To Tempt an Earl

by Kristin Vayden

  "I believe it's very important," Clairmont challenged. "You were traveling alone, at night—"

  "I never said I was alone… but a lady doesn't reveal all her secrets. Just know this. I was indeed safe."

  "If you weren't alone, who was with you and where are they now?" Clairmont challenged.

  Graham's gaze continued to dart between Bethanny and the duke, his amusement growing as he watched the two interact. It was a battle of stubborn will.

  "That is none—"

  "Indeed it is! I'm your guardian! How am I to guard you if you are out gallivanting—"

  "We were not gallivanting—"

  "Who is we?" Graham asked, his anxiety growing.

  "Oh, for the love of all that is holy, will you two just be quiet?"

  A shadowed figure eased his way from the hall. "Upon seeing Miss Lamont escaping your home, Your Grace, I offered to take her wherever she was trying to go. Forgive me this trespass, but I was more concerned about the lady's safety than social stigma," Lord Neville replied succinctly.

  Graham felt his jaw drop.

  Neville?

  Graham glanced to Clairmont. His jaw, too, was clenched.

  "And just how do you plan to explain that your carriage was seen picking up Miss Lamont after dark and bringing her to a—"

  "I wasn't in my carriage. I had hired a hack. And no one saw us," Lord Neville interrupted, his tone clipped.

  "How can you be so certain?"

  "It's my profession to know such things. I assumed that Miss Lamont was trying to make her way to Lord Graham's residence, which coincided with my own plans for the evening." Lord Neville adjusted his great coat. "To make a long story short, Miss Lamont was quite… determined. Once she was aware of my intentions, I had no choice but to take her with me to Lord Graham's residence. I didn't doubt her threat to walk alone at night, and I wasn't about to let her be in danger. Miss Lamont understood that I would give them a few moments of privacy." He glanced to the duke. "Not long enough to do permanent damage, I assure you." He then turned to Lord Graham. "And then I was going to make my presence known."

  "Thank you for your consideration." Graham nodded appreciatively to Lord Neville. His curiosity piqued, he asked "Me? You were on your way to pay me a visit… at this hour?"

  "Indeed. Now, since we have worked out all the sordid details of Miss Lamont's escapade, may I have a private audience with you, Lord Graham?" Neville asked, his dark eyes serious.

  Graham nodded, and, after bidding a far-too-formal farewell to Bethanny and the duke, he ushered Neville into his office.

  And bloody hell, if that office didn't still carry her scent…

  "Graham, I have some distressing yet very important news I must share with you." Lord Neville seated himself.

  Graham strode to this desk and sat, his brow furrowed. "Proceed."

  "It has come to our attention—"

  "Our?" Graham asked.

  "Indeed. That's all you need to know at this point," Neville replied curtly.

  "Very well."

  "It has come to our attention that the deaths of the Baron and Baroness Lamont were not accidental."

  "Pardon?" Graham felt his blood chill as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the cool wood of his desk.

  "The deaths of Miss Lamont's parents appear to be intentional. And until we are able to lay to rest this suspicion, we must take care with the living relations."

  "And you're just discovering this now?" Graham asked angrily.

  "Indeed. We recently came upon incriminating evidence… of a sensitive nature."

  "So Bethanny? Beatrix? Berty? They are all in danger?" Graham asked, leaning back in his chair, his heart hammering with resolution that not a hair on Bethanny's head would be harmed by any threat.

  "Possibly, and until we have evidence, we are going to need to keep a sharp eye on the ladies," Neville paused and leaned forward, "especially Bethanny, being the oldest. That is why I'm approaching you first. I will call on Clairmont in the morrow."

  "This is greatly disturbing news." Graham exhaled, his heart constricting with anger over someone threatening the one he loved.

  "Indeed. Now you understand why I found myself outside of the Clairmont's residence."

  "Yes, it makes sense now. Do you work for the war office?" Graham questioned.

  "No," Neville replied, but offered no additional details. "I'll leave you to your evening. Don't worry, I shall see myself out."

