Graham felt his own spread into a wide grin, and he quickly pulled his sister in a tight hug. "You know, sometimes you're not so bad."
"I shall take that as a compliment," came her lighthearted reply.
"Now, I assume you will need to speak with His Grace?" Lady Southridge asked as soon as Graham released her.
"I — yes," Graham answered, his voice crackling slightly as he fought the urge to loosen his cravat.
"Graham, I'm not aware of the full situation, but he is your best friend, a brother. You must speak with him. You must work this out. I know enough of what happened to know that it was why you left for Scotland. You must work this out between you two." His sister spoke with thick compassion, her green eyes soft with love and loyalty.
"You are correct." Graham took a deep breath. "Do you know where I might find him?"
"In fact, I do. He was in his study, but I suggest you hurry. The men were to hunt this afternoon, provided it did not rain."
"Very well." Graham cleared his throat. Might as well get this part over and done with.
"It's good to have you here." She paused as she lingered at the doorway.
"Thank you… for letting me know," Graham spoke with heartfelt emotion.
"It's what family is for." She smiled softly. "I'll leave you now."
He watched his sister silently close the door. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes and prayed a simple plea.
It had been a while since he'd spoken with God… but some things were too important to not include the Almighty.
And right now he could really use some assistance.
So with a determined stride, Graham left his room and headed to his friend's study.
The very room he had snuck into more than once when a boy, in order to steal brandy. The room in which he and Clairmont had mourned the passing of the late duke… and now the room where he would press his suit for his best friend's ward's hand.
How he wished it were as simple as stealing brandy.
But it wouldn't be; rather, it would likely be one of the most difficult things he'd ever do, but Graham wasn't about to let anything stand in the way of love. Some things were worth any cost.
Any fight.
Any price.
So with a solid knock, he awaited fate.
"Enter!" Clairmont's voice boomed, his irritation obvious in the single word.
Good heavens, this was not a promising start.
Graham opened the door slightly, feeling like a boy caught with something precious and forbidden… who had just been discovered.
Clairmont was bent over his desk, writing forcefully. Several missives were scattered on the wide expanse of rich wood, and one slipped to the floor as Clairmont violently pulled up the paper on which he was writing and crumped it.
As Graham took a step into the room, the duke paused and glanced up, his clear blue eyes piercing, evaluating.
Graham held his breath.
"It's about bloody time you got here," Clairmont grumbled then stood, taking great strides toward his friend.
"Pardon?" Graham asked, unsure as to what the duke meant by such a salutation.
"You're a bloody idiot, but I'm glad you're here." The duke held out his hand, and Graham took it, shaking it.
"Thank you?" Graham responded, still not sure as to what exactly was happening.
"You can wipe that damned look from your face, Graham. I'm not going to name my seconds. You bloody well look like you're watching a ghost," Clairmont grumbled, though a smile teased his lips.
"I — that is—"
"Stuttering is never a good sign. I take it you've spoken with your sister."
"Er — yes."
"Very well. Then you're aware of the situation?"
"Situation?"
"With Bethanny, you nodcock! That is the reason you hauled your bloody arse from Scotland, isn't it? Because if it's not—"
"It is," Graham assured the duke, still wanting to pinch himself to see if perhaps he had fallen asleep in the carriage and was dreaming this whole scene. Was it possible that his friend was actually welcoming his suit?
"Then I suggest you bloody well get started. You have some steep competition, with you leaving like a blasted French coward, only to return in the final hour."
"I—I was under the impression—"
"You drew your own conclusions, Graham. I'll admit I was enraged at your behavior, and let me say that if I ever hear of such an… example of lack of self-control around my ward…" he cleared his throat, "there will be no need for a duel because I'll shoot you in your sleep. Understood?"
