To Tempt an Earl (11 page)

"No, I don't want none, I just want… I want
the right one."

"So you want one?"

"Yes."

Could he volunteer? That would make it
simple.

"But he has to be good enough for her."

Perhaps he shouldn't volunteer…

"Someone with morals, a clean past, someone
who won't see her as a means to an end."

"Noble attributes." Graham nodded, hating
that most of them excluded him.

"What does the duchess say?" Graham
asked.

"To stop worrying."

"A wise woman."

"Shut up."

"I was simply agreeing with your wife."
Graham shrugged and took another sip of brandy. He needed it.

"She doesn't need anyone else to be on her
side."

"I didn't realize we were taking sides."

"There's always sides."

"I wasn't aware—"

"And you must always be on my side."

"Why?"

"Because…" He paused.

"You're outnumbered?" Graham offered, a grin
bending his lips as he watched his friend's expression turn
irritated.

"No, I'm most certainly—"

"You are, admit it."

"No."

"Admission doesn't mean it's not true,"
Graham replied before thinking. Then cursed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he bit out. Of all the times to be
thinking of
that
conversation with his sister.

Bloody hell.

"As I was saying, I need you on my side."

"But what if I disagree?" Graham asked.

"You won't." Clairmont nodded
assertively.

"Confident, eh?" Graham replied.

"Completely."

"Must be nice," Graham murmured over his
glass.

"What?"

"Ah, nothing of importance."

Clairmont walked a few paces to his window
and gazed out.

"Neville and Somter have taken their leave,"
he commented, no doubt seeing their departure from his window as it
faced the street.

"About bloody time," Graham whispered
lowly.

"I say you're bloody talking to yourself all
the time. Should I be concerned?" Clairmont spoke snidely.

Graham offered him a bland smile and took a
lingering sip of brandy—

"What did
you
think of Bethanny?"

And promptly choked.

"Graham?"

It was a ring of fire in his throat, burning
as it descended into his stomach and scorching his lungs as he
coughed and sputtered.

"Damn it all, don't waste my good brandy by
breathing it in." The duke shook his head as Graham tried to gain a
semblance of composure.

"It wasn't that difficult of a question."

"No, no I simply…" Graham began to explain
but another fit of coughing overtook him.

"Are you going to live through it, then?"
Clairmont spoke sardonically.

"Through sheer force of will," Graham ground
out, his throat still on fire.

Clairmont laughed.

"You're a lot of bloody help."

"I'm not the one who breathes brandy."

Graham glared; after all, what could he say?
Clairmont was right. At least he didn't know
why
he'd
breathed in the brandy.

"Now, if you're once again in control of
yourself, I'd like to know the answer to my question." Clairmont
rocked on his heels.

"What question?" Graham asked, though he knew
the question full well.

"What did you think of Bethanny?"

"Ah." Graham stood and took a few steps
toward the fire. Shrugging slightly, he replied, "I am in agreement
with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I was just told a few moments ago that
I was only allowed to be on
your
side. So therefore, my
opinion must align with yours," Graham teased.

"Nodcock."

"Why, thank you."

"Honestly, though."

"I appreciate your sentimental name
calling."

"Not that. Damn, you're damn irritating. You
know that?"

"I know."

"So?"

"So what?"

"I swear, I feel as though I'm talking with
Berty, when she was
seven!"

"Delightful child."

"Pain in my… er… yes. Delightful child,"
Clairmont amended, a wry grin teasing his features as he shook his
head. "If you please." He exhaled.

Graham sighed in defeat. So much for trying
to distract him from the question. It was a simple enough answer,
but he didn't know if he could keep the truth, the raw honesty of
it, from leaking through his tone and being noticed.

"She's… exquisite." Graham breathed, turning
to the fire lest the Duke see the longing in his eyes.

"She is. You didn't recognize her, did you?"
Clairmont offered lightly.

"No."

Graham heard Clairmont's footsteps till he
saw him out of the corner of his eye, standing beside him as he
gazed into the fire as well.

"Tell me the truth, no sides, no sarcasm. Are
my fears founded?" Clairmont asked with sincerity to his tone that
pierced through Graham.

