Lord Graham had stopped strangling himself and ran toward a table across the room. With a quick glance about it, he pulled up a napkin and placed it around his waist and held up a silent instrument.
Surely he was implying Scotland, with the makeshift kilt and imaginary bagpipes. Suddenly, his expression was one of sorrow, as he pretended to wipe his eyes and dab his nose with the napkin that he'd just used as his kilt.
Then he picked up something invisible from the table and slit the top with a letter opener. He mimed the motions of opening up a letter and made quite a show of reading it. He threw it to the ground and stomped on it! But that wasn't dramatic enough apparently, because he began jumping on it, grinding into the floor with his boot!
Bethanny watched with wide-eyed wonder. Was that what he'd done when he received the letter? What that his reaction? How glorious! It was as if she were watching from afar all that had happened during that dreadful time when he left. As much as it was entertaining, it was also a gift.
A very public gift.
The other guests were watching with expressions ranging from confusion to rapt entertainment.
Lord Graham dusted off his hands and acted as if he were mounting a horse. Granted, he'd ridden in a carriage, but she wasn't going to be picky. With loping strides, he galloped around the room a full circle and paused, dismounting. He strode toward a bare wall. Standing back a few feet, he placed his hand to his heart and patted in a quick rhythm.
The fast beating of his heart.
With an over-exaggerated deep breath, he pretended to enter a house. Striding across the room, he approached the duke again; only this time, he knelt.
The duke chuckled approvingly and winked at Carlotta.
Lord Graham lifted his humble gaze and folded his hands.
Begging.
Bethanny's heart pinched then swelled with love and adoration for the gentleman who was laying his heart out for all to see.
Such a display couldn't be easy, but it was clearly done in love.
Love that was pouring off Bethanny in waves, resisting any kind of restraint.
Lord Graham then took it a step further and began bowing as if worshipping at the duke's feet.
Bethanny laughed loudly, along with the rest of the group, as the duke pretended to kick Lord Graham.
Smiling, Lord Graham bowed and pretended profuse gratitude and then began to search. With his hand placed at his forehead, he pretended to be looking for something.
Someone. Her.
He picked up books and looked under them, picked up pillows to glance beneath them, and then paused to scratch his head in consternation.
Finally, he pulled out his pocket watch and waited. Then, he smiled grandly and placed his timepiece away and patted his belly.
Supper.
He paced the floor, his gaze shooting upward as if watching a stairway. He paused, his expression changing into wonderment. Without further delay, he strode toward Bethanny.
Her heart hammered in her chest, knowing this whole scene was for her, was an overt display of what was in his heart. She was certain that there was no way for him to speak with her about their pained past and their uncertain future in the company of chaperones and guests.
Yet, he had vaulted that wall and created his own path to her heart.
Nothing was more wonderful, more beautiful.
One day, she'd tell their children this story over and over, never tiring of it.
Lord Graham's gaze was hot with desire and intensity, heating her from the inside out and sending the silent message that he was no longer playing a game.
He stood before her, grasping her hands. He kissed each of them and knelt slowly, never taking his gaze from hers. Tenderly, he took her hands and placed them at his heart, smiling softly, moving them slightly, as if mimicking his heartbeat.
"You," he whispered, continuing to move her hands in the rhythm of his heart.
Bethanny took a deep breath.
It was her turn.
He had risked much. The least she could do would be to offer a small token as well. With a deep breath, she followed his example, kneeling before him as an example of her own affection. After all, he had humbled himself before the cream of the ton, the least she could do was meet him halfway.
Lord Graham's brow furrowed, and she offered him an indulgent smile. Pulling her hands slightly from his, he released her immediately, but she gasped his hands and pulled them toward her. Slowly, she placed them on her heart, mimicking the same rhythm he had begun.
"You," she whispered.
Lord Graham smiled then, a glorious and wonder-filled expression that stole her breath.
"No," he leaned forward, "mine." With the last word, he closed the distance and kissed her, a chaste kiss by most standards, but utterly scandalous in the aspect that it was in front of God and every one of their guests.
It was a good thing she was going to marry him.
After that display, she had no other option.
Nothing could have pleased her more.
He did it! Truly, at first he thought he might expire from the weight of the implication of his actions, not to mention he wasn't an exhibitionist, but after seeing the wonder in Bethanny's eyes as he continued his charade, he was bolstered with courage. The crippling fear of rejection was no longer an issue. Further, he found himself not caring that he'd likely be the source of the sweetest gossip once they returned to London. He didn't care that he'd acted like a lovesick fool for the girl.
Because all that mattered was that she'd seen his heart, and that she returned his love.
As he watched her eyes brimming with unshed tears, he couldn't help but reach out and kiss her once more, not caring that everyone was watching. It was scandalous, but perfect. Releasing her lips and kissing her cheek, he tasted the salty trail of a tear that had finally spilled over.
Someone cleared his throat, and Graham reluctantly backed away, though his gaze never left Bethanny's. Her eyes were shining pools of love and delight, of hope and forgiveness.
Thank the Lord. Forgiveness.
