To Tempt an Earl (15 page)

"Just what are you staring at?"

Graham startled and then turned a withering
glare at his sister.

"I'm… keeping an eye on Neville," Graham
answered then cleared his throat.

"Neville? Why in heaven's name are you
watching—?" She waved her hand dismissively as she turned and
scanned the dancers, but paused.

As fate — cruel beast that it was — would
have it, she glanced at the dancers just as Neville and Bethanny
were dancing in a circle, his hands holding hers as they
promenaded, his expression full of interest and a dash of
desire.

"Oh," she stated flatly then, "Oh!" Her eyes
widened as she glanced to Graham then back to Bethanny.

"No. It's not, I assure you…"

"Complete sentences, Graham."

"No! You must cease your thinking."

"I assure you that your request is entirely
impossible."

"No."

"Yes, and what's so wrong with it? She's a
lovely girl!"

"That's just it! She's a girl!"

"As opposed to…?" She let the question
linger, pregnant with implications, her eyebrow arching in question
and devilish delight as she awaited his answer.

"Ah! This,
this
is why I leave for
Scotland, why I travel!"

"Because of a girl? Wait—"

"No." Graham spoke with too much volume and
glanced about, waiting till the few curious stares he'd attracted
were cast elsewhere. "No," he continued, much softer but through
gritted teeth. "I travel to get away from you, from your
assumptions, your meddling nature, and the extreme irritation with
which it vexes me! And the fact that Bethanny is a female is
entirely different than the fact that she's a girl, as in very
young. Besides, have you even thought to consider what Clairmont
would do if he thought I was casting eyes at his ward? The man's in
knots as it is, asking
me
of all people to help keep an eye
on her!" Graham finished, congratulating himself on not only
perfect complete sentences, but finishing the entire explanation
without raising his voice… or unclenching his teeth.

He slowly relaxed his aching jaw.

"Ah, I see."

With that, she simply blinked, watching
him.

As if his long explanation was nothing more
than a comment on the weather.

Bloody hell. His sister was going to be the
cause of his early demise. He was sure of it.

Death by vexation.

He waited, and because he was never able to
claim an exceeding amount of patience, he reverted to his juvenile
nature. "What?"

"Hmm?" She shrugged, a decidedly feminine
action that bespoke a calm disinterest.

If she didn't kill him by vexation,
he
might kill
her
for that same reason.

"I find it remarkably difficult to comprehend
that you have so little to add to the conversation."

"Graham, I find that sometimes it is far more
telling to watch rather than speak." She leaned forward slightly
and waved her fan, hitting him with a stale breeze. "In case you
didn't gather my meaning,
now
is one of those times."

"Hmm," he replied, knowing that anything he
said would be held against him as evidence of whatever she was
trying to prove.

"Yes. You protest too much."

"Because you are insisting on—"

"You having remarkably superior taste in
women than you have had in the past," Lady Southridge finished, a
sweet smile softening her features.

"I—"

"Graham, I might be quite a bit older than
you, but those years have given me something you cannot claim."

"And what is that? An uncanny ability to vex
me?"

"No, experience. And," she paused and tilted
her head slightly, "just to make sure I'm clear, I cannot think of
a better man for Bethanny than you." She nodded then leaned
back.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me."

"Clairmont is insistent that she keep away
from—"

"Rakes and jaded libertines, fortune hunters
and scoundrels of every sort?"

"Yes!"

"And you, dear brother, do not fall into
those categories."

"Oh? When did I acquire such a pristine
reputation? I was quite under the impression that I was still
considered a rake by most standards."

"Oh, you're not perfect. If anyone knows
that, it is I." She fluttered her fingers dismissively.

"And… you are very adequately contradicting
yourself, dear sister."

"No, you might be a rake, but you're not
jaded. You're not a scoundrel or even a rogue. You're a…
charmer
."

"Charmer… I don't know if that's a compliment
or an insult." Graham shook his head; this conversation was going
beyond the pale of absurd.

