To Tempt an Earl (8 page)

"And I believe, if I may be so bold to say,
I am
familiar with you, my lord." She smiled
flirtatiously.

Blast it all, the chit had a point. But he
was
not
going to admit that.

"But that doesn't mean…" He sighed in
exasperation. "You still shouldn't let me call you by your
name."

"But I like it." Her grin widened as her eyes
danced.

"Good Lord, Bethanny — Miss Lamont — you
cannot… you cannot say such things!"

Why was the ballroom so hot! His cravat was
all but choking him, and for the second time that evening, he was
struggling to breathe.

One thing was for certain, Bethanny Lamont
was not good for his health.

She sincerely might be the death of him.

But oh, what a way to go.

"Why?" She shrugged delicately.

"Because the gentleman in question might take
that as an invitation." Graham cleared his throat. He certainly
would take it as an invitation, and if she were anyone else, he
would
run
with that invitation… preferably to a very dark
and deserted corner.

"Then the
gentleman
in question would
finally be getting the point," she shot back, a smile teasing her
lips.

"Pardon?" He almost choked on the word. Was
she
that
bold?

"You. You are the gentleman in question, in
case I wasn't clear enough."

"You were bloo — acutely clear. I say, are
you always this bold?"

"No." She shook her head slightly, causing
the coffee-colored curls to bounce delicately.

"I should hope not. No wonder your guardian
was having a fit about your come out," Graham mostly said to
himself.

"Oh, yes… he can be quite protective. But
it's all done with a good heart, you understand. He was quite the
rake, you know."

Graham felt his jaw drop.

"Er, yes… and in case you haven't heard, I
have been known to be one myself."

"I'm aware." She shrugged.

"And yet you still bait me?" Graham felt his
eyes narrow.

"I'm not baiting you, as you say. I'm simply
being honest."

"Yes, well, perhaps it would be wise for you
to not be so honest."

"Because you're a rake?"

"Yes."

"And you'll take shameless advantage of my
inexperience?" she asked with a knowing grin, her gaze dancing with
delight over knowing she'd bested him.

"Er…"

"Yes, because we simply couldn't have that
happen… again. No, I'm quite sure I did not enjoy that kiss." As if
to punctuate her point, she bit her lower lip then licked it as her
gaze dropped to her slippers.

If her cheeks hadn't bloomed with color at
her daring statement, Graham would have thought her a shameless
flirt, the worst kind. Yet his instinct told him that she was doing
exactly as she'd said, being honest.

Lord knew he could only take so much honesty
before he went mad with it and did something brash.

Like kiss her again… in the middle of the
crowded ballroom.

"Enjoyment doesn't equal affection," he
forced himself to say, knowing that it was a lie. No, if this
conversation was any indicator, he could very easily have more than
attraction for the young lady.

"No, but it doesn't mean it isn't possible,"
she spoke bravely, her gaze once more meeting his.

"Miss Lamont, I cannot. You must understand.
I… no. I made a mistake, one I am lamenting—" Graham forced himself
to say it, knowing it would hurt her, but he saw no other way.

"Let me ask you a question. Would you have
compromised me?"

"Pardon?" He sounded like an idiot.

"Well, would you have?"

"No," he answered, trying to figure out where
she was going with the leading question.

"Because…" Her eyebrows rose.

"Because you're an innocent!" He spoke in
exasperation, too loudly, for another couple waltzing with them
shot him an irritated glance.

"Which is exactly why you sent me off on my
way and didn't ever want to see me again?" she spoke softly.

"No, but—"

"But all that changed when you found out who
I was," she finished.

"YES." She finally understood!

"Why? And don't give your age as a
reason."

"It is a good one — reason, that is. I am
quite a bit older than you. But your guardian, the duke, would call
me out. It would be pistols at dawn if he knew even the tamest
version of what happened earlier this evening. For heaven's sake,
Bethanny, he wanted me here to protect you!"

"From?"

"From men like me," he enunciated.

"Oh." Her lips held the shape of their word
then slowly spread into a grin, which turned into a musical
laughter that was even more alluring than he'd thought
possible.

