To Tempt an Earl (13 page)

"Neville?" Graham asked lightly, though his
grasp on the leather straps tightened considerably.

"Indeed. Amicable fellow."

"Amicable," he muttered.

"That is precisely what I said." She
shrugged. "Oh, look! There's Lady Symore! Her rout is in a few
days. Will you be attending?"

Graham nodded to the gentle lady as they
passed her and a companion. "I believe so."

"Then I shall save a dance for you." Bethanny
beamed at him a charming grin.

"How kind of you to read my mind and give me
the true desire of my heart," Graham teased.

"You are most welcome. But back to our
original conversation—"

"Good Lord, you're like an elephant."

"I hope you are referring to my intelligence
rather than the size of my nose, Lord Graham." Bethanny gave him a
stern glare, though her eyes danced.

"Of course!" He waved impatiently.

"Then I'll accept your compliment. Now, at
the risk of causing you to think that perhaps your attentions are
unwanted, because I believe I've make myself quite clear on that
particular subject—"

"Honesty and all—"

"Indeed." She shot him a glare and waited, as
if making sure he'd not interrupt.

Graham gestured for her to continue.

"What I mean to ask is… Do you like me, Lord
Graham?" She asked the pointed question and shifted to face
him.

Graham exhaled a frustrated breath. Did he
like her? She was a borderline obsession! Against everything he
knew to be safe or wise, she had vaulted every barrier, boundary,
and taken up residence in his heart without any invitation.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Yet the issue with the duke was a continual
douse of cold water over the burning embers of desire that
smoldered, carefully restrained, within him. It was no small
matter.

"A direct question."

"I do not like to beat around the bush. I
could be coy, flirtatious—"

"You do not think yourself flirtatious?"
Graham interrupted, shocked.

"Er… no. Why? Do
you
think I'm
flirtatious?" she asked, a question in her gaze.

"Well… yes. Quite."

"Oh, well. That's because it's you."

"I see. But wouldn't that mean that you did
know you were flirting—"

"I suppose… yes. You are correct. I have been
flirting. I don't think I truly was trying, though. It's more of a…
natural reaction."

"Natural reaction?"

"Yes. To you. Because whether or not you like
me, Lord Graham, I do like you." She lowered her gaze, a rosy blush
highlighting her cheekbones and making her beauty appear even more
exquisite.

Graham's throat went dry; all he could do was
stare, memorize the exact color of her blush. He'd find roses that
same color and deliver them to her house tomorrow.

Of course, he'd not add a note.

But she'd know.

And that was enough.

"I quite like you too, Miss Lamont," he
whispered softly, hesitantly, as if saying the words out loud would
damage the truth, the fragility of the emotion.

"I am very… thankful to hear that, Lord
Graham," Bethanny replied then glanced up to meet his gaze. Her
brown eyes were smoldering with a passionate acceptance of his
words.

There was a
but
on the tip of his
tongue, yet he held it, restrained the intense desire to preserve
his emotional pride. Because if there was one thing that Bethanny
Lamont had taught him, it was that learning to love meant
eliminating pride of any sort.

It was a bloody difficult lesson.

Yet as he glanced to the road and then back
to her unflinching gaze, he realized he knew the cost was minimal
compared to the reward.

"There's a question in your eyes, Lord
Graham. Rather, a obstructi
on
. You wish to
tell me that what you feel isn't license to act upon it," Bethanny
replied, her brow pinching slightly as a bit of the light faded
from her eyes, like the sun slipping behind a cloud, still present,
yet dimmed.

"I…" He took a deep breath and exhaled,
focusing on the road ahead.

"Tell me about yourself as a boy," Bethanny
questioned suddenly.

"Pardon?" Graham asked, turning to face her
again.

"Your boyhood. You see, Lord Graham, I'm
quite aware of your adult life, credit being applied to your
sister. However, your childhood I know little about. I suppose I
never asked that of Lady Southridge, and I find I'm curious,"
Bethanny asked, a kind smile fixed on her face.

"Oh, I suppose it was average."

"I sincerely doubt that." Bethanny shook her
head and smoothed her skirt.

"Why? Is it so difficult to imagine my
average tutor? My average growth? My average adventures…" he
trailed off, grinning.

"Yes. It is. Rather, I see you as exceedingly
mischievous, haltingly rebellious, and far too charming."

"And you said you didn't know about my
childhood," he scolded good-naturedly.

"I don't. However, I assume the man before me
had to have grown from a similar boy." She grinned.

"Oh? So I'm a — what did you say —
exceedingly mischievous, haltingly rebellious, and far-too-charming
gentleman?"

"Precisely." She laughed, the sound like
chimes.

"Very well." He chuckled. "Now tell me about
your childhood."

"It was…" She paused, glancing ahead.

The pause lingered till Graham felt a furrow
in his brow

"Lovely," she whispered.

"Forgive me, but your reaction doesn't match
your description," Graham said quietly.

"Lord Graham, we are opposites in some ways,
and some ways we are alike. We are alike in the aspect that we have
both lost our parents." She glanced back, a small smile in place.
"I say my childhood was lovely because it indeed was. I had love,
security, warm embraces, and hot chocolate by the fireplace where
my sisters and I all gathered around our mother, who would read to
us. Yet my heart grieves that those lovely times shall never be had
again. It is possible to feel joy and pain. The important part is
to let the joy in through the pain, and to never lose hope." She
reached out and placed her gloved hand on his as it held the
leather straps, then she removed it.

"Well said, Miss Lamont."

