To Tempt an Earl (2 page)

And Bethanny slept… and dreamed.

The day before.

"No." Graham
succinctly
enunciated the word once more, just in case his
hoyden of an older sister, who had some misbegotten notion that she
was his mother, hadn't understood the first three times he'd
answered her question.

"You don't have a choice, Edward."

"Yes, I do."

"No. You clearly don't understand."

"I understand completely. I'm supposed to
feel obligated to attend some chit's debut simply because you have
a soft spot for the poor thing." He shook his head and narrowed his
eyes. "I'm not daft, Dianna. You're on some forsaken, misbegotten,
bloody mission to marry me off, and I'm not going to do it!"

"You don't remember." His sister, the
meddlesome Lady Southridge, shook her head in startled
amazement.

"Why should I remember? All you said was that
someone named Betsy is having a ball, and I was expected there at
eight sharp. What part of that conversation was supposed to be
familiar?" he asked. He gestured impatiently to her, awaiting an
answer.

"For heaven's sake, it's Bethanny, and
Bethanny
is Clairmont's ward!" She all but shouted, clearly
aggravated. Of course, that was the dynamic of their relationship
most times.

Loud and confusing.

It was moments like these he was exceedingly
thankful for his estate near Edinburgh, for it provided the perfect
escape.

From his sister.

"Clairmont's ward?" Graham furrowed his brow
in confusion. "Why didn't you say so? Of course I'll be there.
Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I
did
say so. I simply assumed you to
be intelligent enough to remember the poor girl's name. Believe me,
I'll not give you so much credit next time, Edward."

"Hilarious, Dianna." He gave her a sarcastic
expression, one he had often used toward her, even as a young
lad.

"I wasn't teasing." She raised a daring
eyebrow.

"Hurt, deeply." He rolled his eyes and
flopped into a chair, earning a glare from his sister at his poor
manners.

He propped his foot up on the table just to
spite her further.

"If you had been here for more than a day or
so in the past two years, you would have known exactly who I was
speaking about when I said her name, but no. You've been
gallivanting to Italy, Scotland, and heaven knows where else."

"I've been avoiding
you
actually." He
shrugged.

"Edward!"

"Joking, er, mostly."

His sister placed her hands on her hips and
narrowed her eyes.

He smirked, enjoying the sensation of
provoking exactly the response he desired. "You know I had business
to attend to."

"So why come back now?" she asked, and,
honestly, he was surprised it had taken her as long as it had to
ask that very specific question. Usually she was like an
investigator at Scotland Yard. Though, he
had
only been back
for a week and, well, he hadn't exactly told her he was in town
until two days ago.

Though he'd assumed she'd already known he
was in town. The woman had spies.

"Now that all my estate business is
thoroughly established for the next generation of Grahams, I've
decided it's time to marry." He leaned back, watching her
expression with keen interest.

Her eyes widened then narrowed. Shaking her
head, she shrugged. "No, honestly. Why?" His sister made a
dismissive gesture with her hand, one that said,
Quit wasting my
time and give me the real answer
.

"Er, I actually am." He felt chagrined. Was
he that hopeless of a cause in his own sister's eyes?

"You are?" She blinked in disbelief.

"Indeed." He nodded once.

"It's about bloody time." Dianna stood and
strode toward him, her eyes glancing heavenward as she mouthed a
prayer. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Her eyes were glossy as she looked back to
him. Was she crying? He stood up, confused.

Without hesitation, she pulled him into an
embrace.

He heard her sniffle.

She
was
crying.

Bloody hell, he didn't realize he was
that
much of a lost cause.

"I, er, well." He patted her back
awkwardly.

She took a deep breath and leaned back, her
eyes glistening.

"It's wonderful! And I have the most perfect
girl in mind—"

"No."
No, no, no, no!

"What?"

"No. Dianna, listen to me. In fact, repeat
after me everything that I'm going to say to you. Are you ready?"
He reached down and grasped her hands, leaning forward till he was
convinced he had her attention.

Her eyes narrowed, which he considered a
yes
.

"You are not to meddle." He waited then
raised an eyebrow, lowering his chin while he speared her with a
patient glare.

"You are not to meddle," she spoke through
clenched teeth.

"Mature. You, as in…
you
. Try
again."

"I am not to meddle," she repeated, though
her cheeks were bright red and her teeth were still clenched.

"I knew you were smarter than they all
claimed."

"Edward," she ground out.

"I, Edward, am the one who will be selecting
the bride. Not you."

"I—" she began, intending to mock him.

"Dianna…"

"Very well. You are getting married. You'll
pick the bride."

"Thank you. Was that so difficult?" He
released her hands.

"Yes. In fact, I believe I'll rest all
afternoon from the exertion of this very conversation." She rolled
her eyes and backed away.

"Brilliant. I'll have the afternoon to
myself."

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"Once you visited yesterday, I told the
duchess and Bethanny of your arrival, and they immediately asked if
you would attend the debut—"

"Which I've already agreed to, so I'm not
seein—"

"The point? Well, that's because you're
interrupting me—"

"I'm not—"

His sister raised an eyebrow and waited.

He closed his mouth.

"Thank you. It would seem that your friend,
Clairmont, is not dealing well with Bethanny's debut. His
experience being of the darker variety, I imagine he's conjured up
all sorts of evil men lurking in the corners having nefarious
schemes." She shook her head.

