To Tempt an Earl Page 4

  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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  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.

  Bethanny fo
llowed his retreat for a moment before Carlotta touched her shoulder. Sure enough, the music had started, and the mass of humanity had begun to part to make room for the dance floor. At the sweet strains of the music, Bethanny grinned. How she loved to dance. She wasn't particularly graceful, not like her sister, Beatrix, who almost floated whenever they practiced, but she loved the joy dancing provoked. With music as a background, life seemed almost like a fairytale, hinting that perhaps anything could happen.

  And with that thought, her wandering gaze searched for her heart's desire. But before she could find him, she noticed the approach of her guardian. He was a handsome man, a kind and generous sort, and Bethanny was proud to take her first dance with him.

  He gently grasped her hand and led her to the middle of the room. She felt every eye following her movements. Was Lord Graham watching? Before she could finish the thought, the duke grinned playfully, and they began to dance. The minuet didn't leave much time for talk, for which she was thankful. Her heart was hammering as the full implications of what was taking place finally settled in her mind. She was officially available.

  Though her heart was already stolen. Rather, given away.

  Other couples lined up and joined the dance, easing her tension. The duke offered a reassuring smile, his eyes kind and proud.

  She smiled back, thankful to have the first dance with him.

  No doubt she'd dance with countless partners this night, but nothing would compare with what she had experienced only a few minutes ago on a deserted balcony with a certain lord.

  And now that she knew what kind of bliss could be experienced at the hand of one's heart's desire, she'd not settle for anything less.

  Was he in the ballroom now?

  Had he figured out who she was?

  Bethanny tried to stomp out the anxiety in her belly at the question. Surely it wouldn't make a difference. True, he was one and thirty and therefore a bit older than she, but that hardly mattered.

  It wasn't unheard of for a debutant to marry a lord who was old enough to be her father, grandfather even.

  However, Bethanny was quite comforted to know that she wouldn't be in a position to marry out of necessity; for wealth or title. She might only be the daughter of a deceased baron, but her guardian was the Duke of Clairmont. And her parents had been wealthy and wise, putting measures in place so that she and her sisters now shared in that wealth.

  Which was why the duke and duchess had constantly reminded her before her debut of the need to use caution and discernment. A beautiful heiress was a powerful draw, and there were a few unsavory characters who would not hesitate to ruin a lady in efforts to secure her fortune.

  Shivering at the unwelcome thought, Bethanny glanced to the duke, who was grinning at her as they met and spun.

  When the dance was finished, she scarcely had a moment to catch her breath before her next partner came to escort her back to the dance floor.

  With a delighted smile, the duke bowed slightly and returned to his wife.

  And once again, her gaze strayed to the many faces at the edge of the ballroom, searching for Lord Graham.

  "Graham!" the Duke of Clairmont called none too quietly, causing the people around Graham to halt their conversations and glance up. He was striding toward him, his expression annoyed and impatient.

  Join the club, Graham thought. He had been back in the bloody ballroom for ten minutes, and the vixen who had stolen his attention on the deserted balcony was nowhere.

  It was as if she'd vanished, but he knew that she had to be somewhere. It was simply too damn crowded, and it didn't help that when he had encountered her, it had been in the moonlight, not the bright glow of the ballroom. He shook his head as his instincts told him that the higher illumination would only reveal a deeper, more radiant beauty that the moonlight ever could.

  "I say, old chap, what's got you in a dither? It's quite the crush! Your little ward will be a success, I'm sure." Graham nodded, making eye contact before once again searching the sea of faces.

  "Why am I in such a dither? Your sister and I have been searching for you. Between you and Bethanny…" The duke shook his head. "I thought you said you'd watch out for her! How then do you plan on watching out for Bethanny if you are not bloody present?" Clairmont bit out, his expression irritated.

  "I was here earlier, but, if you'll excuse me, I'd had quite the evening and needed a moment to myself," Graham replied testily.

  "That seems to be the common excuse tonight," Clairmont grumbled.

  "Pardon?"

  "Never mind. Why was your evening so bloody miserable?"

  Graham exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly before he straightened them once more. "One of my estates, the one in Oxfordshire, had a terrible fire. I just received word on the damages to both the building and those inside. Thankfully, no one was killed, but a few are suffering from minor injuries."

