To Tempt an Earl

by Kristin Vayden

  How in hades is the woman so calm about it all?

  "I have a plan." Berty clapped, her expression overjoyed.

  "Let's hear it."

  "What we are assuming is that Lord Graham left after having a bit of a gentleman's argument with the duke."

  "If I may ask, how are you aware of this… gentleman's argument?" Lady Southridge asked skeptically.

  "Carlotta. She approached the duke."

  "And who described it as a gentleman's argument?"

  Berty glanced to Beatrix, who glanced to Bethanny.

  "The duke, I believe," Bethanny answered, unsure as to why it was important.

  "Ah."

  "Ah?" Bethanny questioned.

  "Yes, the very fact that he used the words, gentleman's argument, means that it was anything but, my dears. Or else he wouldn't have gone so far as to describe the nature of it."

  "How are you so sure?" Bethanny asked, darting a glance to Beatrix.

  "I know those two boys well, and even though they are men now, not so much has changed. And there's nothing that reverts a man back to his boyhood more than feeling scolded and wanting to defend himself."

  "Noted." Berty nodded sagely.

  Bethanny cast a longsuffering glance to her sister then turned her attention back to Lady Southridge. "So you're saying it wasn't a small argument."

  "No, but it's beside the point. Berty, your plan? Please continue." She gestured to Berty, indicating for her to proceed.

  Oddly enough, Bethanny fancied she looked very much like a queen as she did such.

  "Since Lord Graham has left for Scotland, we decided we needed him to come back."

  "Berty, I'm sure that is already understood," Beatrix murmured.

  "I'm getting there," Berty huffed. "So we thought—"

  "You. You thought." Bethanny felt the need to correct her sister.

  "Very well, I thought that we needed to get him alone with the duke and my sister. Give him a chance to work out the issues with the duke and also make amends for being a nodcock to my sister. Garden Gate would be a lovely location for a house party. It would easily serve the purpose."

  "Yes, indeed. I see the cunning of your proposal. However, what is your bait? How are we going to entice my brother from licking his proverbial wounds in Scotland and fight for the fair maiden?" Lady Southridge's eyes were dancing as she pointed to Bethanny.

  "Because we're going to have you send him a missive stating that the house party is actually an engagement celebration… for Bethanny."

  "Brilliant!" Lady Southridge clapped.

  Berty stood and curtseyed.

  Beatrix rolled her eyes but smiled softly at her sister.

  "That will surely light a fire under his intentions. So, who am I to say is the lucky gentleman engaged to Miss Bethanny?"

  "Er, I hadn't thought that far ahead." Berty bit her lower lip.

  "Lord Neville," Beatrix spoke.

  "Yes!" Bethanny grinned at her sister.

  "Neville? That would work. Is there a specific reason why you chose him, Beatrix?" Lady Southridge asked while shifting her gaze from Bethanny to Beatrix.

  "Didn't Lord Graham show particular jealousy that day you were accepting callers, Bethanny?"

  "Indeed. I thought of that as soon as you mentioned his name." Bethanny raised an eyebrow.

  This might just work.

  "Delightful! Already there's a seed of jealousy. We'll simply water it."

  "And let it grow?" Berty asked, a devious tone to her voice.

  "Exactly."

  "The question is, will he believe you?" Bethanny asked hesitantly.

  "I can be quite convincing when I need to be." Lady Southridge winked. "The true question is, when are we going to have the party?"

  "Bethanny?" the duke's voice called from behind his wide desk. His dark head was bowed over some missive he was finishing.

  "Yes?" Bethanny replied, swallowing her trepidation.

  The duke set aside the letter and met her gaze. Folding his hands, he furrowed his brows in a concerned expression. "Carlotta and Lady Southridge both spoke with me about your… ploy."

  "Oh?" Bethanny tried to remain still; all she wanted to do was fidget.