  "Much like you saw yourself in?" Graham arched an eyebrow.

  "Indeed." Neville lips bent into an almost-smile, and then he disappeared into the hall.

  Graham stood and walked to the fire.

  As the flamed licked the wood, he considered his evening. The heat of desire had been quenched with a sickening dread.

  But one thing was for certain, no harm would come to Bethanny as long as he still drew breath.

  And with that final thought, Graham found peace.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Bethanny stared out the carriage window, the dim streetlights blurring as she considered Lord Neville's purpose in seeking out Graham. Obviously, she wasn't privy to hearing their private conversation, but she couldn't help but be intensely curious. Narrowing her eyes, she turned to the duke. She inhaled, opening her mouth to speak, but upon catching the leveled glare the duke was sending in her direction, she closed her mouth and sighed instead.

  Drat.

  She had rather hoped her courageous statement of opinion earlier and the verbal sparring that had resulted were the end of the issue.

  No such luck.

  Truthfully, she should have known better.

  "Whatever you do, please do not turn out Molly and Douglas on their ear. Truly, it wasn't their fault," Bethanny pleaded softly.

  "Oh, believe me, I lay the entire situation's blame at your feet, and your feet alone." The duke spoke curtly, his blue eyes narrowing.

  Bethanny felt the distinct desire to shrink under his scrutiny. Immediately, she felt as if she were five and being scolded by her father. True, the duke was far younger, but the expression was one and the same. She glanced down. Thankfully, the usual pain at remembering her parents had dimmed with time and, much as Carlotta had said so long ago, the memories were ones of joy, rather than an unending source of pain.

  With a soft sigh, she raised her gaze to the duke, only to be speared with the same expression of just you wait till we get home, young lady. With such a perfected fatherly glare, the duke was sure to be a wonderful parent.

  At once, the amusing curse Graham had spoken just before he had allowed the duke entrance into his study caused a bubble of laughter to escape her lips.

  She raised a gloved hand to stifle the mirth, but it was too late.

  "Please, don't control your amusement for my benefit. I'm deeply curious as to what you find amusing in this situation, especially since I can't think of a damn thing," the duke spoke darkly.

  Bethanny should have been scandalized at his foul language, but rather she supposed it was accurate for the emotional turmoil she had put him through, so with a reluctant sigh — and a brimming smile that wouldn't remain hidden — she explained, "Well, Your Grace. It would seem that your good friend said something earlier that I simply found all too… accurate."

  "I'm assuming the good friend you're referring to is Graham, though I'm struggling with that title at the current moment." He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. "What is this accurate thing that he spoke of?" He let out a beleaguered sigh. Clearly irritated, he took off his tall, dark hat, setting it to the side of him on the bench.

  For good measure, he smoothed the soft felt. Satisfied with its state, he turned to Bethanny, a question in his expression.

  His impatient expression.

  "I believe you're aware that Carlotta confided in us that soon we shall all have a lovely little one to spoil." Bethanny grinned widely, her hands refused to stay prim and proper on her lap; rather, they excitedly fidgeted on
her lap.

  "Indeed." He nodded slowly. "And I must make certain you understand that spoiling is perfectly fine. However, you mustn't teach my heir anything. Heaven only knows the poor child will be born with enough mischief in his blood simply being mine." The duke shook his head as if concerned already.

  "Actually, what Lord Graham said was of the same variety." Bethanny shrugged.

  "I doubt it was that exactly." He narrowed his eyes.

  Bethanny simply smiled in return.

  "Must I remind you that—"

  "Very well, I do believe I've been threatened enough for one evening. Goodness, is this what it feels like to be Graham? It's a wonder he still likes you!" Bethanny shook her head as she studied her guardian.

  "He has to. I'm allowing him to marry you," the duke shot back, his eyebrows raised.

  "You do have a point."

  "Yes. I rather do." He nodded then wiped his face with his hands, as if reaching the end of his rope. "Good Lord, as much as I want a daughter who is the image of her mother, I truly hope she is less work than the lot of you."