"I'm assuming there is more to your extended version of charades than an unrealized desire to moonlight as an actor?" Clairmont asked, his tone amused yet with a slight edge.
Though Graham couldn't fault him; he had kissed his ward publically.
Couldn't blame him, but couldn't exactly regret his behavior either.
"Indeed. I'd like to announce my engagement to Miss Bethanny Lamont." Graham spoke with excited wonder, his tone almost foreign to his own ears.
Bethanny glowed, her face radiating the joy that echoed in his own heart.
"Then I shall not call you out," Clairmont announced.
Graham shot him a dark look but was beaten to the punch, so to say, by Carlotta, who had done the same then swatted her husband with her fan.
Clairmont simply chuckled and winked at his wife, who blushed.
It was most assuredly time for those two to retire to their bedroom.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't hear a proposal." Beatrix took a step forward, her tone assertive and challenging. "Did you?" She turned to Lord Neville.
"Er, actually… no." He shrugged and then shared a smile with her.
Graham exhaled an impatient breath. "It seems I forgot something, Miss Lamont." Standing, he pulled Bethanny up as well. "Miss Lamont, will you do me the intense honor of being my wife, and thereby putting me out of the acute misery of living without you, since you are my heartbeat, my breath, my very life?"
He didn't think Bethanny's smile could grow any brighter, yet it did. It was like trying to stare at the sun. It was too bright, too beautiful, only something heaven could contain.
"Yes. Finally!" she answered and threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, before leaning back and placing an enthusiastic kiss, far less chaste than the one he had initiated earlier.
"Bethanny!" Clairmont scolded.
She ignored him
Bless t
he woman, she was perfection.
"Bethanny, dear," Carlotta whispered softly.
Reluctantly, Bethanny pulled away, but not before she whispered a soft, "I love you."
Graham felt his heart swell with gratitude. "Not as much as I love you, but I'll give you the rest of your life to try."
"Agreed."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
London had never felt so free. Of course that was likely because Graham had spent the remainder of the house party under guard.
For pity sake, they were engaged! Yet Clairmont insisted some footman dog him at all hours of the day… and night.
The day wasn't so terrible.
The night, however, was an entirely different story.
In truth, knowledge that a guard was posted outside of his door and, also, Bethanny's door had given him pause before he acted rashly.
But as soon as he kissed the soft skin of her hand and bid her goodnight, losing himself in the blatant desire in her expression, he'd go to his room… and stare at the door.
Then walk to the window, gaze down at the two-story drop, and calculate just how painful a broken ankle or leg would be. After all, any injury would be worth the reward of capturing a secluded moment — or entire night — with Bethanny.
Truthfully, he might have jumped if the result wouldn't have been a broken bone that would have inhibited the activities he wished to engage in to begin with. One cannot… please… if unable to even walk.
And then there was the guard at her door.
Blast.
That plan thwarted — and after an uttered curse toward the duke — he would sit on his very large and lonely bed and pray that the guard would fall asleep.
He never did.
And so, each morning Graham awoke in an awkward mess, sprawled out on top of his bed and with a worse disposition than the day before.
Until he saw her, and then it was as if the sun shone after months of rain, and he'd continue on — like the lovesick swain that he was — till night fell again.
Thankfully. the party had lasted only three additional days past his epic performance at charades; otherwise it might have killed him.
That epic performance was currently the most on dit, gossip, much to his chagrin. Granted, it had only been a week since the house party; A week where each of those seven days passed with the speed of frozen molasses. Though thankful to be home, he couldn't contain his anticipation for when it was not just his home… but Bethanny's as well. Graham smiled to himself and double-checked for the special license tucked carefully within his desk.
Two days.
Truly it couldn't soar by fast enough. Especially with Clairmont still insisting on Bethanny being shadowed by a chaperone and a hulking footman.
A footman that had far too many scars and far too little teeth.
Graham shivered.
No, Clairmont had won that round. It was clear he wasn't getting anywhere near Bethanny until she was safely married to him.
Graham bit back a groan of frustration at the conclusion that he hadn't kissed her since their very public engagement, and that wasn't very much of a kiss.
Yet, if he were to truly kiss her now… yes. He understood Clairmont's angle.
A kiss would not simply be a kiss. It would turn into something much more at a rapid pace.
Two days. He could make it. Graham sat behind the desk in his study and leaned back. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands behind his head and willed his tight body to relax.
The effort was futile.
Even in the soft crackling of the fire, he could hear the gentle swish of her skirt. The air seemed to carry her cloying fragrance of lemon and soft jasmine that captivated his senses. He even fancied he could hear the soft tinkle of her laughter.
His nose tickled, and, without opening his eyes, he swatted the pesky fly that had undoubtedly landed on his person.
Sighing deeply, he tried to relax once more, only this time the fly landed on his cheek.
Irritated, Graham slapped the offending insect and was greeted by feminine laughter drenched in amusement.
His eyes shot open as he turned to face… Bethanny?
"I…" He paused, narrowing his eyes. At first he was quite certain that all the madness of desire had finally caught up with him, and he was hallucinating.
