To Tempt an Earl (10 page)

Just as Lord Neville was allowed
entrance.

It was well-known that Neville was a recluse,
and if he was visiting the residence of the duke, he had a bloody
purpose in mind.

And all Graham could think of was that the
purpose in mind was to court Bethanny.

Which was a wretched idea. She'd never be
happy with the likes of someone like him. Of course he didn't
rationalize
why
. Simply
thinking
it was enough, and
soon he found himself knocking on that very door, swearing in
Italian as he waited for the butler to return.

"Lord Graham, please follow me," Murray spoke
in his mild manner.

Graham nodded and soon was led to the red
salon. Upon entering, all other details faded into the background
as searched for her.

"Lord Graham." Her melodic voice reached his
ears a fraction of a second before his gaze found hers. She was a
queen holding court with a room full of suitors, all vying for her
attentions.

"Miss Lamont." He bowed crisply.

"Would you care for some tea?" Standing, she
walked over to him, her gaze illuminated as if harboring a
secret.

A secret he shared.

Immediately his irritation melted like a
spring snow, and he felt himself grinning.

"Not at the moment, but I thank you," he
offered, his tone dropping slightly.

As if realizing the intention of his tone,
her cheeks blossomed with color, adding to her already-staggering
beauty.

Graham's grin widened.

"Won't you please…" She paused, glancing
around. Every chair was occupied with a hopeful swain. "Excuse me a
moment. I'll have Murray fetch a chair." She rallied quickly.

"No, there's no need, Miss Lamont. I'm
needing to speak with His Grace. However…" he paused and leaned in
slightly, thrilled when she followed suit and leaned in as well, "I
will return when all the… children… leave." He glanced over to a
few hopeful men seated on a couch, each wearing disgruntled
expressions, which pleased him greatly. With a wink, he reached for
her hand. Without breaking eye contact, he kissed the soft flesh on
her wrist, hanging propriety, and let his greedy lips partake of
her lavender-scented skin.

Her breath caught, her eyes widened, and just
when he thought he had rendered her senseless, one of her delicate
brows rose in challenge, as if she was humored by his display. Like
a peacock displaying his feathers for the rest of the suitors to
stand by and envy.

"Oh, well, thank you for stopping by," she
murmured, her tone provocative and low, meant for his ears
only.

His blood stirred, and a devilish grin played
at his lips. With another wink, he bowed and turned to leave but
not before noticing a suppressed grin from Lord Neville. Graham
paused and regarded him. Lord Neville raised his chin defiantly,
though his lips were pressed together as if suppressing some
merriment of sorts.

Graham nodded then left, curious as to what
was so entertaining to the reclusive lord. It truly was an odd
reaction to have, considering the circumstances. Unless the
gentleman thought Graham was not a threat; if so, Neville was
sorely mistaken.

Shaking his head, he made his way to
Clairmont's study. As he strode down the hall, his mind wandered
back to Bethanny. Her hair had been pulled up prim and proper, but
the mass of hair had seemed to strain the pins, as if only needing
the slightest encouragement to break free and tumble down
unconfined. A wall of desire hit him, unforgiving as he tried to
overcome the intense craving to see her in such a state. Because if
her hair were down, then certainly she wouldn't be wearing such a
proper day dress, which would mean she were wearing something
softer, something easier to—

"Graham?" The duke's voice shattered his
immoral daydream like a mirror dropping from a balcony.

A very tall balcony.

"Er, hello." Graham cleared his throat and
pulled on his cravat.

Dear Lord, it was times like these he was
thankful God had seen fit that no one could read another's
mind.

"Good to see you. Are you quite well? You
seem a bit… unsettled," Clairmont said as he studied Graham.

"Between you and my sister, I feel as though
I'm back in short pants," Graham grumbled, feeling more of
himself.

"Apologies…" The duke glanced about for a
moment. "I assume you were searching for me?"

"Yes, I had a question about…" Graham glanced
behind him. "Could we continue this conversation in your study,
perhaps?"

"That type of question, eh?" The duke's eyes
narrowed slightly.

"Indeed."

Clairmont nodded and went back into his
study, standing to the side as Graham entered. Graham closed the
door, and took a step toward Clairmont's mammoth desk. Pausing, he
turned back and locked the door. Nodding once, he resumed his
course toward the duke's desk and took a seat, facing his
friend.

"Very well. What was your question?"

Bethanny couldn't focus on Lord Somter's
voice, nor could she recall exactly what they'd been conversing
about. However, with Lord Somter, one rarely had to follow the
topic closely; all that was needed was a nod or a well-placed
Yes, my lord,
and he'd continue to prattle on.

And on.

And on.

And Bethanny was far too distracted to pay
attention when she kept checking to see if Lord Graham had shown up
once again.

I'll return when all the children leave.

A smile struggled to break free as she
remembered his verbal challenge. She was delighted with it, with
him and his playful manner. It was the brightest spot of her
day.

"Wouldn't you agree, Miss Lamont?" Lord
Somter asked.

Bethanny's gaze met his, but before she could
offer her agreement, or disagreement — though either would have
been a blind guess, seeming as she still wasn't sure of their topic
of discourse — he continued on, speaking about his estate's
landscaping.