  "I feel rather slighted," Bethanny huffed, an amused smile on her lips.

  "If you had endured what I have, at your hand, in the past few hours, you'd not be offended. You'd saint me for my patience."

  "Yes, sainthood is most assuredly in your future," Bethanny replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  "Since when did you get so… bold. I do believe I must lay the blame at Lady Southridge's feet," he mumbled.

  "Or Carlotta's." Bethanny smiled sweetly.

  "Blast it all, I'm surrounded."

  "Speaking of Lady Southridge, where is she? I heard she left the day after Graham's proposal, but I didn't even remember seeing her at supper," Bethanny asked.

  "She had some important business that couldn't wait. That's all she told me as she took her leave. I'm quite certain she wasn't concerned about the outcome of Graham's intentions, knowing both of you as she does."

  "Indeed." Bethanny nodded, still slightly confused, but she was accustomed to feeling that particular emotion when in conjunction with Lady Southridge, so she shrugged it away.

  "At least Beatrix is a bit quieter," Bethanny offered.

  "Berty will more than make up for that," the duke shot back. "By the time I have you three married off and settled, with my luck, I'll have a little girl parading around and mimicking her aunts' every move and… good Lord, I'm too old for this." He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  "I have a feeling that we all will have quite the opposite effect, especially your expected heir." Bethanny leaned forward slightly till the duke gave her his attention. "Rather, Your Grace, we keep you young." She smiled and braced herself slightly as the carriage halted. Without another word, she waited for the footman to open the door. Soundlessly, she exited and walked into the house.

  Thankfully, the duke hadn't lectured her further, and she'd been able to ready herself for bed. With a soft sigh, she lay down on the soft mattress and inhaled the familiar scent of lavender. As she rubbed her feet together and listened for the sweet song of the chirping crickets, the last coherent memory was a simple number.

  Two days.

  Two days, and she'd no longer be sleeping alone.

  Graham studied his reflection as his valet continued to brush his fine wool coat, pausing only to tug on a sleeve or adjust a dimple in his cravat. He stared at the mirror, but wasn't seeing himself; he was imagining Bethanny.

  His soon-to-be wife.

  The past two days had been an eternity wrapped into a mocking forty-eight hours.

  But blessedly, he had only two hours left till the ceremony.

  Already, guests had arrived to St. George's. The chapel had become quite the rage for ton marriages; thankfully, they were accustomed to accommodating the impatient requests of the local gentry.

  Lord Graham included.

  And so, at precisely eleven in the morning, the priest would join them together in marriage.

  How unfortunate that it was only nine.

  "Sir, if you insist on moving, this will regrettably take much longer to do," Simmons, his valet, scolded gently.

  "Very well." Graham tried to remain still.

  And apparently failed, as Simmons shot him an imploring expression.

  "I do believe this is as good as I can do at the moment." Simmons took a step back and regarded him, his trained eyes taking in every line, stitch, and fold in Graham's appearance.

  "Thank you," Graham offered.

  "It is an absolute pleasure, my lord." Simmons bowed and left silently, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

  Graham exhaled an anxious breath. As impatient as he was, another part of him could hardly believe that the moment was almost upon him. A wonder-filled smile teased his lips.

  Bethanny

  Passionate love and a protective instinct roared to life within him at just the thought of her name. To think he had wasted so much time running from the gift that was standing before him.

  He was simply thankful he had amended his way of thinking before it was too late.

  Before he lost the only woman who would ever own his very heartbeat.

  As much as he had seen love, experienced aspects of it from various points of view, nothing could have ever prepared him for the all-encompassing drive it created within, the utter sacrifice of self and the complete exaltation of another.

  Not that Bethanny was perfect. He wouldn't do such a disservice to her as to put her on a pedestal she'd only topple from. No one deserved the pressure of being worshiped.

  Even one such as he knew that belonged only to God.

  Besides, it was her imperfections, the specific ones that set her apart as the perfectly flawed one that completed him.