There was no other plausible explanation.
"Hello to you as well… though I had anticipated a different sort of welcome." His eyebrow arched in challenge, and she held up a small feather and grinned unapologetically.
Slowly, Graham reached out and plucked the feather from her hand, his wits slowly restored. "Life will certainly be interesting with you, wont it?" he teased, before pulling her until she tumbled onto his lap.
Without hesitation, Graham placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her into an immediately scorching kiss. His lips caressed hers, each sense overwhelming him, pulling him in deeper, causing him to thirst for more, to need to satisfy his desire for the woman he loved so deeply.
Breaking the seal of their lips, Graham gently tilted her head to expose the flesh of her neck. It was soft and inviting, begging to be ravished.
"How did you…" he spoke between kisses trailing down her jawline to the graceful curve of her neck, "get away?"
"I, er… good heavens." Bethanny made a soft moan of pleasure that caused Graham to smile in delight that he was rendering her senseless.
"Hmm?" he asked, toying with her buttons at the back of her dress to expose her shoulder.
"I, er…"
"I believe you said that," Graham teased.
Abruptly, she pulled away and narrowed her eyes slightly, though they danced with passionate delight. "Do you want to sit and have a chat with tea, or are you going to be quiet and kiss me?"
"Kiss you," Graham answered succinctly and proceeded to taste her mouth once more. His arms, far too long empty, were now full of her sweet body pressed against him. His hands roamed her back, traced the line of her waist, till resting on her hips. He gloried in her perfect shape, the delight of her form adding to the intense pleasure of her enthusiastic kiss. He trailed kisses down to her now-exposed shoulder and tasted her soft flesh, committing the scent and flavor to memory.
"Besides, it doesn't matter… I'm here, aren't I?" She breathed.
Graham paused.
His body demanded he continue his sweet exploration of their long-desired freedom, but he also wanted to live past the evening and long enough to marry the sweet temptress before him.
And Clairmont had warned him one too many times for his threats to not be valid.
Graham reached up and trailed a soft touch over her face before he let his fingers explore the softness of her rich hair. "Love… are you certain that—"
"If she is compromised—" Clairmont's voice boomed from the other side of the study door.
"Thank the Lord I had the good sense to lock it!" Bethanny scrambled from Graham's lap and righted her dress.
Which was, fortunately, only slightly askew.
Graham lamented the fact that their secret encounter was already at an end.
But oh, had it been deliciously sweet.
Two days, he reminded himself.
With a longsuffering sigh, he shared a glance with Bethanny as Clairmont proceeded to bang on his study door.
"Heaven help him when he has daughters… and you know the Almighty will give him a dozen as penance," Graham murmured to Bethanny as he went to unlock the study door.
"Yes?" Graham asked as he opened the door wide and was met with an angry duke.
"Bethanny," he ground out, his gaze slipping past Graham and landing on his previously missing ward.
"Yes, Your Grace." Bethanny curtseyed, her smile wide and utterly unapologetic.
"We're leaving… now. And I'm tying you up till you're officially married," he threatened, though Graham could see the bluster leaving, a sincere light of affection coloring his gaze.
"Perhaps if you granted a small
amount of freedom to spend time with my betrothed, I wouldn't resort to such measures," Bethanny offered back, her arms crossed and her gaze leveled.
Graham wanted to kiss her so desperately his body ached with the denial.
Turning, he watched Clairmont.
"You'll be lucky if you're allowed to leave your room after this incident," Clairmont shot back. "But perhaps I've been a bit..."
"Overbearing?" Bethanny finished just as Graham said, "Demented."
Clairmont shot a glare toward Graham.
To which Graham shrugged.
"Two days… and she is all yours… and your problem," Clairmont threatened with narrowed eyes.
"Believe me, I'm counting the hours."
Clairmont chuckled. "I do not doubt it." He then turned to Bethanny." If you're finished enjoying your measure of freedom with your fiancé, may we now return home? You may see Graham tomorrow, and I'll even allow five minutes alone."
"Alone without you… or alone without anyone at all?" Bethanny challenged.
"Without anyone… as apt as Graham is in the rakish talents… five minutes wouldn't be a very gracious start to your marriage." Clairmont shot a dark-humored glace to Graham.
To which Graham narrowed his eyes.
Bloody hell… the blackguard had him.
But he wasn't planning on compromising Bethanny before their wedding.
No, he wanted to be sure to take every consideration and make their lovemaking far more than a simple tumble brought on by overheated passion.
He wanted to give her more.
But more importantly, she deserved more.
"Very well." Bethanny nodded and began to walk toward the door.
"Just out of curiosity… how did you escape?" Graham asked as he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, inhaling the sweet fragrance one more time.
"She wasn't a prisoner." Clairmont rolled his eyes impatiently.
Graham arched a sarcastic brow as he glanced to the duke.
"It turns out my bodyguard has a fondness for the parlor maid…" She winked at Graham. "When I invited Molly to read with me… and then engaged the two into conversation… all that was left was for me to excuse myself to gather a book from my room, and the rest is not important."
To Tempt an Earl Page 20