To Tempt an Earl

by Kristin Vayden

  Surely he'd do something… more.

  Because it would have to be him. He would need to initiate it; he would have to chase.

  And Bethanny would make sure she was easy to catch.

  Just not too easy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lord Graham was close to his breaking point. It was sheer willpower that kept him from growling in frustration.

  With his luck, Bethanny would think he was growling at her.

  That would be bloody brilliant.

  And the perfect end to a miserable day.

  She was so beautiful, so tempting. From the top of her glorious mane of hair to the pale blue slippers peeking from her gown, she was a lethal threat to his self-control.

  Damn Carlotta for insisting on chaperoning.

  Though it was probably her presence that was saving his life. Goodness only knew how he'd stop short of ruining the girl if he had her alone. And only hell knew what torture he'd endure at the duke's hand if he were to do such a thing.

  Also, he was assuming she was half as in love with him as he was mad for her.

  A chill ran down his spine. She did hold affection for him, didn't she? It was hard to tell, her normally warm demeanor was cooler, aloof.

  Distrusting.

  He hated that he was the cause. He had many sins to make up for.

  And he'd start making up for them now.

  It just would be hell of lot easier if he didn't have to proper about it.

  He shifted his gaze toward her. The graceful arch of her neck invited is kiss; he could almost taste the soft creamy texture of her skin. Her form was intoxicating, alluring in its perfection, and his hands nearly trembled with restraint as he wanted to pull her into a tight embrace.

  And more.

  So much more.

  Clenching his teeth against his raging desire, he glanced back to her face, to find her watching him with an openly curious expression. Unable to hide his emotions, he knew that his expression was one of fierce desire.

  Of passionate love.

  The dawn of understanding illuminated her bottomless eyes, and her gaze widened as her lips parted, then a slight smile began at her lips, traveling upward till it was reflected in her eyes. The guarded expression that had prevented him from reading her expression fell away, giving light to the desire mirrored in his own.

  "I don't mean to interrupt…" Carlotta spoke, her tone hesitant.

  Graham refused to glance away from Bethanny, even for a moment.

  "Supper will be served momentarily. We should return," Carlotta finished, her tone more resolute.

  Bethanny was first to break their gaze, her brown eyes turning to her beloved guardian, her head nodding in understanding.

  Bethanny began following Carlotta to the house but paused when Graham placed his hand atop of hers. Gently, he removed her hand and held it within both of his. Without breaking his gaze, he lifted it and kissed it softly. He closed his eyes, inhaling the rich alluring scent of her skin to overwhelm his senses, and teased her gloved flesh with the end of his nose, before placing another lingering kiss, this one on her wrist.

  Her sharp intake of breath caused him to glance back up. Her eyes were wide and excited as she bit her lower lip.

  "Bethanny," Carlotta warned.

  Bethanny glanced heavenward, as if praying for deliverance… or for Carlotta to disappear, and waited as Graham straightened and pulled her in closer as they walked toward the house.

  To think, all day he'd been waiting for supper.

  Now all he wanted was for the bloody thing to be over with so he could steal her away.

  Because that's exactly what he was going to do. If he could only think of a way to go about it without risking his life.

  Supper was an acute form of torture, Bethanny decided. Lord Graham was seated beside the duke, and thus was across the table and up three spaces from where she was seated. Upon seeing the seating assignments, her eyes narrowed at the duke, not certain if he had placed Lord Graham beside him simply to keep him away from her, and in agony longer, or if he was placing him there because of his rank and connection with the family.

  She rather suspected it was the first reason.

  Miserable man.

  Lord Neville was seated to her left, and Lord Bruxton to her right. Lord Bruxton was nearing fifty and was a business associate of the duke's from Bath. The only conversation he offered was the occasional "This is delightful!" as he continued to feed himself with a little too much enthusiasm.

  "Lord Neville, have you had a pleasant day?" Bethanny asked, trying to start up any semblance of conversation in efforts to move the night along quicker than the snail's pace it seemed to be currently.

