To Tempt an Earl (20 page)

"What?" Bethanny leaned forward, her heart
pounding a staccato rhythm.

"I… I think… Bethanny, I need you to be
honest with me, I'll not be upset. But did Lord Graham kiss you
when you two left the ballroom at the Symores' rout?"

"Y-yes." Bethanny answered.

"And… forgive me, but I'm going to be blunt.
Was it more of a passionate exchange than a simple chaste kiss?"
Carlotta reached out and grasped Bethanny's hands.

"Er… yes." Bethanny felt her face color and
heat with shame and embarrassment at admitting such a private
affair to her former governess.

"Blast it all," Carlotta swore.

"Pardon?" Bethanny's eyes widened.

"I've got to talk with the duke." Carlotta
stood.

"Excuse me?" Bethanny followed suit.

"Charles, the duke, he — botheration! He went
searching for you after I saw you leave. I didn't think much of it;
I was too happy about — never mind. The issue is that if he…
found
you in a particular situation with the earl…" Carlotta
leaned forward and gestured with hand.

"Oh heavens."

"Exactly."

"Wh-what are you going to do?" Bethanny
asked, her hands gripping the soft muslin of her day dress.

"I'm going to go and speak with my
husband."

"About? What are you going to say?" Bethanny
panicked. The very
last
thing she wanted was the duke to
hear about her clandestine activities with his best friend.

Bloody hell.

Yes, swearing is fully acceptable in this
situation
, she told herself.

"Don't fret. I'll keep what you've said to me
confidential, but if I suspect that it's not a necessity… I'm quite
convinced he already knows, dear."

"What do you think this has to do with Graham
leaving, then?" Bethanny asked, her heart pounding.

Carlotta paused mid-step. With a weighted
sigh, she turned to face Bethanny. Her expression was shuttered,
yet a determined light illuminated her green gaze. "Everything,
dear. Everything," Carlotta spoke gravely then spun and left, the
door remaining slightly ajar in her wake.

It was turning into the worst disaster.

And it wasn't even noon.

"Did I miss
anything?" Berty asked as she rushed into Bethanny's room. With a
complete lack of grace, she sprang onto the bed, her impact
jostling Bethanny and Beatrix who were reclining.

Fretting was more accurate.

Molly had been sent to fetch more
chocolate.

Of course, this probably was the third time,
but Bethanny refused to count.

"Yes, you did," Beatrix answered.

"I knew it," Berty whined. "I couldn't get
here fast enough, blasted lessons."

"Berty!" Bethanny's brow furrowed. Goodness'
sake, it would be a miracle if Berty ever turned out to be
lady.

"It's true." Berty shrugged, nonplused by her
sister's reprimand. She reached for the last bit of chocolate and
quickly popped the decadent piece of bittersweet delight into her
mouth.

Bethanny scowled.

"It's not as if you both haven't had your
share," Berty took in her sister's glower.

"True," Beatrix amended, though she was
eyeing the few small specks of chocolate remaining on the plate
with acute longing etched on her features.

"So, what did I miss?" Berty asked after
swallowing.

"This is a disaster," Bethanny fell back on
the bed and closed her eyes.

"Why?" Berty asked impatiently.

Bethanny swore she could
hear
her
younger sister's eyes roll — if that were possible.

"Carlotta affirmed her suspicions."

"Suspicions?" Berty asked, her tone lingering
as she waiting for an answer.

"Suspicions that the duke… er… witnessed an
amorous encounter taking place between our dear sister and Lord
Graham."

Berty's eyes grew to the size of tea saucers.
"Blast it all."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Bethanny
murmured.

"So…" Berty shifted on the bed, causing
Bethanny to shift her gaze from the ceiling to her youngest sister,
"what are we going to do?"

"We?" Bethanny spoke at the same as Beatrix,
disbelief coloring their tones.

