To Tempt an Earl (30 page)

A shadowed figure eased his way from the
hall. "Upon seeing Miss Lamont escaping your home, Your Grace, I
offered to take her wherever she was trying to go. Forgive me this
trespass, but I was more concerned about the lady's safety than
social stigma," Lord Neville replied succinctly.

Graham felt his jaw drop.

Neville?

Graham glanced to Clairmont. His jaw, too,
was clenched.

"And just how do you plan to explain that
your carriage was seen picking up Miss Lamont after dark and
bringing her to a—"

"I wasn't in my carriage. I had hired a hack.
And no one saw us," Lord Neville interrupted, his tone clipped.

"How can you be so certain?"

"It's my profession to know such things. I
assumed that Miss Lamont was trying to make her way to Lord
Graham's residence, which coincided with my own plans for the
evening." Lord Neville adjusted his great coat. "To make a long
story short, Miss Lamont was quite… determined. Once she was aware
of my intentions, I had no choice but to take her with me to Lord
Graham's residence. I didn't doubt her threat to walk alone at
night, and I wasn't about to let her be in danger. Miss Lamont
understood that I would give them a few moments of privacy." He
glanced to the duke. "Not long enough to do permanent damage, I
assure you." He then turned to Lord Graham. "And then I was going
to make my presence known."

"Thank you for your consideration." Graham
nodded appreciatively to Lord Neville. His curiosity piqued, he
asked "Me? You were on your way to pay me a visit… at this
hour?"

"Indeed. Now, since we have worked out all
the sordid details of Miss Lamont's escapade, may I have a private
audience with you, Lord Graham?" Neville asked, his dark eyes
serious.

Graham nodded, and, after bidding a
far-too-formal farewell to Bethanny and the duke, he ushered
Neville into his office.

And bloody hell, if that office didn't still
carry her scent…

"Graham, I have some distressing yet very
important news I must share with you." Lord Neville seated
himself.

Graham strode to this desk and sat, his brow
furrowed. "Proceed."

"It has come to our attention—"

"Our?" Graham asked.

"Indeed. That's all you need to know at this
point," Neville replied curtly.

"Very well."

"It has come to our attention that the deaths
of the Baron and Baroness Lamont were not accidental."

"Pardon?" Graham felt his blood chill as he
leaned forward, placing his hands on the cool wood of his desk.

"The deaths of Miss Lamont's parents appear
to be intentional. And until we are able to lay to rest this
suspicion, we must take care with the living relations."

"And you're just discovering this now?"
Graham asked angrily.

"Indeed. We recently came upon incriminating
evidence… of a sensitive nature."

"So Bethanny? Beatrix? Berty? They are all in
danger?" Graham asked, leaning back in his chair, his heart
hammering with resolution that not a hair on Bethanny's head would
be harmed by any threat.

"Possibly, and until we have evidence, we are
going to need to keep a sharp eye on the ladies," Neville paused
and leaned forward, "especially Bethanny, being the oldest. That is
why I'm approaching you first. I will call on Clairmont in the
morrow."

"This is greatly disturbing news." Graham
exhaled, his heart constricting with anger over someone threatening
the one he loved.

"Indeed. Now you understand why I found
myself outside of the Clairmont's residence."

"Yes, it makes sense now. Do you work for the
war office?" Graham questioned.

"No," Neville replied, but offered no
additional details. "I'll leave you to your evening. Don't worry, I
shall see myself out."

"Much like you saw yourself in?" Graham
arched an eyebrow.

"Indeed." Neville lips bent into an
almost-smile, and then he disappeared into the hall.

Graham stood and walked to the fire.

As the flamed licked the wood, he considered
his evening. The heat of desire had been quenched with a sickening
dread.

But one thing was for certain, no harm would
come to Bethanny as long as he still drew breath.

And with that final thought, Graham found
peace.

Bethanny stared out
the carriage window, the dim streetlights blurring as she
considered Lord Neville's purpose in seeking out Graham. Obviously,
she wasn't privy to hearing their private conversation, but she
couldn't help but be intensely curious. Narrowing her eyes, she
turned to the duke. She inhaled, opening her mouth to speak, but
upon catching the leveled glare the duke was sending in her
direction, she closed her mouth and sighed instead.

Drat.

She had rather hoped her courageous statement
of opinion earlier and the verbal sparring that had resulted were
the end of the issue.

No such luck.

Truthfully, she should have known better.

"Whatever you do, please do not turn out
Molly and Douglas on their ear. Truly, it wasn't their fault,"
Bethanny pleaded softly.

"Oh, believe me, I lay the entire situation's
blame at your feet, and your feet alone." The duke spoke curtly,
his blue eyes narrowing.

Bethanny felt the distinct desire to shrink
under his scrutiny. Immediately, she felt as if she were five and
being scolded by her father. True, the duke was far younger, but
the expression was one and the same. She glanced down. Thankfully,
the usual pain at remembering her parents had dimmed with time and,
much as Carlotta had said so long ago, the memories were ones of
joy, rather than an unending source of pain.

With a soft sigh, she raised her gaze to the
duke, only to be speared with the same expression of
just you
wait till we get home, young lady
. With such a perfected
fatherly glare, the duke was sure to be a wonderful parent.

At once, the amusing curse Graham had spoken
just before he had allowed the duke entrance into his study caused
a bubble of laughter to escape her lips.

She raised a gloved hand to stifle the mirth,
but it was too late.

"Please, don't control your amusement for my
benefit. I'm deeply curious as to what you find amusing in this
situation, especially since I can't think of a damn thing," the
duke spoke darkly.