  "Er, yes," he answered with a slight smile.

  Bethanny felt her brow furrow. Was Lord Neville blushing? It certainly seemed so!

  He cleared his throat awkwardly and cast a furtive glance down to the end of the table.

  Bethanny followed his gaze.

  Beatrix?

  Acting on an instinct, Bethanny turned back to Lord Neville. "Tell me, Lord Neville, have you seen our library here at Greenford Waters?"

  Lord Neville paled slightly but nodded, reaching for his wine glass.

  "It's quite extensive. I'd show you myself, but I'll not have a spare moment tomorrow." Or so she hoped! "My dear sister, Beatrix, loves the library. She would be a wonderful candidate to show you." Bethanny offered her most innocent smile.

  Lord Neville gave her his full attention, his eyes narrowing slightly as he seemed to debate whether she was innocent or simply fishing for information.

  Bethanny held her guiltless smile firmly, adding a slight arch to her brow as she waited.

  "I believe I'm leaving in the morning," he replied after a moment.

  "Oh? Why so soon?"

  "I… am needed elsewhere." He gave her a curt smile and turned his attention to his food.

  Throughout the rest of the course, Bethanny watched his gaze continually falter as it would shift toward Beatrix.

  Could it be? Had Beatrix somehow captured the interest of the reclusive lord?

  Bethanny moved the roast pigeon about on her plate, her mind wandering, till she felt a slight prickle of awareness on the back of her neck. Immediately she glanced up toward Lord Graham, instinctively knowing it was he who'd caused the tingling sensation. Indeed he was gazing at her, boldly, not caring that the other guests could easily see his intentions.

  It was delicious.

  And Bethanny allowed herself to return the gaze, basking in the glow.

  His lips twitched, softening the desire on his face and phasing into an expression of amusement, one of secret delight as he glanced at the duke, who then cleared his throat meaningfully.

  Bethanny felt a soft smile tease her lips; then she gasped as Lord Graham winked scandalously at her. Glancing about, she wondered if anyone had seen it. Beatrix met her gaze with a knowing grin and a raised eyebrow, her expression one of mischief and delight.

  Thankfully, it seemed as if Beatrix was the only one who'd noticed.

  And Carlotta, but she was glancing down at her plate, her face pinched as if trying to restrain a giggle at Bethanny's expense.

  All too slowly, the final course was cleared. Blessedly, the duke stood and asked the gentlemen to accompany him to the retiring room for a brandy.

  Like sheep, the other two gentlemen followed, but Lord Graham lingered last. He glanced to where the duke had exited, and back to Bethanny, but in truth, his hands were tied in such matters. With a reluctant grin, he bowed and left, following the other gentlemen.

  "Ladies? Shall we retire as well for sherry? Then I have some lovely games planned for later, once the gentlemen join us." Carlotta spoke brightly as she stood and led them into the light blue sitting room, the one with the pianoforte. However the room was arranged differently than usual. The furniture lined the walls, allowing a wide-open space in the center of the large room. Curious, Bethanny glanced to Carlot
ta.

  Carlotta simply winked and sat along the wall.

  Bethanny followed suit, choosing a seat beside her sister, and waited.

  The gentlemen hopefully would finish their brandy quickly.

  One could pray at least.

  One day, the Duke of Clairmont was going to pay dearly for his misdeeds.

  Dearly.

  Perhaps he'd have an heir that was just as stubborn as he, causing him to want to pull out his legendary black-as-sin hair.

  Better yet, he'd go grey all at once.

  Or lose his hair.

  Yes! Graham thought. And gain weight. Like a potbellied stallion. Truly it would be glorious.

  Damn the man, he was playing Graham like a concerto violin, and Graham wasn't appreciating it, especially since he had to play by the duke's rules.

  Wanting to preserve his life and all.

  But most importantly, have Bethanny.