"Quite." Graham nodded. "I—"
"I'm not finished." Clairmont paced before the low-burning fire. "I was enraged, and justifiably so. But when it became apparent that your intentions were honorable — though I must say your actions were not necessarily a clear example of that fact — I amended my opinion. But you and your bloody pride wouldn't hear of it! You left, and that is why you are at a severe disadvantage, my friend. If you truly want to win Bethanny's heart, her affections, then you must prove that you are sincerely more of a man than you have shown yourself to be thus far. And frankly, I don't know if you can do it. Now, I have been honest about my stance and my reservations. What have you to say for yourself?" The duke rocked back on his heels, his gaze intent as he studied Graham.
Gone was any semblance of his friend; rather, Graham knew he must plead his case as if he were facing Bethanny's father unknown and needing proper assurances.
Assurances that Graham didn't know how to express, other than bleed out his bloody heart.
Pride be damned. It was the whole reason he was in this mess to begin with.
"I love her," Graham spoke softly, his words raw with unrestrained emotion. "I left hoping, foolishly, that she'd forget about me and find one more worthy. As much as you berated me for my actions, I berated myself far more. We, the two of us, are quite alike." Graham shrugged self-deprecatingly and took a few steps toward the fire. Staring into the orange embers, he continued. "As much as I hate to remind you, my past is far less pristine than I wish to admit. And to know that Bethanny is so… pure, perfect and undefiled. My unworthiness, as well as my pride," Graham conceded, "propelled my actions." He turned to match the duke's frank gaze. "Please understand, that while they could be misconstrued as a lack of loyalty, rather, I left because I know, above all things, that she deserves far better than me. And I'm only proving my lesser character by showing up, praying for a chance at stealing back her affections, because while she is strong enough to survive without me, I doubt my ability to survive without her," Graham finished then glanced to the fire, watching the orange flamed lick the wood hungrily.
"Well," Clairmont cleared his throat, "I must say… for coming in here like a stuttering fool, you surely waxed poetic when describing Bethanny."
"To do any less would be a gross disservice, Your Grace." Graham answered, taking the further step and showing deference by using the customary title.
"Graham, if you start Your Gracing me, I'll turn you out on your ear," Clairmont grumbled.
Graham nodded.
"Damn, the girl has you in knots, doesn't she? Not a grin or sarcastic remark? I feel as if I should be concerned for you, rather than her. Apparently I'm taking this becoming a fath—" Clairmont stopped mid-word, his eyes widening before glancing down at the Aubussan rug.
"Pardon? Do you mean to say…?" Graham's eyes widened as he noticed his friend's posture and the slight reddening of his ears, the telltale sign that he was trying to conceal something important. "Forgive me. It is none of my affair." Graham nodded.
"Actually, it will be a relief to tell someone. But first," Clairmont straightened his shoulders, "you have my permission to pursue Bethanny, provided that you remain within the proper bounds of propriety concerning courtship. My dear wife will take over all chaperone duties and…" the duke took a warning step toward Graham, "I purposefully placed Bethanny on the third floor, in a room I will not
disclose. So, there will be no climbing in efforts to secure a private audience with her… unless you wish to pummel to your death and bruise your pretty head."
"I do believe this is the second time in less than a quarter hour that I've been given a death threat," Graham remarked with slight sarcasm, his tension beginning to recede.
"They are not empty threats, my friend." The duke raised a challenging eyebrow.
"Noted."
"Now," Clairmont strode to his desk, "have a seat."
Graham walked to a wingback chair opposite the duke and sat in the plush red velvet.
"Here." A box of sweet-smelling cigars was opened before Graham. "Take one, for we, my friend, have a reason to celebrate." Clairmont grinned, his own cigar tipping from his lips as he held it in his teeth.
"Would there be an heir on the way, by chance?" Graham asked, his grin wide as he sniffed the tobacco and sweet spicy scent before clipping off the end and taking the offered light.
"Indeed," Clairmont affirmed, his grin widening till he withdrew the cigar from his mouth.
