To Tempt an Earl (18 page)

Lady Southridge leaned in slightly, her eyes
narrowing the smallest fraction. "Evasion."

"Pardon?"

"Evasion… don't answer any direct
questions."

"You want me to
lie?"

"No! Heavens, child. Not lie. Simply… don't
offer any free information." Lady Southridge flipped open her fan
and waved herself with it.

"How is that not lying?" Bethanny asked,
disbelieving.

"It's exactly what we were practicing before.
You can do it. And it might buy you some time."

"Time? Why do I need time?"

"Child, you're so innocent." Lady Southridge
glanced about the room then pulled Bethanny around an alcove.
"Graham… as much as you see the knight in shining armor… others
simply see his past. Sadly, the duke is one of them. As his sister,
I'm able to see past his unsavory history and see the potential,
much like you, but I'd wager we see that
potential
quite
differently." Lady Southridge winked. "Give the duke time. Give him
a reason to trust your judgment, time to get accustomed to the idea
of Graham not just being a friend." Lady Southridge nodded
encouragingly.

"But as family." Goosebumps prickled along
Bethanny's skin at the thought.

"A son-in-law, to be exact." A dangerous grin
tipped Lady Southridge's lips.

"I see."

"Good girl. Now—"

"What about Carlotta?" Bethanny asked.

"Ah, if my instincts are correct…"

Bethanny glanced heavenward with an
exasperated expression.

"Then Carlotta has… other things… on her
mind."

"What things?"

"I'm sure you'll learn soon enough," Lady
Southridge hedged, not answering, but her gaze alight with secret
knowledge.

"Very well," Bethanny relented.

Lady Southridge opened her mouth slightly, as
if to add one final word to their conversation, when she paused,
her gaze sliding past Bethanny and lighting up with recognition.
"Lady Symore! What a crush." Patting Bethanny's shoulder, she
leaned in and whispered as she walked toward their hostess,
"Remember our little conversation, ducky." She winked and caught up
with the grinning Lady Symore.

Bethanny watched the older ladies titter and
gossip as they locked arms and turned about the room. Without a
thought, her gaze wandered, searching for Graham's form, his golden
halo of slightly curly hair, his broad shoulders filling out his
evening kit with masculine beauty. But he was nowhere to be seen.
Was he in a gaming room? Had he left? The momentary disappointment
fled as she remembered his promise.

He'd continue their… conversation… later.

And that thought alone would lend to the most
delightful dreams for which a girl could wish.

"Bethanny?
Bethanny!"

Slowly Lord Graham's voice changed pitch till
it sounded identical to her sister Beatrix's.

"Bethanny, for pity sake, get up
already!"

That was most assuredly
not
Lord
Graham speaking.

"Ugh," Bethanny moaned, trying to roll
over.

"I'll get the pitcher," Beatrix warned, her
tone low and threatening.

"Why?" Bethanny whined, not caring that she
sounded eleven, which, ironically, was the same age that Beatrix
had learned about the effect of dumping a pitcher of cold water on
her sister when she wasn't willing to rise from bed.

"Because you'll murder me if you find out
from anyone else."

"Find out what?" Bethanny asked, her eyes
unwilling to open. The soft comfort of her bed called to her with
its inviting warmth. Her body relaxed, her mind drifted—

"You'll thank me later." Beatrix sighed.

A tepid deluge of water cascaded over
Bethanny's hair, soaking her pillow and sheets.

"Ah! Ah! Beatrix! I'm going to—"

"He's gone, Bethanny."

Bethanny had just shot out of bed, her blurry
vision searching for her sister's form so she could throttle
her.

But her words halted her threatening
advance.

"Who?" Bethanny asked, though she feared,
dearly feared she knew the answer already.

No. No. No.

"He left for Edinburgh this morning," Beatrix
whispered.

Bethanny stumbled backward and landed on her
soggy bed. Rivulets of water dripped down her nose and cheeks from
her wet hair, but she hardly noticed.

He left?

Why?

Hadn't he said, hadn't they made plans to see
each other again soon?

So perhaps the plans weren't exactly set in
stone, but
he had
said they would meet again soon.

It didn't make sense.

But that didn't stop the pain, the rejection,
from piercing her heart with dread.

"I'm so sorry, Bethanny," Beatrix
murmured.

Bethanny glanced up, through the wet strands
of hair clinging to her face, and watched her sister place the
miserably empty pitcher on the side table. Beatrix's expression was
full of empathy, pain.

Beatrix had always been the most sympathizing
of the sisters.

Also the most inventive — thus the pitcher of
water.

"How did you find out?" Bethanny asked.

Beatrix walked toward her, reaching out she
smoothed the hair out of Bethanny's face and sat beside her.

Then jumped up, patting her bum, casting an
apologetic grin at her sister.

Serves you right, getting wet too. Try the
whole pitcher over your head.

Beatrix kneeled in front of Bethanny,
grasping her hands and holding them tightly. "I heard the duke and
Carlotta talking over breakfast. They didn't know I was
approaching, so I hid behind the wall and listened once I heard
Lord Graham's name mentioned. Something about Lord Graham having
business in Edinburgh. Carlotta questioned his sudden
disappearance, and the duke didn't answer. I left soon after,
knowing you'd want to be aware after…" Beatrix bit her lip.

"After?" Bethanny asked, her eyes trained on
her sister's expression.

"After you two disappeared last night,"
Beatrix finished then proceeded to bite her lip.

"Oh no." Bethanny groaned and leaned back on
the bed so that her legs still dangled off the side. "Where did you
hear that?"

"Carlotta." But don't fret! I'm sure no one
else noticed," Beatrix spoke then paused, "though I think Lady
Southridge might suspect—"

"Oh, she is far past suspicion," Bethanny
mumbled.