  "Indeed. Though I have to say, I cannot believe that one as such as yourself, a diamond of the first water, feels the need to resort to such measures to snare a gentleman… especially when the man in question is already in love with you." He sighed heavily.

  "But—"

  "No, let me finish. I'll agree to this scheme upon one condition." He speared her with a glance.

  She nodded.

  "No more moping, no more long face, no more tears behind closed doors, and absolutely no more lamenting. I accept the truth that I played a part in the departure of Lord Graham, but you must first also admit that such was my duty, my position and honor to do so, Bethanny. "He stood and walked around his desk then sat on the front of it.

  Even though Bethanny held him as an older brother more than father figure, she could appreciate the handsome man before her.

  Though none could compare with Lord Graham.

  Blast the man.

  "You behaved in an unladylike manner. You risked your reputation and Graham's. Naiveté is no excuse. I suspect you were fully aware of the implications of your actions if they were discovered by anyone but myself." He raised his eyebrows, awaiting her response.

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  He exhaled a sigh. "Why did you not speak with me? Why did you not confide in me? And why Lord Graham of all people? When you could have your choice of all the—"

  "I love him, Your Grace. Pardon the interruption," she added belatedly, her face heating at her brash behavior.

  "One kiss does not equal love."

  "No. You're correct. But love can begin in the heart of a child and grow till it can be mature in the heart of a woman," she answered.

  He twisted his lips and glanced at the fire before turning once again to her. "Indeed. But you still haven't answered my question."

  "I didn't approach you, Your Grace, because Lord Graham is your friend. Already I knew this would be difficult for you to accept—"

  "Because he's my friend?"

  "Because of his… past reputation. One that you, at one time, shared, Your Grace."

  Bethanny held her breath. This was the only time she had admitted to knowing anything about the duke's past. Though it was odd that everyone expected her to be ignorant, since she was a full sixteen when she'd met him. Even at sixteen, a young lady can understand certain things.

  "And it was because of this… reputation of Lord Graham you thought his pursuit would be unacceptable?"

  "Yes. Because you seemed to imply that I deserved something… different."

  "You mean more."

  "To your perspective, yes."

  The duke pushed up from his desk and paced about the room. "As I said, I'll agree to this… whatever it is you ladies have concocted. Personally, I'd rather simply go to Scotland myself and wring the bloo — er, my dear friend's neck. In the future, please pass along to your sisters that I'd like to be told everything up front and not find out the secret intentions of suitors after I find them in compromising situations and certainly not when I have them in an enclosed carriage where I can easily murder them and dispose of the body. I'm far too handsome for Newgate." The duke smiled then, implying he was joking.

  But Bethanny wasn't fully convinced.

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "You have two weeks till the house party. That should be enough time for Graham to get the invitation and for him to arrive. However, no one else is to find out our little… embellishment concerning Lord Neville. That will be kept in completely confidence. Lord knows, we don't need further drama." He wiped his hand down his face.

  "Of course."

  "You're excused, but remember when the time comes, this is all on my terms, my rules, and no exceptions. Understood?"

  "Utterly, Your Grace." Bethanny curtseyed and
turned to leave.

  "Bethanny?"

  "Yes?"

  "For the record, yes. I would have had some trouble accepting Lord Graham as your suitor. However, that would have been quickly overcome had I known about your mutual attachment. You need to understand that I fully approve of the gentleman you've given your heart to," he nodded, "though I don't approve of his methods. I can't exactly call the kettle black now, can I?" He chuckled softly.

  "Thank you, Your Grace," Bethanny whispered.

  "And don't worry, if this ruse we've created doesn't work, I'm perfectly willing to go and collect him from Scotland for you. All he's doing is wallowing in his own misery." The duke spoke the words as if they gave him utterly glee. "Though I'd wait a little longer than necessary, just to make him suffer a bit."

  "How kind."

  "I thought as much. You're excused." The duke chuckled and walked back around to his desk and sat.

  Bethanny left, expelling a long breath of relief as she walked down the hall. Two more weeks.