"Brilliant! I'm thrilled for you ol' chap! This does call for a grand celebration! I assume that Carlotta is not within her confinement as of yet?"
"No, but soon. She was practically racing across town getting this house party together before she began to… er… display her condition."
"Many felicitations to you!" Graham raised his cigar.
"Yes, well, see that we have another reason to celebrate soon. Hmm?" The duke issued a challenge to Graham, his intent clear.
"Believe me, I shall do my best."
"See that you do."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bethanny flipped the page of her book and let out an impatient sigh.
Botheration.
Where was everyone! Didn't they know she was sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear about what was taking place with Lord Graham? With more than a little irritation, Bethanny strode to the window — pointless as it was — and searched the grounds for any sign of him.
A knock interrupted her futile searching.
"Yes?" Bethanny responded instantly, her heart's rhythm increasing its pace as she waited.
"Climbing the walls yet?" Lady Southridge asked with a wide grin as she let herself into the room.
"Practically," Bethanny admitted.
"No need. I have spoken with your swain, and I must assure you, there is nothing to worry about, save the sanity of my younger brother. Surely you are driving him mad! It is delightful! I never thought I'd see the day when my — er, shall I say — free-spirited brother fell in love!" She clapped her hands and bit her lower lip.
"Truly? What happened? I've been going mad myself up here as I waited!" Bethanny strode forward and grasped the older woman's hands.
"You mustn't worry, dear. If I'm correct — and I always am." She winked. "Then your Lord Graham is speaking with the duke right now."
"About?"
"About the weather." Lady Southridge rolled her eyes. "You, you ninny! Of course they're talking about you!"
"I deducted as much, thank you kindly. However, what about me in particular are they discussing?" Bethanny asked archly as she released Lady Southridge and sat in the wingback chair by the fire.
"You'll simply have to wait and see," Lady Southridge shot back as she followed Bethanny's example and sat in the chaise.
"Pardon?" Bethanny felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"Don't you think it's quite unfair that you are up here, knowing all that happens below pertaining to my brother with no mystery involved at all? No! I cry foul. Therefore, you must also wait in some suspense, my dear. After all, anticipation is part of the fun." Lady Southridge hitched a shoulder, a gleaming smile of innocent intent teasing her lips.
"Cruel," Bethanny replied.
"No. Simply being fair."
"Very well," Bethanny conceded. "Must I still wait till supper?"
"Indeed. Because while I'm certain the gentlemen are conversing about you, I also know the duke has no intention of doing Lord Graham any favors. If he wishes to win your hand and heart, he must do so without any assistance."
"But—"
"I know you think he's already won both, dear. But let me give you some wise advice from an old lady."
"Old?" Bethanny asked with a smirk.
"If you ever disclose that I called myself thus, I shall smite thee!" Lady Southridge stood and struck a dramatic pose.
"Understood," Bethanny answered through her laugh.
"Now then, listen closely, my dear. These are pearls of wisdom you must keep. String them together and wear them around your neck, close to your heart." Lady Southridge touched the neckline of her gown to emphasize her point as she took her seat. "There is something to be said about courtship. Is there anything more romantic, anything closer to your heart than to remember your lover's actions as he pursued you relentlessly?" She paused. "As women, we need to be wanted, loved, cherished. The process of courtship is a beautiful opportunity for a gentleman to display his affection, his loyalty to you. When you're my age, you'll be grateful that you took this opportunity to let my brother pursue you properly, adding to the wonderful memories you're sure to create in your future. Let this be a wonderful beginning, where you are able to see his heart, and in that, carry that precious view into your future together. Let him chase you, my dear, for as much as we women love to be pursued…" she leaned forward, spearing Bethanny with a direct gaze, "men love to take part in the chase."
Bethanny grinned, warmed by the idea of memories that would keep her company when she got older. Truly was there anything more endearing than to recollect those past stolen moments with Lord Graham? Nothing was dearer to her heart. How much more would the upcoming memories be when combined with an honest pursuit of her affections without the hindrance of her guardian's lack of approval?