  "Oh, sorry to hear that." Clairmont's expression softened considerably. "Was the manor a total loss, or were they able to contain it?"

  "The fire destroyed the kitchens and a few other rooms, but it will be fixed without too much trouble."

  "I see."

  "That's enough of the melancholy. Tell me, how is your lovely wife? I'm sure the two of you are quite pleased with the turnout tonight. I think I even saw Lord Neville."

  "Indeed. Didn't I tell you that Bethanny would be a success?"

  "Yes… yet I'm not sensing that you're pleased." Graham's brow furrowed.

  "Must we truly have this conversation again?" Clairmont asked in a lament.

  "No, I'm only nearly recovering from out last conversation."

  Clairmont raised an irritated eyebrow and gazed back over the crowd. "I'd like to introduce you to Bethanny in a moment. Will you meet us in the far alcove after this set?" Clairmont asked, his gaze turning back to Graham.

  "I'd be delighted. However, I'm concerned about your memory… I do believe I've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Lamont before."

  Again he remembered the mousy-brown-haired, slight-framed young girl. For her sake — and the duke's — he hoped she'd grown into herself, at least somewhat.

  "You're interest in my welfare is appreciated," Clairmont replied dryly. "However, I doubt you'd recognize her. She…" The duke raised his hand as if trying to pluck the correct word from thin air.

  "She's changed?" Graham offered.

  "You might say that." Clairmont furrowed his brow as if not fully convinced.

  "Grown?"

  "In a way…"

  "Bloody hell, what in creation did she do, then? Sprout a second arm? Grow wings? You're no more help than my sister, and for me to compare you to Lady Southridge, I—"

  "That is the second time you've insulted—"

  "Because it's the second time I thought it! Just introduce the chit — pardon — young lady to me, if you please. I promise not to be intimidated by her third leg."

  Clairmont shook his head then paused, tilting it slightly. "Exquisite."

  "Pardon?" Graham leaned forward, completely confused. He glanced to the side then behind himself.

  "Bethanny simply became… exquisite. That was the word I was searching for. You'll see for yourself in a few moments. Now, if you'll excuse me, I see your sister and promised her that she'd be in attendance when you two were reintroduced. I can't bloody well figure out why she'd care. Regardless." The duke turned and walked away.

  Graham's mind whirled at his friend's comment. Why would his sister take such an interest in wanting to be there? It didn't make sense. But, knowing his sister, for something to make sense wasn't usually a requirement. Rather, he had learned to expect the completely senseless.

  Already slightly irritated at his sister, he turned to head toward the alcove. As he walked along the edge of the ballroom, his eyes continued to scan the crowd for her face, wishing he had a name to go with it. His gaze drifted past the dancers, only to snap back to a beauty with the most beautiful, rich, coffee-colored hair. From this ang
le, he could only see the slight rise of the apple of her cheek and the slender line of her neck as it curved gracefully down the body of a goddess.

  It had to be her.

  In the moonlight, he wasn't able to determine what color her dress truly was, but he assumed it was slightly darker than the pale pastels usually worn by debutants. It had been one of the reasons he hadn't thought her an innocent. But as he watched the graceful flow of the rose-colored gown, he realized that it had to be the same woman. The cut was similar, though that could be said of many of the women of attendance. However, her shape…

  That was most assuredly, not common.

  At that moment, she spun, her eyes sparkling with delight as an enchanting grin lit up her exquisite features.

  Exquisite. It seemed the perfect word. He'd have to thank the duke later for providing such a great adjective; too bad it was meant for another.

  But Graham was sure that there was no one in the room who could compare with this beauty, his mysterious miss of the duke's balcony. He had been correct; the moonlight didn't do her features justice. Graham turned fully toward the dance floor, his gaze hardly blinking as he watched the young lady dance with a sense of abandonment. She was glorious, and her lack of grace was an endearing addiction to the mystery. A simple flaw that surprisingly made her even more perfect. It was apparent she was enjoying herself, and Graham felt the first flame of jealousy ignite in his chest, choking him. Never the possessive sort, Graham was shocked when he found himself narrowing his eyes at the lady's partner. He recognized him as Viscount Dwell. Affable fellow. Graham might even call him a friend, but in that moment he was anything but. Amusement broke through his jealous emotion as he momentarily wondered what would happen if he stormed out onto the ballroom floor and pulled his mysterious miss into a scandalous kiss.