  But it seemed like two years.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Graham paced his office like a caged animal. It had been four weeks. Four blasted, bloody, cursed weeks, and he was no closer to a moment of peace than the moment he'd set foot out of the duke's carriage.

  Blasted bloody love.

  He'd hated every moment of it, and conversely, he would hold on to it with his dying breath.

  Edinburgh had always been his sanctuary, his safe harbor where he could weather the storms of life.

  Or the storms of his sister.

  But it wasn't that way any longer. Even though Bethanny had never been to his estate, she haunted the halls. He heard her laughter in the soft rustle of the leaves as the sea breeze teased them from their lofty perch.

  Damn it all, he was even growing poetic.

  Either that or pathetic. Perhaps it was both.

  Lucky him.

  In the past weeks he had made a supreme effort to continue his normal routine when in Scotland. He had attended a dignitary's ball that was held in the main hall of Edinburgh castle.

  Bloody drafty, that old place.

  Of course, his good intentions fled once an elderly woman had caressed his thigh at dinner.

  That, coupled with her missing teeth as she smiled lecherously at him, was enough to kill what little appetite he had summoned for the occasion.

  He shivered.

  One of his chums had invited him to a rout of Highland Games. Normally one of his favorite diversions when in Scotland, but even caber tossing didn't sound entertaining.

  To be honest, he usually didn't participate; he simply watched in amazement as others did.

  Caber tossing. He shook his head. Some Scot had to have been bloody daft to of thought up such a game.

  Or desperate to impress a woman.

  Now that he could understand.

  And commiserate.

  His lips drew down as he wondered if it had worked, impressing the woman as the poor bloke threw the ceremonial log, trying to land it upright.

  He'd toss a caber for Bethanny.

  Brandy, he needed it desperately. The good French kind, the very kind that was outlawed.

  Bloody Bonaparte.

  "Sir?" Selwyn's voice interrupted Graham's odd musings.

  "Yes?" Graham turned to face his aged butler.

  "This came for you. Since the sender is your sister, I took the liberty of bringing the post to you directly." The man extended a silver tray holding a square missive.

  "Thank you, Selwyn."

  "Will there be anything else, sir?" The butler's green eye studied him; concern etched the corner wrinkles of his face.

  "Not at the moment, thank you." Graham dismissed the man, guilt gnawing at him from his butler's expression. To Selwyn's credit, he hadn't pressed for information.

  Another blessing for being in Scotland.

  The butler nodded and left quietly, closing the study door behind him silently.

  Graham studied the missive and withdrew his sharp opener from the wide mahogany desk. With a quick slit, the letter opened. Graham placed the family heirloom opener back on his desk and took a fortifying breath.

  He had to give his sister some glory; she had waited two weeks to contact him.

  Thank heavens for small miracles.

  However his prayer was cut short by a string of swearing.

  In German and Dutch.

  Then he swore in Italian for good measure.

  The thick paper missive slipped through his fingers and lightly tapped against the Aubusson rug.

  Immediately, a thousand fragmented memories, ones he had been so determined to keep locked within, sprang to life, enveloping him in her smile, the tone of her laughter, and the warmth of her soft body pressed against his.

  And mocked him.

  He'd fled to Scotland to resist the temptation she presented.

  He hadn't returned, hoping that she'd find a love worthy of her.

  He was an utter fool.

  Because in his sister's letter he learned that everything he'd tried to accomplish had succeeded.

  Bethanny was engaged to — hell take him — Lord Neville.

  His heart seized in his chest, each thumping beat painful, aching.

  She was out of reach.

  Unless…

  Graham picked up the missive and studied it again, re-reading his sister's words:

  To celebrate, His Grace is hosting a house party at Greenford Waters. You've been invited as well, though I doubt you'll wish to attend.

  He damn well was going to attend!

  Bethanny was thankful that Lady Southridge had agreed to speak with the duke about the house party.