Because Graham was the wolf that Clairmont
was concerned about.

He was exactly everything the duke wanted to
protect Bethanny from.

But Clairmont was his friend, his best
friend. And he'd not betray that, regardless of how much he wanted
to.

"Your fears are most assuredly founded, my
friend," Graham replied, closing his eyes.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Clairmont
murmured.

Me too.

"Are they gone
, then?
Beatrix poked her head into the salon, asking the question only
after making certain that she was only asking the obvious.

"Indeed." Bethanny sighed, exhausted. Who
knew entertaining could be so tiring?

"Anything interesting happen?" Beatrix asked,
her face alight with curiosity and wonder.

"Ah, no. Wait. Yes!" Bethanny leaned forward
and watched her sister's smile grow as she hurried to sit next to
her.

"What happened?"

"You've heard of Lord Neville, correct?"

"The recluse?"

"Yes!"

"Was he here?" Beatrix asked.

"Yes, and he was by far my favorite."

"But I thought—"

Bethanny reached out and covered her sister's
mouth with her hand.

"Hush!"

Beatrix nodded, and Bethanny removed her
hand. "Sorry."

"Not like
that
."

"That?" Beatrix's brow furrowed in
confusion.

"He rescued me." Bethanny shrugged, watching
closely as her sister's expression became shocked and brimmed with
expectation.

"How so?"

"Well, Lord Somter was quite determined to
converse the entire afternoon away. And when I say converse, I mean
he was the one talking, the
only
one talking."

"What a bother." Beatrix rolled her eyes.

"Indeed. Well…" Bethanny went on to explain
the whole fiasco to Beatrix, who giggled with delight.

"He sounds perfect." Beatrix sighed.

"For someone, but not me," Bethanny replied
honestly.

"Did you happen to see… Mr. Perfect?" Beatrix
asked, her expression teasing.

"Yes… in fact, I did. And he was quite
improper." Bethanny bit her lip.

"What?" Beatrix's eyes widened.

"Don't fuss. It was all in fun. In fact, I
was waiting in here because he said he'd return. But it's getting
late, and I don't think he's going to make good on his word."

"Perhaps he's simply speaking with the
duke."

"He said as much."

"Carlotta says that those two together
chatter like old dowagers." Beatrix shook her head and giggled.

"She does not." Bethanny gently pushed her
sister's shoulder, grinning.

"Yes, she said it to me earlier when she saw
them disappear into the duke's study."

"Hmm… is he still there?"

"I'm not sure… but I'm certain we can find
out." Beatrix smiled wickedly and stood. "Well, are you coming?"
she challenged, her eyes dark and mischievous.

Bethanny exhaled, debating. "Yes," she
answered hesitantly. The last thing she wanted was to be caught
searching for him.

Even if it was the truth. A lady had her
pride.

"Berty is with Carlotta, so we can be ever so
quiet," Beatrix whispered as she eased the door open and glanced
out.

"I say, that girl is louder than elephants,"
Bethanny whispered.

Beatrix shot her a look of complete agreement
and gasped.

Without warning, Bethanny was shoved into the
hall.

Directly in front of the duke and Lord
Graham.

Wide-eyed, she simply blinked at the
gentlemen, who were now regarding her with a mix of alarm and
puzzlement.

She was going to murder her sister.

"Bethanny, didn't see you there, er, have all
your swains left then?" the duke began, his expression no longer
surprised.

That she was able to shock him at all was
quite impressive.

"Y-yes, Your Grace." Bethanny stammered, her
eyes darting between the duke and Lord Graham.

"Ah, the little boys all went home, did
they?" Graham's eyes gleamed with amusement, adding to the already
enticing dimpling grin he was displaying.

"What the devil are you talking about,
Graham? You honestly can't think that she'd want to marry someone
as old as you, can you?" the duke huffed, his expression
intolerant.

Graham's dimples disappeared.

Bethanny grinned.

"There is something to be said about
maturity, Your Grace," Bethanny offered, dipping her gaze to the
floor with a flutter of her lashes.