At least she knew the topic of conversation
now. Not that it was particularly interesting.

She offered the middle-aged lord a polite
smile as he continued. It wasn't that Lord Somter wasn't handsome
enough to tempt her — if one could get past the endless prattle —
it was just that neither he, nor anyone else in attendance, was
Lord Graham. And that alone was enough to disqualify him. She
glanced about for a moment, searching for a polite excuse to
extricate herself from his one-sided conversation, and her eye
caught Lord Neville's.

He was watching her with amusement softening
his dark features. As if enjoying her torture, his eyes danced with
merriment. Unable to ignore it, Bethanny raised an eyebrow of
challenge.

To which Lord Neville simply smiled.

Never before had she seen him smile, and good
Lord, if she weren't so attached to Graham, she'd have set her cap
for him.

His smile was glorious, masculine but dark,
brooding somehow. Deeper than a simply expression of the face, it
was an expression of his soul.

A moment later, he stood and walked toward
her. Quickly, Bethanny turned back to Lord Somter, who was, of
course, still talking, and waited, curious as to what Lord Neville
was planning.

"Somter? I'm about to take my leave, but
before I go, would you allow me to give my regards to the lady?"
Lord Neville bowed graciously.

"Oh, well… of course." Lord Somter seemed
reluctant to let his captive audience go, but politely excused
himself and took a biscuit from the tray.

After two steps, he wheeled back around and
grabbed three more.

Bethanny suppressed a smile as she turned to
Lord Neville.

"My lord."

"Miss Lamont." His lips twisted into a small
grin.

"I thank you."

"For saving you?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Bethanny teased.

"Nothing, apparently." His grin grew.

"Are you indeed leaving?"

"I must, now that I've stated as much."

"But it wasn't your intention before you saw
my plight," she stated.

"No, not necessarily." He shrugged.

"Then, I thank you for your sacrifice on my
behalf." Bethanny grinned.

"Ah, but it is not sacrifice when in service
to such a lovely lady. Though I suspect all of us are but
distractions from someone else." His gaze was piercing and dark,
but not disappointed, simply amused.

"Whatever could you mean by such a cryptic
comment?" Bethanny glanced to the floor, not willing to
inadvertently give away the truth of his statement by the honesty
in her eyes.

"I'm simply… observant. One should always
take care not to have one's heart broken," he offered while still
grinning. But this time, the amusement faded from his eyes, a hint
of torture, or pain lurking beneath.

"Indeed," Bethanny agreed. After all, she was
too aware of the implications for herself, as well.

"I wish you a lovely afternoon, miss."

"Thank you. I offer you the same," Bethanny
spoke softly.

With a single nod, Lord Neville quit the
room, but not before he walked far too close to Lord Somter. In a
slight misstep, he jolted the gentleman's knee where his tea was
resting in his hand, spilling the contents on his breeches.

"Bloo— er, ah," Lord Somter sputtered, his
face turning an unattractive shade of pink.

"Apologies! How clumsy of me!" Lord Neville
replied at the humiliated gentleman. And as Lord Somter began to
wipe at the tea, Lord Neville glanced back to Bethanny, meeting her
gaze, and winked.

Winked, because his actions had been no
accident.

She'd have to thank him later.

"Well, old chap, I guess you're leaving with
me. Allow me to—"

"You've done quite enough, thank you," Lord
Somter replied tightly. With a highly disgruntled expression, he
turned to Bethanny. "Forgive me, Miss Lamont, but I must depart as
well."

Bethanny nodded.

Lord Neville took a step behind Lord Somter
and grinned.

"I understand," Bethanny replied
graciously.

After a curt bow, Lord Somter turned, glared
at Lord Neville, then left.

Lord Neville bowed again, this time with a
slight flourish, and took his leave as well.

Bethanny turned to her other suitors. Their
rapt attention had been focused on Somter and Neville, each
offering delighted expressions of… gratitude?

"Would anyone care for more tea?" Bethanny
offered, regaining control of her parlor.

"Indeed." The remaining men offered her
polite grins and empty cups.

Now, if only there were a few more Lord
Nevilles to help her remove the remaining, then perhaps Lord Graham
would return.

"Miss Lamont seems to have attracted quite a
bevy of suitors," Graham offered as he sipped his brandy.

Clairmont growled then took a sip of his own.
"Indeed. Bloody mess."

"I thought the goal was to marry her off."
Graham almost choked on the words. The thought of her belonging to
any of the peacocks in the red parlor made him, well… see red. A
blistering, bloody shade of it that was causing his fists to flex
and his jaw to clench. But now was not the time to display his
attraction.

Anytime but now.

"It is, but… men are like starving wolves,"
Clairmont mumbled.

"Pardon?" Graham felt his brow furrow.

"Bethanny is exceptional in beauty,
exceptional in pocket, and exceptional in her connections."

"By connections you mean, yourself, of
course," Graham teased.

Clairmont simply shot him an exasperated
expression.

"What I'm saying is that she'll attract them
all,
all!
"

"As opposed to… none?" Graham offered. He was
quite fond of the
none
theory himself.

Then he could easily sweep in and—