Bethanny studied the man that she had
secretly loved for so many years. Exhaling a soft breath, she
glanced away and watched the scenery of Hyde Park pass her by. A
comfortable silence hung in the air as the soft clipping of the
matched bays carried them onward.

"I wish I knew them better," Graham spoke
softly.

"Your parents?" Bethanny asked as she turned
toward him once more. His golden hair was glistening in the rare
sunshine, yet his topaz eyes were troubled, lonely.

"Yes." He nodded once then turned to
directing the team. "I was quite young, so I don't remember much.
What I do remember is hard to distinguish between my own memories
and the stories I've been told by my sister."

"I see. It is a blessing to have your sister,
though, for her to remember so much and share that gift with
you."

"My sister does have a gift for speaking
endlessly on subjects. I'm quite thankful one of those subjects was
my parents." Graham chuckled, the mischievous light returning to
his eyes.

Bethanny laughed. "How fortunate."

"If we were talking about any other subject,
I'd be disinclined to agree with you, but since we are referring to
my parents, I must agree."

"Sounds painful."

"Indeed it is." Graham winked.

Bethanny shook her head.

"Tell me about Neville," Graham asked
abruptly.

"Pardon?" Bethanny felt her brow furrow at
the quick change in conversation.

"Neville." Graham spoke the word like it
tasted foul. "You said he championed you, or something of the sort.
You also promised to tell me what happened." He speared her with an
impatient gaze.

"Do you normally charm your female companions
with such sparkling conversation?" Bethanny crossed her arms, her
ire raised by his suddenly surly demeanor.

"No. I'm not nearly so emotional around other
women."

"You mean moody."

"I mean emotional. Women are moody. Not
men."

"Says the moody man."

"I'm brooding," he replied.

"Brooding?" Bethanny asked, her eyebrows shot
up in surprise. No. Neville was dark and brooding. Graham was
flirtation and charm all rolled into a shockingly handsome
gentleman with secrets behind every gaze.

Bethanny felt overly warm simply thinking
about it.

"You, Lord Graham, are not brooding. Or dark,
or… whatever other adjective you were conjuring up to futilely name
yourself."

"Conjure?" He grinned and shook his head.
"You are overly efficient at changing the subject, Miss
Lamont."

"You are overly efficient at distracting me,
Lord Graham."

"It's the smile." He winked and grinned,
showing off every dimple.

Bethanny sighed then scolded herself for
being so easily melted. Squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze.
"It's certainly
not
the personality."

"You wound me!" He grasped his heart and
gasped.

Bethanny rolled her eyes. "Neville neatly
dispatched Lord Somter There may or may not have been tea involved…
on offending gentleman's clothes. It was quite an entertaining few
moments, I must say."

"Somter? That windbag?" His golden eyebrows
arched in surprise.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Well… yes. I rather thought it was some sort
of heroic act. Not the outwitting of a fool." Graham snorted
dismissively.

"Pardon me, but what he did
was
heroic! The way Somter was carrying on, I'd likely still be there
listening to his prattling on and on about some forsaken horse,
flesh or… maybe it was his garden? I'm not sure. I lost interest."
Bethanny waved dismissively as Lord Graham chuckled. "However, the
point is, he noticed my plight. And acted." Bethanny nodded firmly
and waited.

"I'm exceedingly grateful that your threshold
for heroic acts is so incredibly low. It bodes well for all your
swains."

"True heroism is kindness, Lord Graham,"
Bethanny spoke directly. "Noticing someone else and putting their
comfort, their needs, before your own… It's an act of selflessness,
the first trait a woman should look for in any gentleman. Love
could never grow where there is no kindness."

Graham watched his team intently, but
Bethanny could see by the slight squinting of his eyes that he was
considering her words carefully.

"Wisdom and beauty." He turned toward her, a
soft glowing in his gaze. "Rare traits indeed. I have been properly
chastened, Miss Lamont." He bowed his head and glanced back to her.
"As much as I resent that Lord Neville was your hero of the moment,
I'm indebted to his actions as they were surely a blessing to
you."

Bethanny smiled. "Thank you, Lord Graham.
I'll be sure to pass along your sentiments—"

"Minx."

Bethanny laughed loudly, covering her mouth
to muffle the sound.

Graham shot her a sideways glance, his eyes
full of mischief. "Never muffle such a glorious sound, Miss Lamont.
A laugh such as yours should echo through the park."

"Flattery." Bethanny teasingly tapped his
shoulder.

"No, Miss Lamont. Honesty."

"Ah, that I can accept, then. I thank you for
the compliment."

"You are quite welcome. Now, I must confess
to the sins in my blackened heart because I have been silently
searching for a small shred of privacy in this blasted park, and I
have found none." He exhaled in an exasperated manner.

"Privacy? What sort of secrets were you
planning on disclosing?" Bethanny asked, suspecting his intentions
but wanting confirmation, praying for it.

"My secret was that I was searching at all,
Miss Lamont. Because we both know what would happen if I had found
it." He turned his gaze to her. It smoldered with restrained
desire, with promised affection.

"It is a pity, then. And I'll lament the
loss. For surely…" Bethanny leaned forward just enough to inhale
the spicy scent coming from his fine coat, "I would have loved
nothing more."

Graham's eyes widened slightly and then
shifted to frantically glance about the park. "There." He urged his
horses at a faster gait as they rounded a corner. A grove of trees
stood close together, yet far enough apart for a curricle to enter
into the grove. He slowed the horses and maneuvered them into the
trees.

Bethanny's heart hammered with anticipation
and fear.

Fear because the last time he'd kissed her,
it had been followed by astounding rejection. Of course, he hadn't
been aware of her identity then.

Now he was.

And he wanted to kiss her anyway.