Provided the duke gave his approval.
"Er, Lady Southridge, the duke was intending on giving his approval to Graham to press his suit, was he not? I believe it was implied earlier, but I didn't ask the direct question—"
"Dear, if he wasn't welcome, he wouldn't have made it to the front step." She nodded decisively.
Bethanny took in a relieved breath. "Then I shall simply… wait."
"You're not simply waiting, dear." Lady Southridge stood and walked to the door. "You're setting the stage. After all, each epic romance has its hurdle, does it not? You're simply making the obstacle clearer for him to see and dismantle."
"What obstacle?" Bethanny asked, curious, since the only obstacle she'd considered was the duke's approval.
"Fear, my love. Fear."
"Of me?"
"No, fear of failure, fear unworthiness, lack of faith." Lady Southridge's tone was soft.
"I'm well-versed in fear, it seems. I've lived in its shadow for some time. Strange that I didn't even realize it at first," Bethanny confessed.
"That is why it's so dangerous. But have no fear, for if there is one weapon against fear that is always sure to emerge the victor… it is love." Lady Southridge offered Bethanny a warm smile and slipped out the door.
Love indeed.
Graham strode purposefully to the library, cursing under his breath. Damn the man! When he had asked where he might find Bethanny, the duke simply grinned.
Grinned!
As if Graham's entire future didn't depend on the woman's forthcoming decision. He could have strangled the man had he not been utterly grateful that the duke was not trying to strangle him for his affection toward Bethanny.
Affection? If what he felt was affection, then the English Channel was a small pond. No this was love, pure and menacing, that was slowly driving him mad.
Because love unrequited, or on the verge of being unrequited, was worse than any torture Napoleon could invent.
So he found himself searching high and low, the gardens and grounds, the parlors and dining rooms, the sitting rooms and finally now the library. He almost thought the duke
was hiding the girl! But why?
Unless…
Was she out with Lord Neville? He hadn't seen the man since arriving.
But he hadn't seen Bethanny either.
The whole party was set up to promote a courtship. Could he be too late? Was Neville proposing right now? A cold chill of fear caused perspiration to dampen the nape of his neck. No! He couldn't allow it!
Lost in his own fears, he opened the door the library with far too much force, and the heavy wooden door swung open only to hit the wall behind it, creating a loud thud.
"My heavens!" Beatrix stood, clasping her heart. Her eyes were wide as she glanced from the door to Lord Graham.
Graham felt his face heat with humility as he cleared his throat. "A thousand apologies, Miss Lamont." He adjusted his coat nervously. As he did he noticed another person in the room.
Neville.
He narrowed his eyes at the gentleman. Rather than hold the gaze, Lord Neville glanced away then slid his gaze to Beatrix, then back to Lord Graham as he cleared his throat.
"I thank you, Miss Lamont for your… assistance. Good day." He bowed smartly and left.
Graham had the intense urge to trip the man as he walked by; rather, he simply glared at him.
However, Neville simply murmured a soft, "Pardon," as he slipped by.
Hardly the response Graham was expecting.
Especially from a rival.
Confused, Lord Graham turned back to Beatrix. She was tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair behind her ear, her cheeks blooming with color. Upon closer examination, Graham noticed her hair was slightly disheveled, and her lips rather… pink.
As if they'd been assaulted by a man's kiss.
But the only man in the room was…
Neville!
Could it be? Were his affections changing to the younger sister? It would be a scandal for sure! And what of Bethanny! Immediately, righteous anger swelled within Graham, ironically, on behalf of Bethanny. She didn't deserve such treatment!
"I… am trying not to assume—" he began.
"No, no, my lord. It…" she took a deep breath and strode forward, "it isn't as you think. Truly," she pleaded, her brown eyes so like Bethanny's it made his heart ache.
To Tempt an Earl Page 17