  Of everyone she knew, Lady Southridge was the most difficult to refuse. She'd have to learn that particular trait.

  In short work, the party was set up for the third week in June and would last for a full week. Carlotta had been thrilled with the idea and went out the very next day to select the stationary for the invitations.

  The duke wasn't as thrilled. However, Bethanny felt it insufficient penance for him to simply be disgruntled. After all, it was because of his meddling that the house party was necessary at all!

  With a long sigh, Bethanny leaned back against the chaise in the library and studied the tall ceiling. Carlotta had explained the duke's reason for intervention between her and Graham, but she continued to struggle to find the happy medium between forgiveness and anger.

  She knew that his intention had been honorable and within his right. However, that didn't change the fact that because he had exercised that power, Lord Graham wasn't even in the same country as she.

  Did he miss her? Was she haunting his dreams as he was haunting hers? Melancholy had been her companion since she had been made aware of his departure to Scotland. Thank the heavens for her sisters; they had been her source of comfort — and entertainment — since the awful occurrence.

  Speaking of which, Bethanny tilted her head as she heard soft footsteps in the hall.

  "Bethanny?" Carlotta's melodic voice called in a quiet grace.

  "Yes?" Bethanny sat up straighter and smoothed the soft velvet of her light violet day gown.

  "Ah, I — er—" Carlotta paused and glanced behind her in the hallway. A moment later she slipped in the door and closed it tightly.

  Bethanny raised an eyebrow in question.

  "I just spoke with the duke, and I wanted to inform you of the circumstances of his agreement."

  "I was under the impression he already had agreed." Bethanny felt her brow furrow.

  "He had. However, today he made known some… conditions." Carlotta smiled softly.

  Her quiet grin gave Bethanny encouragement, soothing her initial concern.

  "I imagine that these conditions aren't too trying, based on your expression." Bethanny grinned.

  "Nothing too problematic, I assure you." Carlotta continued into the room and sat opposite of Bethanny. "However, these
conditions are to be followed with all alacrity." Carlotta shot a meaningful gaze.

  "Understood."

  "Very well, the first condition is quite self-explanatory, and I think you'll understand it, based on the fact that the very reason we're in this predicament is that this social protocol was thoroughly breeched." She narrowed her eyes in a scolding manner. "You are not to be alone with Lord Graham."

  "But—"

  "Unless…" Carlotta waited as Bethanny halted her argument and practiced patience.

  Extreme patience.

  "Unless I am aware of your request and am at a suitable distance to chaperone."

  "That is not the same as being alone."

  "That is the best you're going to get." Carlotta raised an eyebrow as if daring her to argue.

  Bethanny understood the social standards, the rules to follow that were proper protocol when dealing with sexes; however, that didn't mean she agreed or even liked them. After tasting the delicious flavor of freedom in a lover's embrace, she was more than reluctant to agree.

  However she saw no other option.

  And as much as she hated to admit it, perhaps it was for the best.

  "Very well." Bethanny nodded.

  "I suppose some leniency could be arranged…" Carlotta's tone drifted.

  "Yes?" Bethanny leaned on the edge of her seat.

  "If, if, a proposal is forthcoming."

  "Oh." Bethanny's hopes felt flat. Of course she hoped, dreamed, desired above all things for that very thing to happen, but how did a lady provoke such a degree of sentiment if she were unable to be alone with her suitor?

  "I know what you're thinking."

  Bethanny shot her a curious glance.

  "Just because the idea of falling in love is more fashionable than in the past is no reason to disregard our standards. There are reasons for the rules, Bethanny. They protect you. They also protect Lord Graham. Would you wish to enter a union as holy as marriage on any less of a footing than complete authenticity? Would you trap him? Or have him trap you? Pretend that it's not Lord Graham we're speaking of. What of Lord Neville, for example? Would you wish him to be forced to offer for your hand because you were foolish enough to be caught alone with him?"