Bethanny should have been scandalized at his
foul language, but rather she supposed it was accurate for the
emotional turmoil she had put him through, so with a reluctant sigh
— and a brimming smile that wouldn't remain hidden — she explained,
"Well, Your Grace. It would seem that your good friend said
something earlier that I simply found all too… accurate."

"I'm assuming the
good friend
you're
referring to is Graham, though I'm struggling with that title at
the current moment." He leaned forward and placed his hands on his
knees. "What is this
accurate
thing that he spoke of?" He
let out a beleaguered sigh. Clearly irritated, he took off his
tall, dark hat, setting it to the side of him on the bench.

For good measure, he smoothed the soft felt.
Satisfied with its state, he turned to Bethanny, a question in his
expression.

His impatient expression.

"I believe you're aware that Carlotta
confided in us that soon we shall all have a lovely little one to
spoil." Bethanny grinned widely, her hands refused to stay prim and
proper on her lap; rather, they excitedly fidgeted on her lap.

"Indeed." He nodded slowly. "And I must make
certain you understand that spoiling is perfectly fine. However,
you mustn't
teach
my heir anything. Heaven only knows the
poor child will be born with enough mischief in his blood simply
being mine." The duke shook his head as if concerned already.

"Actually, what Lord Graham said was of the
same variety." Bethanny shrugged.

"I doubt it was that exactly." He narrowed
his eyes.

Bethanny simply smiled in return.

"Must I remind you that—"

"Very well, I do believe I've been threatened
enough for one evening. Goodness, is this what it feels like to be
Graham? It's a wonder he still likes you!" Bethanny shook her head
as she studied her guardian.

"He has to. I'm allowing him to marry
you
," the duke shot back, his eyebrows raised.

"You do have a point."

"Yes. I rather do." He nodded then wiped his
face with his hands, as if reaching the end of his rope. "Good
Lord, as much as I want a daughter who is the image of her mother,
I truly hope she is less work than the lot of you."

"I feel rather slighted," Bethanny huffed, an
amused smile on her lips.

"If you had endured what I have, at your
hand, in the past few hours, you'd not be offended. You'd saint me
for my patience."

"Yes, sainthood is most assuredly in your
future," Bethanny replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"Since when did you get so… bold. I do
believe I must lay the blame at Lady Southridge's feet," he
mumbled.

"Or Carlotta's." Bethanny smiled sweetly.

"Blast it all, I'm surrounded."

"Speaking of Lady Southridge, where is she? I
heard she left the day after Graham's proposal, but I didn't even
remember seeing her at supper," Bethanny asked.

"She had some important business that
couldn't wait. That's all she told me as she took her leave. I'm
quite certain she wasn't concerned about the outcome of Graham's
intentions, knowing both of you as she does."

"Indeed." Bethanny nodded, still slightly
confused, but she was accustomed to feeling that particular emotion
when in conjunction with Lady Southridge, so she shrugged it
away.

"At least Beatrix is a bit quieter," Bethanny
offered.

"Berty will more than make up for that," the
duke shot back. "By the time I have you three married off and
settled, with my luck, I'll have a little girl parading around and
mimicking her aunts' every move and… good Lord, I'm too old for
this." He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his
eyes.

"I have a feeling that we all will have quite
the opposite effect, especially your expected heir." Bethanny
leaned forward slightly till the duke gave her his attention.
"Rather, Your Grace, we keep you young." She smiled and braced
herself slightly as the carriage halted. Without another word, she
waited for the footman to open the door. Soundlessly, she exited
and walked into the house.

Thankfully, the duke hadn't lectured her
further, and she'd been able to ready herself for bed. With a soft
sigh, she lay down on the soft mattress and inhaled the familiar
scent of lavender. As she rubbed her feet together and listened for
the sweet song of the chirping crickets, the last coherent memory
was a simple number.

Two days.

Two days, and she'd no longer be sleeping
alone.

Graham studied his reflection as his valet
continued to brush his fine wool coat, pausing only to tug on a
sleeve or adjust a dimple in his cravat. He stared at the mirror,
but wasn't seeing himself; he was imagining Bethanny.

His soon-to-be wife.

The past two days had been an eternity
wrapped into a mocking forty-eight hours.

But blessedly, he had only two hours left
till the ceremony.

Already, guests had arrived to St. George's.
The chapel had become quite the rage for
ton
marriages;
thankfully, they were accustomed to accommodating the impatient
requests of the local gentry.

Lord Graham included.

And so, at precisely eleven in the morning,
the priest would join them together in marriage.

How unfortunate that it was only nine.

"Sir, if you insist on moving, this will
regrettably take much longer to do," Simmons, his valet, scolded
gently.

"Very well." Graham tried to remain
still.

And apparently failed, as Simmons shot him an
imploring expression.

"I do believe this is as good as I can do at
the moment." Simmons took a step back and regarded him, his trained
eyes taking in every line, stitch, and fold in Graham's
appearance.

"Thank you," Graham offered.

"It is an absolute pleasure, my lord."
Simmons bowed and left silently, leaving him alone with his
thoughts.

Graham exhaled an anxious breath. As
impatient as he was, another part of him could hardly believe that
the moment was almost upon him. A wonder-filled smile teased his
lips.

Bethanny

Passionate love and a protective instinct
roared to life within him at just the thought of her name. To think
he had wasted so much time running from the gift that was standing
before him.

He was simply thankful he had amended his way
of thinking before it was too late.