"There's a distinct difference between
maturity and age, darling. Many gentlemen may have one, but not
necessarily the other," the duke corrected kindly.

Bethanny glanced up, first meeting Lord
Graham's gaze, which was heavy with awareness. His amber-colored
eyes were warm, yet restless, as if fighting some internal
battle.

Not wanting to betray her affections, she
turned to the duke and his warm blue gaze that bespoke the
affection he harbored for her and her sisters.

"Indeed," she agreed.

"However, I would have to say that Graham has
exceeded my expectations and has reached a level of maturity I did
not anticipate." The duke turned to his friend, a wry grin tipping
his lips.

"Your kind words set my heart to fluttering,"
Graham replied sarcastically.

"I'm sure it's more of a compliment than
you'd hear from your sister," the duke dared.

"In saying that, you're implying that my
sister has something important of which to notify me, and I find
that exceedingly unlikely."

"For shame!" Bethanny scolded before she
thought better of herself.

Both gentlemen turned to her with surprised
expressions.

"Forgive me," she paused, then soldiered
through, "but your sister is a dear woman who loves you, and you as
well, Your Grace. Her attempts to display that affection are oft
times…" She tried to think of the correct word.

"Ludicrous?" the duke offered in a helpful
tone.

"Fraught with terror?" Graham added a moment
later.

"Abhorrent?" the duke tried again.

"Meddlesome," Bethanny ground out, her tone
impatient.

Lord Graham snorted.

"However, the end result is not a testament
of the depth, the intention is," Bethanny finished.

"Ah, well said, my dear." the duke nodded
sagely.

"Er, yes," Lord Graham agreed, somewhat
reluctantly.

Bethanny smothered a grin.

"Oh, don't let propriety steal your amusement
at my expense, Miss Lamont." Graham held out his hand in a
welcoming gesture. "By all means, dazzle us with your beautiful
smile," he challenged in a teasing tone.

Unable to restrain herself, Bethanny allowed
her smile to break free, along with a small spell of laughter.

"I say, are all your wards this outspoken?"
Graham mock-whispered to the duke.

"Yes, I blame Carlotta."

Graham nodded sagely.

"And your sister."

"Quite right," Graham agreed

A moment of silence descended in the hall, a
stalemate.

"I do believe I will bid you farewell."
Graham bowed then turned to his friend, grasping his hand and
shaking it.

"Very well," the duke replied. "You will be
at the Symores' rout later this week?"

"Er, yes." Graham responded, but not before
cutting a quick glance to Bethanny. It was far too quick for her to
read its possible meaning.

Drat.

"Until then." The duke nodded and strode down
the hall then paused. "Beatrix? Am I mistaken, or do you have
studies to attend to?" He didn't even turn around, simply spoke
aloud.

Bethanny turned and watched a very flushed
Beatrix step out from the large fern and make her way down the
hall. "Yes, Your Grace," she murmured, turned around and winked at
Bethanny, then carried on behind the duke.

"Minx of a little sister you have there,"
Graham commented.

"You have no idea." Bethanny shook her
head.

"Did you enjoy your afternoon?" Lord Graham
asked, his golden eyes drawing her in.

"Some moments more than others," Bethanny
offered with what she hoped was a flirtatious grin.

"Ah, I suppose a lady is entitled to
selecting her amusements."

"Indeed. I must say, though…" she leaned in
slightly, overjoyed when his eyes glinted in merriment and he
leaned in as well, "Lord Neville is quite the unexpected hero," she
teased, hoping to provoke a reaction.

"Neville?" Graham repeated, his tone
tight.

"Yes. Perhaps later this week at the Symores'
rout I'll share my diverting tale." Bethanny gave him a saucy grin,
turned and walked away.

As she took a few steps, she bit her lip in
anxiety, praying that her ploy had worked.

She had only made it seven steps before she
felt a tug on her hand. Her heart racing and her skin feverish with
awareness, she turned. Lord Graham's dimples were in full force,
adding to the captivating smile and straight white teeth he
boasted. The cut of his jaw somehow accentuated the shape of his
eyes.