"Yes, we! You love Lord Graham, do you not?"
Berty asked, rising up on her knees and placing her hands on her
hips.

"Yes," Bethanny affirmed.

"Then we can't just let this… setback… steal
away your opportunity to snatch him up." Berty nodded.

"Snatch him up?" Beatrix repeated.

Berty shrugged. "Very well. Leg shackle him,
marry him, give him the ol' parson's noose."

"What a lovely picture you paint of
marriage," Beatrix drolled.

"That's what they all say," Berty answered
succinctly.

Beatrix's eyes narrowed. "All? And who is
all? Just who have you been speaking with, Berty?"

"Very well, I read it."

"In a book?"

"In the gossip papers, if you
must
know," Berty huffed.

"Because
that
is a reputable source of
information," Beatrix whispered quietly for Bethanny's ears
only.

Bethanny nodded.

And rolled her eyes for good measure.

"We are digressing!" Berty slammed her fist
into her hand, startling Bethanny. "What we need…" Berty bit her
lower lip and slid off the bed. Her slippers made a muted sound as
she paced the hardwood floor of Bethanny's room.

"We need a plan," Beatrix added, moving to
stand as well.

Bethany smiled. "I believe we established
that."

"What we need…" Berty paused and tapped her
lip with her first finger. "I've got it!" she shouted, causing
Beatrix to squeal and jump back slightly.

Bethanny scooted back on the bed, so devilish
and mischievous was the glint in her younger sister's eyes.

"We need a house party!"

"Because?" Beatrix cocked her head to one
side, casting a confused glance to Bethanny.

"Because then we can invite Lord Graham,"
Berty finished, with a tone that suggested she thought her older
sister quite daft.

"Ah, yes! Because Lord Graham will
flee
Scotland at the first opportunity at visiting his dear
old friend, the Duke of Clairmont, who, from what we understand,
ran him off English soil!" Beatrix said with more than a hint of
sarcasm.

Bethanny held her tongue. Her comment
wouldn't have been as kind.

"No. We don't have him invited by the duke.
You ninnies are daft! We have his
sister
invite him."

"And why would he come to the summons of his
sister? That hasn't exactly worked in the past," Bethanny asked,
dubious.

"Oh, he'll come…" Berty nodded, her eyes
dancing.

"Why?"

"Because we're going to tell him it's
Bethanny's engagement party."

"I am not certain this will work," Bethanny
heard herself say once again as she cast a dubious glance to
Beatrix.

She shrugged, which wasn't any help
whatsoever.

"Of course it will work!" Berty affirmed
again. She was the only one with any conviction on the matter; of
course, that could be because it
was
her idea.

Bethanny wondered why she hadn't
protested.

No, she knew.

She was that desperate. It had been a full
week since Lord Graham's sudden departure, and as each day passed,
she'd felt his absence more acutely than the last.

"But what if word gets out—"

"It won't. Lady Southridge will be the sole
of discretion." Berty nodded, her soft curls bouncing as if adding
emphasis.

"That—" Beatrix started.

"Is what I'm concerned about," Bethanny
finished.

"You need to give her more credit," Berty
huffed quietly as they approached the salon door. "Now, you
remember the plan?"

"It's not espionage, Berty." Bethanny rolled
her eyes.

"But think of how much more fun it would be
if—" Berty began.

"If this were over with?" Beatrix
interrupted.

"You two are no longer any fun to be around,"
she said quietly then added. "If this is what falling in love does
to you, I'm considering spinsterhood."

Beatrix glanced to Bethanny and rolled her
eyes dramatically.

Bethanny shared the sentiment deeply.

As Berty opened the door to the blue salon,
filtered sunlight spilled into the hall and illuminated the rich
tone of the hardwood floors. The sound of skirts swishing
accompanied their entrance a moment before Murray caught up in
efforts to announce her.

Poor Murray. As if anyone could hope to keep
up with Lady Southridge.

"Girls!" Lady Southridge stood and welcomed
them with a bright grin.