  That drove him to distraction.

  That somehow combined into the most beautiful, mysterious creation God had fashioned.

  And he was to be her husband.

  The enormity of the situation hit Graham hard. It was now his responsibility — no — his honor to protect her, love her selflessly, love her only. She would be his to serve, to stand by, to support.

  His.

  No one else's.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured her face, the soft curl of her mahogany mane, the dancing light in her bottomless brown eyes, and the sensual curve of her neck.

  Two hours.

  One ceremony.

  One celebration.

  And then there would be nothing left to separate them.

  Literally.

  With a rakish grin, Graham turned to the fire.

  Two hours.

  And she'd be his.

  "She's perfect. Would you stop fussing with her?" Berty's impatient voice clipped.

  "I know she's perfect," Beatrix ground out, shooting a glare in Berty's direction. "She's breathtaking. I'm simply adjusting her dress slightly—"

  "No, you're going to wrinkle it," Berty interrupted.

  "I. Will. Not." Beatrix bit the words and then took a step back. Expelling a frustrated sigh, she relaxed her shoulders and regarded her sister.

  "Bethanny, you truly are a vision. Lord Graham is going to swallow his tongue."

  "Beatrix!" Bethanny cried, though she was delighted that Beatrix thought her that beautiful.

  "He won't do such a thing." Berty rolled her eyes. "It's practically impossible to do."

  "He won't take his eyes off of you," Beatrix asserted.

  "That is for certain." Berty nodded.

  "Oh, dear Lord, am I too late?" Lady Southridge rushed into the room, her dress slightly disheveled and her hat askew, as if she had been running.

  "Lady Southridge!" Bethanny cried, her sisters echoing her words a moment after her. "Where have you been? We've been worried though Carlotta assured us—"

  "Oh, my darlings! I'm perfectly well. Simply had to rush off. So sorry I didn't pause to say goodbye. It was rather a pressing matter, however. All is well, though. No need to fuss." She swatted th
e air delicately and then pulled Berty — who was closest in proximity — into an embrace. Beatrix stepped over and wrapped her arms around the two, laying her head on Lady Southridge's back.

  Bethanny waited, her heart swelling with joy and relief. When Carlotta had said that Lady Southridge had been called away upon urgent business, Bethanny had despaired whether she was well, or injured, and if she'd return in time for the wedding.

  "I'm here, I'm here, my dears," she cooed and pressed a soft kiss to Berty's cheek.

  "Thank heavens. What in creation had you leaving without so much as saying goodbye?" Beatrix asked, releasing her.

  "All in good time, my loves. Now," she turned to face Bethanny, "I do believe I'm gaining a sister today." She beamed delightedly.

  "You know," Bethanny tilted her head and studied Lady Southridge with a grin, "I had never thought of it that way. It's true, isn't it?" Bethanny grinned widely.

  "Indeed, however, since I've already asserted myself as your grandmother, I'll retain the position. I've always felt more of a mother to Graham than a sister. He'll tell you I've been bossy enough to be one as well!" She giggled.

  "What matters," Bethanny stepped forward and grasped her hands, "is that we are family."

  "Indeed. And I must say, my brother has delightful taste. Not only are you stunningly beautiful to behold, dear one, but…" she leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye, "you are even more breathtakingly beautiful inside." Softly she reached out and touched toward Bethanny's heart.

  Tears stung Bethanny's eyes at the soft gesture. "Thank you."

  "Girls! Are we ready? It's about time to depart." Carlotta swept into the room and paused. "Lady Southridge! Thank Heavens! I got your missive that you were trying to be here, but when I didn't hear anything further, I began to worry!" Carlotta rushed forward and embraced her.

  "All's well. I'm the least of your worries. Keep your concerns for these ones and the new little one you'll be handing over to me shortly to spoil." She winked.

  "Between you and the girls…" Carlotta smiled indulgently, as she placed a hand to her belly, "there's no hope for this one. He or she will be rotten to the core."