To Tempt an Earl (5 page)

That day had finally come.

It didn't matter that he didn't recognize
her. Regardless, he was still there speaking with her.

And for now, that was enough.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her nerves
got the best of her and, rather than speak, she dropped her
fan.

Likely because she had forgotten she had
brought it in the first place.

It clattered to the floor lightly, and she
closed her eyes in embarrassment at her own clumsiness.

"Allow me," Lord Graham spoke.

"No I've—" Bethanny's eyes flew open as she
knelt down to retrieve her fan.

As luck would have it, her elbow soundly
clocked Lord Graham's head as he rose from retrieving the offending
object.

"Ow!" He reached up to rub the surely sore
area.

"I'm so sorry!" Bethanny spoke,
horrified.

"Blo—er… ah, that... is fine, miss." He
closed his eyes a moment, likely from the dull pain her elbow had
needlessly inflicted on his person.

"I'm ever so sorry, my lord!" Bethanny felt
her face heat with a scarlet blush that had to make her practically
glow. She certainly felt like it. Without thinking, she reached up
to his scalp and felt for the knot, her thumb grazing slightly over
the skin as to not cause him discomfort, much like she had done a
million times to her sisters.

But Lord Graham was most definitely
not
her sister…

Her hands stilled as she realized just what
she was doing. "Forgive me, my lord." She quickly withdrew her
hands and took a step back, belatedly realizing just how close she
had been to him. The scent of cinnamon and cedar hung in the air,
wrapping a spell of enticement around her, beckoning her to come
closer. She started to take a step back, away from the temptation,
but his hand at her back stopped her.

Practically burned through her, or so it
felt.

"I'm quite well. However, I thank you for
your concern," he whispered, his voice intimate.

"I—I'm usually not quite so… graceless,"
Bethanny answered, her thoughts muddled by the intense gaze with
which he captivated her. In the moonlight, his amber eyes were
silver, his golden-hued skin a soft buttery gold. He was
beautiful..

"I'm quite thankful you are… you see, I was
trying to find some excuse to hold you, and you neatly provided me
with the perfect opportunity," he murmured, his gaze leaving hers
and traveling down the line of her jaw and the curve of her nose
before resting on her lips.

Dear Lord, he is going to kiss me.

"I do think you could have done without the
knot I gave you at the top of your head," she replied, her words
teasing but her tone far from it.

"A small price to pay." He shrugged.
"However, I do believe there is a custom, when one gets an
injury."

"Oh?"

"Indeed, usually, the injured party is given
a kiss."

"Is that so? Silly me. I thought that was
only practiced in the nursery." Bethanny raised a challenging
eyebrow as her heart raced, beating an excited rhythm that hoped he
would make good on his word and, indeed, kiss her. However, it
would never do to appear
too
eager.

"I have it on good authority that it is still
practiced outside of the nursery as well… so, being with tradition
and all, I would appreciate a kiss." His dimples deepened as his
smile widened then relaxed as his gaze once again became deep and
soulful, searching hers.

"I cannot see the harm in upholding
tradition. If you'll simply bow your head—" Bethanny began, knowing
full well that was not his intention.

"Of course."

And before Bethanny could even close her
eyes, his lips caressed hers. The touch was soft, lingering and
velvety. His warm breath tickled as he drew back slightly. Her
eyes, which hadn't closed, gazed directly at his. As if spoken out
loud, his gaze asked for permission to kiss her again. At her
slight nod, his lips met hers once more; however, this time,
Bethanny closed her eyes, not wanting anything to distract from her
first kiss, and as she had always hoped, it was from Lord
Graham.

Graham was trying to not show his surprise
that the mysterious miss on the duke's balcony — he still thought
it was a clever title — was an innocent. Though, it wasn't a bad
surprise, it was still quite shocking to him. He rather thought she
was at least experienced beyond a first kiss. However, as she gazed
at him just before he met her lips, he saw the uncertainty, the
unsophistication in her expression that told him to tread
carefully. And so he did, pressing the softest, most harmless kiss
to her lips that he had ever given. Normally innocents didn't
attract him, but… she was different. From the first moment when
he'd seen her on the balcony, her very presence had called to him,
challenged him; rather, he enjoyed her company. He wasn't
accustomed to enjoying a woman's company, outside the bedroom, that
is. But she was refreshing, witty, intelligent, and even in the
pale light of the moon, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

As his lips caressed hers once more, he gave
himself over to the feast of the senses she provided. The air
surrounding her was fragrant like roses, heady and intoxicating.
Her lips were soft, yielding, and eager, which created a response
in his body that was much like a spark to tinder. Tentatively, she
mimicked his movements, responding to and returning the kiss.

He wanted more, desperately desired to
discover more of her flavor; so with care, he gently traced her
lower lip with his tongue. His right hand, which was at her back,
pressed gently, coaxing her into a closer embrace as his left hand
reached around her back and rested on her shoulder. She willingly
drew forward, her soft curves barely touching his frame, but it was
enough to nearly cause him to toss caution to the wind.

But he didn't. Rather he forced himself to
slow down, to teach, taste, and tease her. Anyone could take a
kiss. But it took skill… it took effort… to
give
a kiss.

But that was before her tongue traced his
lower lip, much like his had done moments before. Unable to deny
her invitation, he opened his mouth and drew in her lower lip,
teasing it before releasing. She gasped but didn't break the kiss,
rather, pressed in further.

He was going to marry her.

That was all there was to it. He had to marry
anyway, might as well be to an interesting woman with a delicious
talent for the more passionate pursuits.

Heirs would be no problem. He'd have ten.

