To Tempt an Earl

To Tempt an Earl

by Kristin Vayden

Blue Tulip Publishing

www.bluetulippublishing.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters,
and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to
actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are
assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used
only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these
terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of
this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically,
constitutes a copyright violation.

TO TEMPT AN EARL

Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN

ISBN: 978-0991099870

ISBN 10: 0991099877

Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design

Bethanny Lamont
closed
her deep brown eyes and sighed, knowing she'd never
be able to sleep.

But she was trying to, nonetheless.

How could one partake of something as trivial
as sleep when tomorrow was her debut? Every moment of training,
every lady-like pursuit would come to a pinnacle tomorrow when she
was announced at the ball held in her honor. Her skin felt feverish
with excitement, her heart danced an excited rhythm, and her toes
curled in anticipation for the final arrival of such a long-awaited
night.

She sighed contentedly, secretively.

Because, well, she
did
have a secret
after all.

It was entirely possible that she had subtly
asked Lady Southridge — her self-declared grandmother — if Lord
Graham — Lady Southridge's
much
younger brother — would, by
chance, attend her ball.

Which he would!

And this knowledge was the true cause for her
inability to sleep even a wink. But it wouldn't have mattered if
she slept or stayed awake; her dreams would be the exact same
variety and feature a very striking hero.

It had been two years since she'd last seen
him, but every moment was etched in her mind as only a thousand
remembrances can do. The slight curl of his hair, the exact golden
hue of his skin, the way his cheeks dimpled when he flashed a
smile.

She sighed. And relaxing into the soft
comfort of her bed, she allowed her mind to wander into familiar
territory; memories of Graham.

One of her favorites took place while only
sixteen. She still hadn't
blossomed
— as Carlotta had called
it — and already struggling with her awkward grace, she was
striving to learn to waltz with some decorum.

She had
thought
she was alone. The
library had certainly
seemed
empty, and she'd taken full
advantage. With just enough space in the far corner of the room,
she practiced a poised curtsey and began to waltz with an invisible
partner. Whispering the count to keep from missing a step, she spun
and swirled; keeping to her toes, her movements would be hopefully
less clumsy. Unfortunately, all that keeping to her toes had done
was to increase her lack of grace, and she tripped over her own
feet and stumbled to the floor, arms flailing.

She swore.

After all, at sixteen one truly believes that
the world does revolve around the ability to waltz. For if a
debutant cannot waltz, how can a gentleman fall in love with her
grace and beauty?

"I don't believe the duke would approve of
such language from his ward." An amused voice shattered her
irritation, replacing it with humiliation.

Bethanny glanced up, her eyes widening as
dread chilled her heart.

Anyone but him. The Prince Regent, the worst
gossipmonger.
Just not him.

But as fate, or failure, would have it, it
was the very handsome and dashing Lord Graham. His smile could warm
her insides for days at a time, and, truth be told, he was the very
person she hoped to waltz with someday.

Too bad that would never happen now.

Bloody waltz.

She never liked it anyway.

"I do find that perhaps my assistance is
needed." He walked around the chaise and extended a gloved hand to
her, his golden hair falling forward slightly as he bowed.

"Pardon?" Bethanny blinked.

"Come, let's try this again. I'm told I'm a
wonderful teacher." He winked and then smiled when Bethanny placed
a trembling hand in his. His amber-colored eyes danced with a
mischief and merriment that immediately set her to ease, yet
awakened some swirling emotion she couldn't name.

"You see, Miss Lamont. To waltz is about two
people moving as one. So it's only natural that you'd find it
exceedingly difficult to practice by yourself. Allow me the honor."
He began to hum, his rich voice vibrating against her, melting
her.

Unable to resist, and not wishing to, she
delighted in the pleasurable sensation of his hand at her waist,
radiating warmth. He was the perfect height, not towering over her,
but tall enough to make her feel feminine, petite and… safe in his
arms. He continued to hum and, exerting the slightest pressure, he
led her in a waltz that, though was still somewhat lacking in
grace, was far improved over her original attempt.

"See? You only needed an experienced
partner." He glanced down and colored slightly.

Bethanny felt her brow furrow at his
reaction, curious as to what secret meaning could have made him
blush slightly.

"Well, you
did
say you were a good
teacher. You have been proven correct in your assessment, my lord.
I thank you," Bethanny replied, hoping she sounded more mature,
more knowledgeable than her sixteen years.

"Thank you, Miss Lamont." He nodded. "Now,
let us step this way." He tenderly led her to the left. "And you
must remember that a gentleman will always keep a proper distance
between himself and you. Don't let someone bully you into a more…
intimate… embrace."

"Oh?" Bethanny swallowed then gathered her
courage. "And how close would be too close, my lord?" she asked as
she blinked innocently — or so she'd hoped.

"Hmm." Lord Graham's brow furrowed. "I'd
think that anything closer than this would be considered too close,
Miss Lamont."