  Assuming she was amicable to the idea… but he was quite certain she would be; if her earlier behavior was any indication.

  But who could understand the mind of a woman?

  Not he, and he'd grown up with one constantly bossing him around.

  Granted, he should put his sister in an entirely different category… but still. She was a woman.

  As he considered it, he realized that he hadn't seen his sister at dinner.

  She was never one to miss out on food.

  This couldn't be good.

  To think that she once thought that he was the one who should never be left unattended.

  Ha!

  Nervous, Graham had the intense desire to begin checking behind curtains or around corners for her.

  Women like Lady Southridge could never be underestimated.

  He'd have to check on her whereabouts later.

  "Gentlemen, I believe my lovely wife has a few diverting games for us to take part in. Shall we join the ladies?" The duke rose with his crystal brandy glass still in hand, raising it highly as if toasting his own brilliant idea.

  "About bloody time," Graham spoke softly.

  "Yes, Graham?" The duke turned toward him, his eyebrow arched in challenge.

  "Ah, just affirming the validity of your decision, Your Grace." Graham replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  To his left, Lord Neville snickered, trying to cover up his amusement with a cough.

  Graham shot him a glare, but he couldn't seem to muster any venom for the expression, not after he had determined that Neville wasn't a threat to his pursuit of Bethanny.

  The younger sister, however, was a different matter. One he'd keep in the back of his mind for later.

  "You always were smarter than your looked, Graham," the duke shot back, pulling him from his thoughts.

  "Indeed." He nodded and waited as the gentlemen filed out of the room, the duke lingering behind. Graham approached him quietly. "Being I'm so intelligent and all, I had hoped I might have some sort of semblance of privacy for Bethanny that I might…" he glanced to the final gentleman as he left the room, "ask her an important question."

  "Perhaps. Although a truly intelligent gentleman wouldn't need privacy." The duke speared him with a meaningful expression.

  "You've got to be joking." Graham took a step back. Had Clairmont lost his mind?

  "Graham, once you hit the point of desperation, privacy will not matter. All that will matter is that you find a way to secure her heart to yours. You'll not care if you have an audience of one, or three hundred. Because all you'll see… is her. All you'll hear... is her answer. You could be in the presence of the Regent and Napoleon having tea, and you wouldn't care a whit. Because all you'd be aware of is her."

  "I bloody am only aware of her. I'm only thinking of her comfort…"

  "You, my dear boy…" The duke patted Lord Graham's head.

  Like a dog.

  And Graham affirmed his earlier curse of the potbellied stallion.

  Only this time, he was a gelding,

  "Know nothing about how women think. There's nothing more romantic than an overt expression of love. There is a time for candlelight, romance, and whispered love, but there is also a time to throw caution to the wind and to go with your heart, your very impatient, demanding, and lonely heart. And when you do, your actions become the very stories they can't wait to tell the lovely children you'll undoubtedly have. Remember that."

  The duke nodded and strode away, leaving Graham alone with his very loud, very demanding, and lonely heart.

  And at once, he knew exactly what he'd do.

  He only hoped that the duke knew what he was talking about. Or else it was going to be a disaster.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Charades!" Carlotta announced to the group as the gentleman settled themselves from their arrival. Lord Graham was last, his gaze meeting hers immediately, a fierce light of determination causing goose bumps to prickle on her arms.

  A few ladies clapped, bringing Bethanny's attention back to the group, their gloved hands causing the sound to be a muted thump. A few gentleman bit back groans.

  Bethanny glanced at the array of guests, amused. Lady Whitehead and her daughter seemed overly eager, and Lord Neville looked as if he wished he could blend in with the rug on the floor.

  Apparently charades wasn't the first selection of diverting games for the reclusive bachelor.

  Bethanny bit back a laugh at the poor man's expense, but before she could fight it too terribly, it was lost to a sense of curiosity. Lord Neville, as uncomfortable as he appeared, cast his gaze toward Beatrix.

  And lingered.