"Indeed. Your dimples make the ladies swoon,
and I
will
say you are an opportunist."

"Rake
.
The word you're looking for is
rake
."

"No, rakes take and never give. You, Graham,
when you find the right woman, will give everything. Which is also
why you're so scared."

"I'm not scared."

"You're also a terrible liar, but that's
beside the point. You're scared because what if your affections
aren't returned with the same fervor as given? What if you're not
acceptable—"

"I'm not."

"Have you even considered the possibility
that you might be?"

"No, because I'm not, I'm not going to give
myself bloo — er, wretched hope when I know there is none. I'll not
delude myself."

"Then that, my dear brother, is your loss.
Your deep and immense loss." Lady Southridge's expression turned to
pity, causing Graham's stomach to clench.

Pity. How he hated it.

Especially from his sister.

Without another word, she walked away shaking
her head slightly.

Graham released a silent sigh of exasperation
and frustration. Lady Southridge was his sister and, as such, was
required to have allegiance to him, to think of him better than
anyone else. He was family, after all, and blood ran deep. But
Graham didn't want to give himself the permission to hope.

Yet that's exactly what he found himself
doing.

Hoping.

Because what if she was right.

Wasn't it worth finding out?

Bethanny waited
anxiously
for the supper waltz. She had danced each set,
each with a calf-eyed suitor who complimented on her dress, eyes
and the grace with which she danced.

One even compared her to a swan.

She was quite certain she could tread the
boards and be an actress for all the composure and acting she'd
done to accept
that
compliment with social grace.

It would have been easier if she hadn't just
stepped on his toe.

Twice.

Yet still the gentleman insisted on her
grace.

It was dreadfully amusing and far less
true.

The first strains of the supper waltz began,
and Bethanny's gaze darted about, searching for Graham. This was
the dance she was waiting for, and as she glanced about the room
and didn't see his face, her heart grew heavy with
disappointment.

"I believe I am the fortunate recipient of
this dance." Graham's honeyed tones breathed softly into her ear
from directly behind her.

Barely resisting the temptation to lean into
his strong frame, she simply closed her eyes and focused on the
nearness of him. As she did, she could feel the slight heat from
his body permeating her back, her neck tickling with the softest
breeze from his words and the slight smile to his tone.

"And to think I had begun to anticipate the
need to search for a different partner," she murmured softly as she
turned.

"Never." Graham swore softly. His gaze was
deeper, richly filled with something she couldn't quite name. It
was captivating, intoxicating, and welcomed her into its secret
depths.

"I'll keep that in mind," she whispered.

He held out his hand, and she placed her
gloved fingers within reach. With a caressing touch, he closed his
fingers over hers, his gaze never leaving her face as it caressed
her features.

"Shall we?" he asked, one of his dimples
coming into view from the small quirk of his lips.

"Indeed."

Graham led her to the ballroom floor, and
with the practiced ease of a thousand waltzes, he led them into the
swirling mix of dancers. But it was different than the last time he
had waltzed with her. His hand at her waist was firmer in his
touch, as if holding her with purpose, without the intention of
ever letting go. His arm, outstretched along hers, was perfectly
respectable, except his fingers were grasping hers tightly, not
painfully so, simply… possessive. And then, he squeezed slightly,
running a finger in a soft swirl against the back of her hand.

It was delicious.

And distracting.

She stumbled, earning a grin from her
partner.

"Your fault," Bethanny challenged.

"Indeed. Shall I try it again?" he whispered,
his eyes taking on a devilish light.

Leaning forward slightly, Bethanny answered,
"Yes."

"You'd think I'd be accustomed to your
forward nature," Graham remarked with a grin.

"I'd think you'd expect it, given my
relationship with your sister," she shot back cheekily.

"Ah, but dear Miss Lamont, that would imply
that I thought you in the same context as my sister. And that, I
can assure you, is not the case," he whispered meaningfully.