Drat.
He didn't pull her in closer.
Thinking quickly, she tried again.

"Say some cad tried to pull me in. How would
I extricate myself?" she asked.

"Clever question." He offered an approving
grin. "Now, Miss Lamont, I'm going to attempt to pull you in, and
you must resist. You see, a gentleman, or rake, will not want to
draw attention to himself on the dance floor. He'd want to be
secretive about his intentions, assuming your youth to make you
easy prey."

"Am I?" Bethanny asked.

"Are you?"

"Easy prey," Bethanny asked, leaning slightly
forward.

"Er…" Lord Graham blinked, then his gaze
sharpened. He didn't answer right away but studied her for a
moment, as if judging his answer.

"Actually, no. I don't believe you are."

"Good." Bethanny nodded, her toes tingling
from his intense gaze.

"Do not let my answer give you a false sense
of security. Rakes love a challenge." He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." She glanced down to his shining Hessian
boots.

"Now, if you feel that some scoundrel has
pulled you in too far, and you cannot extricate yourself…" Lord
Graham pulled her in.

Bethanny felt her eyes widen as her lips
parted in shock and wonder. He smelled of cloves and cinnamon with
a hint of peppermint. She'd never forget that scent.

"Yes?" she whispered breathlessly.

"Simply step on the cad's toes. Hard." Lord
Graham replied, grinning widely.

"Pardon?"

"Shove your heel into the cad's boot—"

Bethanny began to follow his advice and
stomped her heel on his boot.

"Bloody — er, drat. Miss Lamont, I didn't
intend for you to…" He took a deep breath and broke the frame of
their waltz. "I didn't intend for you to practice on me." He placed
his hands on his hips and shot her a longsuffering glare.

"Oh. Er, forgive me?" Bethanny felt her face
heat with a deep blush.

Lord Graham shook his head and glared.

Bethanny gulped.

Then a grin broke through. "Of course!" He
chuckled.

"Unfair! You had me frightened that I had
severely offended you!" Bethanny scolded, and, before she could
think, reached out and swatted his shoulder.

"You should have seen your face." Lord Graham
laughed.

Bethanny glared.

"Hey, must I remind you that your foot
inflicted serious damage on my highly polished boots? My valet is
going to be livid! I'll be sure to place the blame on you."

"Afraid of your valet? Here I thought you
were braver than that."

"You, miss, have never met my valet."

"True." Bethanny giggled, thrilled to be in
such easy conversation. It was a dream. Ever since she had first
seen him upon returning from Greenford Waters — the Duke's estate
in Bath — Bethanny had harbored a secret obsession with Lord
Graham.

"Miss Lamont, this has been a joy, but I'll
now take my leave." He released her and stepped away, immediately
rendering her chilled and craving his presence.

Bethanny shook her head at the fading of the
memory. Time had been kind to her over the past two years, and she
had finally bloomed — Carlotta's words — and now she actually had a
chance to catch Lord Graham's attention and — God willing — his
affection. The last time she had seen him was when he had bid them
all farewell. She had cried for a fortnight afterward, knowing
she'd not see him for at least two years. But now with her ball on
the horizon, and with the good fortune of Lord Graham finally
returning, there was finally hope.

She'd at least catch his eye. Though she had
to admit that she'd catch everyone's eye. It was after all,
her
ball. But surely he'd see her as more of a woman than
the child he'd been introduced to; at least she hoped for it.

Every fiber of her being hoped it.

Her governess-turned-guardian — who was
actually more of an older sister — Carlotta Evermore, Duchess of
Clairmont, was thankfully unaware of her secret. If she had any
suspicion, she would have told her husband, the duke, who would
have already taken it upon himself to have a long — or several long
— lectures with her on the need to be extremely cautious in any
sort of attachment. Bethanny found it very ironic, and, frankly,
amusing that her guardian was so overly protective and overbearing,
given his former reputation.

And she was quite sure that the information
she'd been given concerning said reputation was of the
tamest
variety.

Also, the fact that Lord Graham was not much
younger than the duke wouldn't help her cause either.

And quite the rake himself.

But rakes could be reformed, at least that's
what always happened in the gossip, and, being a student of
observation, she could readily attest to the truth of that gossip.
The duke's intense love for his wife, Carlotta, was a testament of
that fact.

And it wasn't an understatement when she said
the man was reformed. Because if there ever had been a rake, it was
he, and if there had ever been a man to make a complete about-face
with his nature, it was also he.

For pity sake Bethanny and her sisters
couldn't sneeze without him asking if they were catching cold. It
was endearing, but also quite… smothering.

Bethanny's mind began to wander, and, as it
usually did, found its way back to its favorite subject of
pondering, Edward Greenly, Earl of Graham. And with a soft smile,
she imagined what his hand would feel like at her waist as he led a
waltz, and how soft his lips would feel pressed against hers in a
kiss.