"Clairmont?" he asked, just to make sure they
were talking about the same person. He had kept in contact with his
good friend but hadn't seen much of him since his marriage.
Graham's travels kept him busy, and… well, he assumed Clairmont was
busy with other… er…
things
.

"Yes… he's quite overprotective of the girls.
And Bethanny, she's sure to attract the attention of all." His
sister grinned, a strange expression lighting her gaze.

"How so?" he asked, curious and slightly
concerned over his sister's expression.

He furrowed his brow as he thought about the
slight-framed girl he remembered. Bethanny.
Miss Lamont.
Her
eyes had taken up most of her face, deep brown and soulful, and far
older and wiser than her young frame. There was nothing significant
about her, save the eyes. She was thin, too thin, and had the
figure of a boy rather than girl.

Poor thing. Clairmont was probably afraid
he'd never find her a match.

She paused then tilted her head ever so
slightly. "Never mind. The truth is that Carlotta rather thought
that her husband might welcome your company to distract him from
the stressful situation."

"Oh, was that it?" he asked, though he was
sure he already knew.

"Yes."

"Not a problem. When did you say the debut
was?"

"Tomorrow."

"Perfect. I'll stop by today and help the old
man forget about his blossoming wards." He bowed.

His sister choked.

"Er, what?" he asked, confused.

"Nothing, nothing at all." She snickered, her
eyes now dancing with some mysterious mirth.

But he never had understood his sister and
didn't pretend to now. The truth was, he didn't really care
either.

So, with a shrug and a bow to his sister, he
quit the Southridge residence and made his way to Mayfair to catch
up with his longtime friend, the Duke of Clairmont.

Bethanny studied herself in the mirror. The
dress was perfect, utterly and devastatingly perfect. She spun
slowly, taking in every drape of the rose-hued fabric and the pearl
cream of the ribbon adorning it. The cut hugged her womanly shape,
accentuating her curves, yet was still modest enough for the duke
to allow her out of her room. And she knew full well that he'd have
no reservations of locking her in her room if she were immodest,
her come out or not.

He meant well, and Bethanny loved him, even
if he was overprotective. She found it endearing rather than
offensive. It reminded her of her parents, and that thought always
brought her comfort, as if being reminded of them kept their
memory, their legacy, alive, even when they were no longer. A pinch
in her heart caused her to wince as she thought again about how her
father wouldn't be there to watch her debut, nor would her mother
kiss her on the cheek and encourage her. But it was enough to have
her sisters, Beatrix and Berty, as well as the duchess and duke.
Together, they made a family, Lady Southridge adding that final
touch of random meddling that made everyone cringe. It might not be
a perfect family, but it was hers, and she was thankful.

"Are you done admiring yourself?" Beatrix
asked with amusement thick in her tone. Beatrix was sixteen, the
very age of Bethanny when they had come to live with the duke. In
two years Beatrix had grown from a girl to a woman, a keenly
intelligent woman. Bethanny tried to keep her overprotective
emotions in check, but in truth, she knew she was little better
than the duke. But she couldn't help it. Since their mother and
father died, Bethanny felt this… responsibility to be there, to be
strong for her sisters.

"No." Bethanny glanced over to her sister and
raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should come back later," she
teased, hoping to lighten her own musings.

"If I did come back later, it would be
tomorrow, and you'll spend the night in with a modiste rather than
your nice warm bed back home." Beatrix quipped, a knowing smile
bending her lips.

"Very well," Bethanny conceded. She
was
quite fond of her bed.

And morning chocolate.

And the newspaper.

"I knew you had some sense," Beatrix replied,
a grin tugging at her lips.

Bethanny scrunched up her nose at her sister
but smiled nonetheless. With a reluctant sigh, she signaled the
modiste, Madame Beaulieu. She was a short woman, thin and petite,
with chestnut hair strewn with silver.

"Avez-vous terminé?"
she asked, her
accent thick.

"Yes, I believe I'm finished," Bethanny
answered.

"
Vous êtes une vision,
Miss Lamont. An
utter vision. The gentlemen will fall to their knees at your
beauty!
De l'avenir, les messieurs vont tomber à genoux autour
de vous."

"Thank you, Madame Beaulieu." Bethanny felt
her face flame at the compliment.

While she appreciated the sentiment, she
would rather prefer to simply draw the attention of one man, having
him
fall to his knees… now
that
would be perfect.

Shaking her head to dispel her daydream, she
waited as Madame helped her out of the dress.

In short work, the dress was packaged up to
take home. The servants at the duke's townhome in Mayfair would
press it and have it perfect by tomorrow.

"Can we go now, please? I'm so hungry!" Berty
whined.

"Yes, yes, we can leave now." Carlotta,
Duchess of Clairmont placed her gloved hand over her mouth to
stifle a giggle.

Bethanny indulged in an amused grin at her
youngest sister's propensity for food, sweets in particular. If
Berty wasn't eating, she was impatiently waiting till she was given
the opportunity to do so again. At nine, the little girl was as
opinionated as Lady Southridge and as stubborn as the duke. Her
dark hair and feathery lashes made her appear innocent when the
opposite was often far more accurate

"Berty, you cannot possibly be hungry."
Beatrix speared her sister with a disbelieving glare.

"I am! It's been hours—"

"It's been perhaps one hour, Berty."

"One hour too long," Berty huffed, crossing
her slightly pump arms in front of her slightly plumper frame.

Beatrix rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow
to Carlotta.

"We'll return shortly. I have faith that
you'll survive until we do."

"But—"

"Berty…" Carlotta warned gently.

"Yes, Your Grace."