"You have to admit, that is quite amusing.
Ironic, actually." Her face was lit up in a beatific smile.

"I do not see the humor."

"Pity, because it is indeed quite
hilarious."

"I'm glad you're enjoying the moment."

Her face glowed with her restrained laughter,
causing her to be even more breathtakingly beautiful. And then,
unable to control himself, he grinned.

And that grin began to spread till it was
dangerously close to a smile.

"Ah, see. It
is
amusing," she spoke
through a small laugh.

Graham cleared his throat.

"Nevertheless." He glanced away, trying to
control his wayward emotions.

"
Nevertheless
," she teased.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Yes." She nodded once.

"I — you're…"

"Enchanting," she finished, her gaze
twinkling with mischief. She was dazzling, captivating, and… no
longer dancing.

Graham paused, his brow furrowed as he
glanced around.

No one else was dancing either.

"I thought we should stop and not draw
attention. You seemed to be… sensitive about that prospect,"
Bethanny whispered, her lips barely restraining her mirth.

When had the bloody music ended?

"Don't worry, my lord. We only danced a few
moments longer than the music. I'm sure no one else noticed."

"No one else?" Graham asked, slightly
panicked at his lack of attention to anything but the lovely woman
— who was completely off-limits — in front of him.

"No, just… me." She raised a daring eyebrow
and smiled.

Damn the girl.

He'd be angry if he weren't so intoxicated by
the luscious tip of her lips and the desire it provoked.

Of course, that was what got him in this mess
in the first place.

Because if there was one thing he was certain
of, it was the absolute desirability of Miss Bethanny Lamont.

Now if he could only be so certain of his
ability to resist that temptation.

Bethanny's grin
continued
to grow as she lay on her bed and relived the
evening of her debut. It had been a smashing success, but more
importantly, Lord Graham had most assuredly noticed her.

And had kissed her.

She touched her lips, still in a wide grin,
and closed her eyes, remembering the exact flavor of his kiss, the
slight abrasion of his barely discernable beard against her skin,
and the masculine scent of spice mixed with soap. If she breathed
softly, she could almost smell it again.

She sighed.

The only other time she had been close enough
to bask in the masculine scent that was Lord Graham had happened
inadvertently and quite some time ago. Berty — being Berty — had
stolen one of her ribbons and run off with it. Bethany had caught
her red-handed and pursued her, chasing her down the hall, past the
stairs and to the front door. Of course Berty had known that
Bethanny wouldn't dare burst through the front door as she had. It
simply wasn't done, for a young lady to behave in such a way,
especially one living in one of the most sought-after addresses in
Mayfair.

But just before Berty had made her escape,
she had glanced over her shoulder at Bethanny and stuck out her
tongue.

The hoyden.

Bethanny remembered the anger that had
simmered at her sister's brazen behavior, and simply, the audacity
of Berty sneaking into her room — again — and stealing a ribbon
when she had millions — or at least close to that amount — of her
own…

Enough was enough, so Bethanny narrowed her
eyes and raced to the front door, peeking out through the side
window. Sure enough, Berty was skipping along merrily, no longer
concerned about her irate older sister. She began walking around
the side of the block.

With a sinister laugh, Bethanny rushed to
the servants' entrance out back. Quickly, she passed the startled
servants and burst through the heavy wooden back door — after all,
back doors were an entirely different variety and very acceptable
to burst through — and turned the corner in hot pursuit of her
sister, sure she'd intercept her readily and before anyone saw her
outlandish behavior.

Of course, the only person she intercepted
was Lord Graham, who was coming to visit her guardian, the
duke.

Bethanny didn't have a moment to react;
rather, she plowed into a black coat covering a very firm back and
landed on her seat with a loud groan.

She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Perhaps if she pretended to faint, whomever
she'd just accosted would forgive her for such a blunder.

But then she heard a familiar chuckle. "You
might as well open those brown eyes of yours, Miss Lamont. I know
you're quite awake," Lord Graham's voice called softly.