  Beatrix seemed utterly unaware, and Bethanny had the sisterly urge to inconspicuously sidle up to her and pinch her till she noticed.

  There was far more going on than either would admit.

  Very well, she'd simply watch and, when the moment came, she'd pounce and figure out what exactly was going on between her sister and the reclusive lord.

  "You suspect something as well," a low voice murmured softly to her left.

  Only a fraction of a moment later, her body sensed the warmth coming from his nearness, sending her into a state of provocative desire.

  And the parlor was not the place to have such emotions.

  "Indeed. Have you also noticed something?" Bethanny asked, her tone slightly breathless, though she was desperately trying to control it.

  "I have my own suspicions… though I must admit I've been far too distracted by someone else to pay proper attention to the amorous intentions of others," he answered.

  Bethanny met his gaze. The intensity of it was deep and comforting, like steaming chocolate on a dreary day, inviting and uplifting, yet secretive and alluring.

  The man could cause more emotions than a Shakespearian play.

  And all it had taken were a few moments, a few seconds of conversation, and she was in knots.

  "Are you enjoying your evening?" Bethanny asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

  "I can think of ways I'd enjoy it more," Graham replied, his gaze dancing as he lingered on her face and settled on her lips.

  Involuntarily, Bethanny moistened them, trying to quell the intense desire to bridge the short foot of space and take him up on his implied offer.

  Lord Graham groaned softly, closing his eyes as if in agony. "Clairmont is a master of torture," he whispered softly, more to himself than anyone.

  But Bethanny heard and couldn't help the small laugh that escaped.

  His eyes shot open. "You're just as bad, minx. But don't worry. I'll even the score… someday," he promised.

  "I certainly hope so," Bethanny heard herself reply before she could stop herself. A deep blush was painful across her face.

  "I always make good on my word, love. Always," he whispered, reaching for her hand, and placing a smoldering kiss to the back of it. "Please excuse me. I have to speak with our hostess." With a fiery, lingering gaze, he spun and left Bethanny with her heart hammering and her belly warm with anticipation.
<
br />   She watched as Graham approached Carlotta and spoke softly to her. Carlotta's eyes widened, and she glanced to Bethanny then back to Graham before excusing herself from a few other guests and conversing privately with him a few feet away from the group.

  Bethanny grew suspicious.

  Eyes narrowed, she watched as Graham spoke and Carlotta nodded.

  Drat.

  Neither gave away any indication as to what they were planning.

  With a reluctant sigh, she glanced to the duke, who was conversing with Neville. He met her gaze and raised his glass as if toasting her.

  Something was underfoot.

  A moment later, Carlotta clapped, calling the attention back to herself. "Shall we begin? I've had a volunteer to begin the game! Lord Graham, if you please?"

  Lord Graham smiled tensely and strode to the middle of the room. The twenty or so guests backed away, giving him room to proceed. Bethanny walked over to her sister, Beatrix, and waited, her brow furrowed, curiosity eating at her attention.

  Lord Graham bowed and crossed the room toward her. With a smart bow, he paused, pointed to her, then backed away. Smoothly, he began to waltz with an imaginary partner.

  Bethanny held back a giggle as she watched the dashing gentleman waltz across the floor... alone.

  Suddenly he paused and took a startled step back, placing a hand to his heart. He raised his hand as if judging the height of a person, then placed the hand much lower as if judging the height of a child. Shaking his head, he backed away and ran to the other side of the room. With a determined stride, he approached Clairmont. He pointed to the duke, held up his hands, then purposefully placed them over his throat.

  As if he were being strangled.

  Bethanny lost it and began to laugh, covering up the sound with her hand as Graham made silent choking noises. By now, she was following the story and couldn't help but watch in utter excitement and disbelief as the very masculine, very rakish Lord Graham, proceeded to tread the boards like he were at Drury Lane! She glanced to Carlotta, who appeared just as amused, though her eyes lingered longer on her husband than the actor.