"Good afternoon," Bethanny spoke for her
sisters.

Lady Southridge's eyes skittered from Beatrix
to Berty, not making eye contact with Bethanny.

Strange.

"I received your missive, Berty. I must say
you have a wild flair for the dramatic, love." Lady Southridge
grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"Berty?" Bethanny turned to her younger
sister, her tone questioning.

"Er, thank you, Lady Southridge." Berty took
a few steps away from Bethanny and sat, ignoring Bethanny's
question.

"I'm not sure it was meant as a compliment,"
Beatrix whispered to Bethanny before she moved to sit on a chaise
across from Lady Southridge.

"Indeed," Bethanny answered, eyeing her
sister meaningfully.

"Now, what is this secret mission?" Lady
Southridge leaned forward, her eyes dancing.

"Secret mission?" Bethanny repeated, then
turned accusing eyes to Berty.

Berty had the wisdom to study her lap and not
meet her sister's gaze.

"Yes! The note was quite cryptic! I was
utterly impatient to discover what needed such secrecy! Oh! And
Berty, do not fret. I did not even disclose my whereabouts to my
lady's maid. And you'll be impressed," she grinned wildly and held
up her gloved hand next to her mouth as if to whisper, "I had my
coachman drop me off at the Kensington Gardens, and I walked the
rest of the way here, so absolutely no one knows where I am!" She
lowered her hand and swept it with a grand flourish.

"Brilliant." Berty leaned forward, her manner
delighted.

"Lady Southridge! No one knows where you are?
And you walked? Alone? From Kensington Gardens?" Bethanny scolded,
hanging her good manners and placing her hands on her hips.

"Psh, love. I'm nearly sixty — though you'll
carry that information to your grave." She narrowed her eyes
dangerously until Bethanny, along with her two sisters, nodded
their agreement. "And being such, I am perfectly capable of taking
care of myself."

"But what if thieves had assaulted you in the
park?"

"At this hour?" Lady Southridge shook her
head. "Besides, I always carry this," she pulled up her reticule
and withdrew a pistol," when I'm alone."

Bethanny gasped.

Beatrix leaned back.

Berty reached for it.

"Ah, no." Lady Southridge smacked her hand.
"When you're older," she amended then winked.

Berty's grin was wide enough to split her
face.

"Heaven help us all, it's bad enough that
you're carrying around a weapon. Don't promise that Berty might do
the same. Goodness knows what trouble will follow!" Bethanny shook
her head.

"And to think I said that Berty had a flair
for the dramatic." Lady Southridge turned a slightly irritated gaze
to Bethanny. "Now, are we going to cackle about like old hens, or
are you going to let me in on your little secret?" Silently, she
put the pistol away in her reticule and set it on the floor beside
her.

Bethanny's gaze kept straying to it, the
seemingly benign sky-blue reticule. She didn't know what was more
dangerous: the pistol or Lady Southridge.

It was a tie.

"Well, you see there's been… a situation,"
Berty began, as she smoothed her lavender skirt and nodded
slightly, causing her chestnut curls to spring.

"Oh heavens…" Lady Southridge leaned forward,
her eyes widening, but her tone anything but delighted.

"You see." Berty cut a sidelong glance to
Bethanny." My sister and
your
brother—"

"Berty, perhaps
I
should explain?"
Bethanny cut in. Heaven only knew that with the current state of
things, by the end of the conversation their original plans would
be wildly overstated.

And absurd.

And utterly unhelpful. And right now, she
needed
help.

Desperately.

"Very well." Berty pouted and leaned
back.

"Ah, so this is about Edward." Lady
Southridge turned knowing eyes to Bethanny.

"Yes." Bethanny swallowed the lump in her
throat at the mention of his name. "You see, Lord Graham and I…
that is, we…" She stumbled trying to, in some sort of ladylike
fashion, disclose the nature of the situation.