Inwardly Bethanny sighed with both
humiliation yet delight in hearing his voice.

At least she could count on him not to hold
her behavior against her… though it certainly wouldn't assist her
efforts in helping him see her as more than a little girl.

"Bethanny! Are you hurt! Oh Bethanny!"
Berty's voice called a moment later, shrill and afraid. "Oh, Lord
Graham, this is all my fault! I stole her ribbon, and she was
surely looking for me! Oh, why did I do it! Blasted thing." Berty
choked.

Bethanny continued to keep her eyes closed.
At least her humiliation had one silver lining: revenge on her
sister.

"Ah, so you're the culprit," Lord Graham
scolded in a stern manner.

Bethanny almost opened her eyes at his tone,
then caught herself, curious as to what he was up to.

"Bethanny? Please answer me! I'll never take
your ribbons again. I swear it." Berty was kneeling over her now,
patting her forehead and grasping her hands.

"She's quite injured, I'm afraid," Lord
Graham added solemnly.

Bethanny wanted to roll her eyes but didn't;
rather, taking secret delight in his playing along.

"Is she? What are we to do?" Berty lamented
then gasped. "I know! In my picture books, the prince always kisses
the beautiful girl to wake her! You're not a prince, but…" she
paused, as if regarding him, "but you are a lord, so perhaps that
is similar enough for it to work! You must kiss her!"

"Pardon?" Lord Graham asked in a confused
tone. Bethanny could hardly blame him; it was a rare day that Berty
didn't confuse her, and she was her sister!

"Kiss her! Oh, please kiss her, and I know
she'll wake up, and then she can forgive me, and I'll never take
her ribbons," Berty explained succinctly, as her young mind saw all
the puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

"Er, I'm quite certain that is not how it
works," Lord Graham argued.

"How would you know? Have you tried it?"
Berty asked impatiently.

"Actually… no," Lord Graham answered.

"Then you have no experience from which to
draw a conclusion. Or at least that's what Carlotta tells me…
frequently," Berty grumbled.

"Ah, a wise woman."

"You're wasting time! Kiss her!" she
demanded.

"I cannot simply kiss—"

"Yes, you can! Kiss her! There's no one
around, and I'll not tell a soul. After all, this is—"

"Your fault, I know."

"Yes."

Lord Graham sighed.

Bethanny secretly bit the inside of her lip
to keep from grinning. She'd have to thank her sister later.

"What if we just ask her—"

"No! That will never work!

"You're quite opinionated for one so young,"
Lord Graham added.

"So I've been told. Now kiss her!"

"Very well, keep a sharp eye out, though.
I'll not have some fop say I'm accosting your sister."

"Yes, sir," Berty immediately agreed.

Lord Graham's breath tickled her ear as he
bent down. "I do hope that ribbon was made of gold, Miss Lamont."
He chuckled then kissed her cheek. His lips were warm and soft,
just brushing the corner of her cheekbone. It was lovely, sweet,
and, at the same time, so melancholy, because though he was close
enough to share the scent he wore of warm spice and peppermint, he
was only there out of coercion of her sister.

Then and there she swore that one day he'd
kiss her because he wanted to.

Like a fairy princess, Bethanny fluttered
her eyelashes dramatically and gasped softly for effect, then
rose.

Berty was beside herself with delight and a
constant beg of pardon was forthcoming for some time after.

Lord Graham simply winked at her and left,
surely to meet up with his friend, the duke, but Bethanny was
forever changed…

It was amazing to compare the past and the
recent happenings just the night before. They were so different.
Yet sadly, they carried one similarity: the melancholy spirit.
While Lord Graham had certainly kissed her of his own will, he
hadn't realized it was her. And once he had, he'd regretted it.

But that didn't mean that Bethanny had
to.

Rolling over on her bed, she rose and padded
across the wooden floors to her low-burning fire. Holding her hands
out, she let the warmth seep into her skin. A knock on the door
alerted her that Molly, her maid, was bringing the newspaper and
warm chocolate she'd requested each morning.