"Don't you find it odd that Carlotta hasn't
questioned you?" Beatrix asked.

"Lady Southridge mentioned something of that.
She implied that Carlotta has other things pulling at her
attention… whatever that means."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" Bethanny asked, propping herself up on
her elbows.

"You don't suppose…" Beatrix stood and took a
step around the bed.

"No. I don't," Bethanny replied, not caring.
Not when everything in her wonderful world had simply gone
topsy-turvy.

"You don't?" Beatrix asked, her expression
curious.

"Hmm?" Bethanny glanced to her sister, quite
lost in her own misery.

"You're a lot of help."

"I'm the one still soaking wet and trying to
mend my possibly broken heart," Bethanny shot back.

"You
know
it's the only way to get you
awake quickly." Beatrix rolled her eyes.

"Regardless—"

"Regardless, you
are
grateful I told
you. Now, when you hear the information from the duke, you can keep
your wits about you." Beatrix nodded.

"I hadn't considered that perspective."
Bethanny blinked.

"That's what sisters are for." Beatrix
shrugged. "Goodness knows, the duke will have an apoplectic fit
once he realizes that his
friend
is a candidate for
son-in-law of sorts. Lord Graham does have a bit of a rakish past,
you know." Beatrix spoke with brutal honesty.

"Yes, I'm quite aware. Though I've never been
told the details. I'm not sure I
want
to know them either. I
might be tempted to claw out some widow's eyes. Not exactly proper
ballroom behavior, you know." Bethanny sighed.

"Wise." Beatrix nodded sagely.

"However… I must know why, in your opinion,
the duke would be so against Graham's pursuit? Heaven knows, it's
the only pursuit I'd even consider." Bethanny blew out an
exasperated sigh and sat up.

"I think…" Beatrix narrowed her eyes, "that
he is simply… afraid."

"Afraid? Of Graham?" Bethanny asked,
confused.

"Afraid that Graham isn't up to scratch. As
much as the duke blusters about us, he's quite fond of us girls. He
won't simply marry us off to be rid of us."

"Goodness knows, Carlotta wouldn't let him
entertain the thought," Bethanny added, a small smile lifting her
lips.

Beatrix smiled back.

"Beatrix?" Bethanny felt her brow furrow.
"What do
you
think of Lord Graham?"

"Er, honestly? I don't know him well enough
to form a positive or negative opinion. On one hand, anyone who is
related to Lady Southridge must have a delightful sense of humor,
patience, and deep family loyalty. I mean that in the best possibly
way," Beatrix added quickly.

Bethanny chuckled.

"And he
is
close friends with the
duke, and we know the duke well enough that he'd not surround
himself with friends who had corrupt moral fiber."

"True." Bethanny nodded.

"I suppose my only fear… is that he simply
wants you for your beauty. Because, make no mistake, as soon as I
suspected something, I asked Lady Southridge, and she was quite
adamant of how he looked at you. But attraction isn't love,
Bethanny. You have so much more to offer than a pretty face."
Beatrix hitched a shoulder.

Love for her sister overwhelmed Bethanny's
heart.

And forgiveness for the pitcher incident.

"Thanks, Bea."

"It's just the truth." Beatrix patted the
bed. Finding a dry spot, she sat.

"I'll not lie, I wished he'd find me
beautiful, but when you consider just how many beautiful ladies
there are amongst the
ton
, for him to single me out must at
least
imply
that there is something more that he finds
enticing about me, other than my beauty," Bethanny spoke
softly.

"Forgive me for saying this, but I must ask.
If I held my tongue and found out later that I should have said
something—"

"Beatrix, just ask."

With a deep breath, Beatrix gazed directly at
her sister, her eyes concerned. "But what… what if
because
you're the duke's ward, he sees you as an easy target?"

"I understand. But that would also compromise
his loyalty to his friend."

"Indeed, but have you considered that the
duke perhaps wants to protect you from that very possibility? Think
on it. Has Lord Clairmont ever sought to have you entertain any
interest in his friend?"

"Er, no."

"Why? It's not as if Lord Graham is too old,
not from a good family. If anything, the duke
would
be
pushing you toward him," Beatrix completed softly.

"I never… that's an enlightening
perspective," Bethanny allowed, "but I don't see its merit. My own
instinct affirms Lord Graham's integrity."

"I hope you're correct." Beatrix nodded. "But
perhaps…"

"Yes?"

"Simply keep your eyes open, Bethanny. Be
wise."

Bethanny nodded. "I will."

Beatrix stood.

"Bea? One more question… I'm not sure I want
to know the answer… but… if Lord Graham truly cared for me… why
would he leave the country,"
My, how dramatic,
"after being…
singular with his affections to me?"

Beatrix took a deep breath, her brown eyes
glancing to the floor then meeting her sister's. "I don't know… but
it wasn't love, that much I know. Love fights, Bethanny. Love
endures, suffers the fires of hades and beyond for the simple hope
of completion. Love always thinks of the lover, rather than itself.
And perhaps there
is
some selfless motivation behind Lord
Graham's behavior. I simply can't fathom what it could be."

"Nor can I," Bethanny added, sharing a pained
look with her sister.

Nor can I.

Graham rocked slightly with the swaying
motion of his fine carriage as he made his way toward Scotland.
Normally, the soft sea breeze and familiar landscape would be
calling to him, beckoning him to the safe haven of his estate near
Edinburgh.

This was anything but normal.

Rather with every turn of his carriage
wheels, the acute sensation of leaving behind his beating heart
grew stronger and more painful. Releasing a long sigh, he loosened
his cravat and leaned against the plush upholstery. He
was
doing the right thing.

His firm conviction in that, was his only
armor against the temptation to turn tail and head back to England;
if only to see her face once more.