
"Graham is much like the duke was before Carlotta… and that is all your innocent ears need to hear on the subject."
"But—"
"No, you'll be fighting an uphill battle… your own Waterloo, if you must."
"How dramatic." Bethanny leaned back slightly and gave her best disbelieving expression.
"You doubt me? Have I ever been wrong?" Lady Southridge placed a dramatic hand to her chest.
"Yes."
"Aside from that one time."
"You told me that lemon would turn my hair blonder."
"It does."
"It was orange. Thankfully I was able to steal some of cook's coffee and stain it back. Heaven help me if I had used all the lemons you brought me!"
"That was one time—"
"And then with the powder—"
"It said on the bottle—"
"Must I continue?" Bethanny scarcely resisted the temptation to place her hand on her hip.
"I'm not wrong on this." Lady Southridge sighed th
eatrically.
"Very well, what do you suggest?"
Lady Southridge leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing the smallest fraction. "Evasion."
"Pardon?"
"Evasion… don't answer any direct questions."
"You want me to lie?"
"No! Heavens, child. Not lie. Simply… don't offer any free information." Lady Southridge flipped open her fan and waved herself with it.
"How is that not lying?" Bethanny asked, disbelieving.
"It's exactly what we were practicing before. You can do it. And it might buy you some time."
"Time? Why do I need time?"
"Child, you're so innocent." Lady Southridge glanced about the room then pulled Bethanny around an alcove. "Graham… as much as you see the knight in shining armor… others simply see his past. Sadly, the duke is one of them. As his sister, I'm able to see past his unsavory history and see the potential, much like you, but I'd wager we see that potential quite differently." Lady Southridge winked. "Give the duke time. Give him a reason to trust your judgment, time to get accustomed to the idea of Graham not just being a friend." Lady Southridge nodded encouragingly.
"But as family." Goosebumps prickled along Bethanny's skin at the thought.
"A son-in-law, to be exact." A dangerous grin tipped Lady Southridge's lips.
"I see."
"Good girl. Now—"
"What about Carlotta?" Bethanny asked.
"Ah, if my instincts are correct…"
Bethanny glanced heavenward with an exasperated expression.
"Then Carlotta has… other things… on her mind."
"What things?"
"I'm sure you'll learn soon enough," Lady Southridge hedged, not answering, but her gaze alight with secret knowledge.
"Very well," Bethanny relented.
Lady Southridge opened her mouth slightly, as if to add one final word to their conversation, when she paused, her gaze sliding past Bethanny and lighting up with recognition. "Lady Symore! What a crush." Patting Bethanny's shoulder, she leaned in and whispered as she walked toward their hostess, "Remember our little conversation, ducky." She winked and caught up with the grinning Lady Symore.
Bethanny watched the older ladies titter and gossip as they locked arms and turned about the room. Without a thought, her gaze wandered, searching for Graham's form, his golden halo of slightly curly hair, his broad shoulders filling out his evening kit with masculine beauty. But he was nowhere to be seen. Was he in a gaming room? Had he left? The momentary disappointment fled as she remembered his promise.
To Tempt an Earl Page 12