"That is exceedingly good news, my lord."

"Is it?"

"Yes, though I did surmise that information,"
she replied.

"Oh? Did you now?" he asked with an
entertained grin.

"Indeed." She leaned in slightly, as if
imparting a great secret. "I don't imagine you kiss your sister
like you kissed me."

Graham leaned back, his gaze shocked.

And then he misstepped.

"Now, we're even, my lord."

"Remind me never to enter into a wager with
you." He shook his head, though a delighted grin showed off both
glorious dimples.

Bethanny barely resisted the urge to sigh.
"Ladies do not wager."

"Ah, but didn't you say you were quite close
with my sister?" he shot back.

"Yes, but a lady simply guesses, and if she
happens to be right, well..." Bethanny shrugged.

"Ah, but that is where you and my beloved
sister differ, Miss Lamont."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You see, you said that if a lady
happens
to be correct, whereas my sister would simply assume
she was correct in the first place."

"Ah, I believe you're correct. It seems I
have much to learn," she teased.

"Heavens, no. I beg of you." He shot a
heavenward glance of desperation then grinned.

The waltz ended, leaving Bethanny with a pang
of disappointment. Graham would now take her to Carlotta, bow, and
then take his leave. If she were lucky, he'd ask for another dance,
but to do so would certainly cause talk.

If only.

Graham released her waist and guided her
along the marbled floor, just as she'd anticipated, in the
direction of Carlotta. Desperate to keep him for just a few
precious moments longer, she glanced about, searching for a reason
— valid or not — to keep him close.

But then he turned slightly, leading her
toward the balcony.

Her heart soared then beat double-time as she
tried to anticipate his reasons. Did he
want
to kiss her
again?
Would
he kiss her again? Was there any possible way
to — aside from brazenly kissing him herself, but her bravery had
its limits — get him to consider that option?

"I thought you might enjoy some air."

"Yes, thank you. It's quite a lovely evening,
is it not?" Bethanny asked, her tone light in contrast with her
rapidly beating heart.

"I have yet to see anything lovelier," Graham
spoke softly, and she turned, seeing his gaze focused on her.

Against her better judgment, a bubble of
laughter broke through her tense state. "Forgive me." She covered
her mouth with her gloved hand, her eyes still smiling with
amusement.

"I will do no such thing," Graham rallied,
his gaze stern yet slightly taken aback.

"My lord, forgive me, I beg of you. It was
poor manners on my part."

"Indeed. However, I must know
why
you
chose to laugh at my sincere compliment," he challenged, his gaze
turning warm with amusement.

"Ah, shouldn't a lady have her secrets?"

"No. A
lady
wouldn't have
laughed."

"Are you implying then that I'm no lady?" she
shot back in challenge, her lips bending in a teasing grin.

"Yes. Indeed."

"Well, a
gentleman
wouldn't dare imply
such a thing."

"I am no gentleman, it appears. And now that
we have successfully ascertained that neither you nor I have any
manners or breeding," he challenged then took a step closer, "I
demand you tell me why you were laughing at my expense."

"Demand?" Bethanny replied archly.

"Request," Graham amended with a mocking
bow.

"Ah, much better." Bethanny spoke through a
small laugh. "If you must know, my lord—"

"Edward."

"Excuse me?" Bethanny stilled, her eyes wide
with wonder, and her mind racing with the implications of such an
informal address.

"Edward, my name. Since we've already
dispatched the idea that I'm a gentleman, I insist that you call me
by my Christian name."

"Ah." Bethanny swallowed. After taking a
fortifying breath, she felt an adventurous grin take over her
previous astonishment. "Then, to be fair, you must address me as
Bethanny." She hitched a shoulder.

"To be fair." Graham tilted his head.

"Yes."

"Right then, Bethanny. Do your sisters call
you Beth?"

"No, actually." She felt her brow furrow at
the tangent their conversation had taken.