"I must know your name," he whispered against
her lips.

"We've not been properly introduced." She
smiled then pressed in for another scorching kiss.

If she did that again, he'd have no problem
compromising her and making sure she was his.

Of course, if anyone happened upon them right
now, she'd be just as compromised.

However,
thoroughly
compromised would
be far more preferable as far as he was concerned.

Even in the thick haze of desire, his ears
tuned into the slight sound of footsteps.

Which he promptly ignored.

However, she must have heard it as well
because she paused mid-kiss and withdrew, her breath tickling his
lips as she backed away.

He regarded her, a peaceful determination
rising in his chest.

"I… I will see you later… won't I?" she
asked, her tone breathless and her lips swollen and wet.

He loved that it was his kiss that had
christened them, that lingered there still.

"Are you going back to the party?" he asked,
praying she'd say yes. Either way he
would
find her.

Nodding, she took a step back, her gaze
slightly unfocused and happy.

Which made him utterly
joyful
.

It was amazing how one person's happiness
completed another's. And right then, he felt strangely
complete.

It was unlike anything he'd ever felt, and he
loved every moment.

So caught up in his own revelations, he
almost forgot to answer. But as her warm brown gaze — the precise
color of rich earth — grew hesitant, he remembered himself.

"I'll find you."

He swore it.

"You will?" she asked, her face alight with
hope.

And, oddly enough, he felt as if he had just
slayed a dragon for her.

"I swear it." And he meant every word. He'd
find her; he'd gain a proper introduction and then court her, only
because it was required to follow the proper steps before he
married her.

Compromising was looking promising, and
quicker.

She smiled, a beautiful beaming grin that he
was sure would haunt his dreams day and night, and then she
disappeared.

Bethanny forced
herself
to walk sedately from the balcony, but she truly
felt like flying. If that was possible.

Lord Graham.

Had. Kissed. Her.

And not a small kiss, but a real, deep and
longing, everything-you-wish-you-could
dream-about-but-are-too-innocent-to-understand kind of kiss!

It was a rotten shame that she had heard
someone's footsteps. Though it was probably for the best. She would
have continued kissing him for goodness knows how long! As she
walked down the hall to the first parlor, she saw Carlotta.

"There you are! I was so worried! You all but
disappeared, darling! Charles is going to have your head after he
gets over his worry," Carlotta scolded, even as she rushed forward
and pulled Bethanny into a gentle hug so as not to rumple their
dresses.

"I'm fine, forgive me. I… lost track of
time." Bethanny answered, thanking the heavens that the light was
just dim enough that Carlotta couldn't regard her too closely.

Because she was sure her appearance gave
something away.

As if reading her mind, Carlotta's gaze
dropped to her lips as her brow furrowed.

Bethanny had to think fast.

"We should return." Bethanny stepped back
from her watchful gaze and went through the two parlors and into
the hall that would lead them back to the ball.

Carlotta didn't say anything, which was
disconcerting. Bethanny knew she was following by the quiet whisper
of her skirts as she walked behind, but other than that,
silence.

And all Bethanny could think of was that
somehow, she
knew.

She supposed there were worse things, but
right now she couldn't think of any.

Carlotta caught up with her as the ballroom
doors came into sight.

"I know you're hiding something," she
whispered, her tone light but slightly dangerous.

It was the tone of a governess… and Bethanny
tried not to give away her anxiety.

"Oh?" Bethanny answered.

"Yes… you have that same look about you… when
you and your sisters tried to… never mind. Just know I'm watching
you, young lady." She lowered her chin and speared Bethanny with a
very pointed gaze.

"Very well."

The ballroom was every bit as crowded as
before, perhaps more so. As Bethanny made her way through the
crowd, Carlotta gently grasped her elbow and nodded toward the
left. The duke was speaking in low tones to a few footmen, his
expression grave.

This was not going to end well.

He paused and scanned the room as if sensing
Carlotta's gaze. Once he saw her, his gaze directly cut to
Bethanny.

And narrowed.

Bethanny swallowed, dread clenching her
stomach.

The duke's normally light blue eyes were
stormy. Bethanny struggled to maintain her carefree demeanor. The
last thing she wanted to do was give the idea that there was more
to the story than what she had said.

"Bethanny." His tone was filled with both
relief and irritation.

"Your Grace." Bethanny nodded.

"Carlotta?" He turned to his wife, waiting
for an explanation.

"She lost track of time." Carlotta spoke, her
tone perfectly normal.

"She bloo—"He began, only to take a deep
breath and gaze heavenward as if asking — begging really — for
patience.

"Forgive me." Bethanny cast her gaze to the
marbled floor, thankful that they were slightly away from the sea
of humanity, in a far corner.

"You and I, we will have words later…" the
duke threatened, his tone stern. But his blue eyes were softening,
relief evident, and Bethanny knew that whatever scolding she would
receive was surely deserved and would be administered in love.

"We need to begin the dancing," Carlotta
murmured to her husband, her eyes darting from his to the crowded
ballroom.

"Indeed. If only for the reason of keeping
you
here." He lifted an irritated eyebrow at Bethanny.

"I'll not disappear again," she replied,
barely resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation.

"See that you don't," he replied sternly,
then his eyes shifted slightly from her to just behind her. "It's
about bloody time," he muttered, followed by, "Excuse me." He made
it two steps before he turned back. "Carlotta, the dancing will
begin in a moment. And I believe the first one belongs to me…" With
a slightly irritated glare to Bethanny, he shifted his gaze to his
wife, softening the frown. Clearing his throat, he made his way
across the ballroom to inform the musicians to begin.