To Tempt an Earl (3 page)

Bethanny noted the slight color in Carlotta's
cheeks as Berty used the address
Your Grace
as they were to
do when in public. Though it had been almost two years since their
marriage, Bethanny doubted that Carlotta, or Lottie, as they
usually called her, was accustomed to such a title. Her humility
endeared her further to the girls.

"Come along, girls. Let's be off. We still
have a few other places to stop before we head home," Carlotta
spoke kindly.

"A few more places? Truly? I'm going to
wither up and die!" Berty lamented.

Bethanny snickered then covered her mouth
with her gloved hand as Carlotta shot Berty a silencing glare.

Beatrix snorted.

Berty stomped.

"It's not funny, Bea." She growled.

"Oh, it is. It wouldn't be nearly as amusing,
however, if you didn't react so." Beatrix replied.

Berty glared and took a menacing step toward
her sister.

"Girls?" Carlotta called, a slightly
exasperated edge to her tone.

"Coming." Berty paused then raised her
eyebrows toward Beatrix. Pointing to her eyes and then Beatrix's,
she mouthed. "I'm watching you." Then, with a longing glance across
the street at a pastry shop, she turned and followed Carlotta.

Bethanny swallowed her laughter and, rather,
focused on all that needed to be done.

It was nearly one in the afternoon, and they
still needed to visit the milliner and get back in time to prepare
for Lady Hollyworth's small dinner party. Bethanny took in a deep
breath, wincing at the smoky and stale scent that hung in the air.
One more day.

One more day, but it felt like one
million.

Graham followed Murray down the marble hall
toward the library. Though the house looked the same as far as he
could remember, the tone felt different. It wasn't noticeable, the
change; rather, subtle enough that if he hadn't been away for so
long, he likely would have missed it. But the atmosphere was
lighter, freer, as if a weight had been removed from the very air.
A weight he hadn't noticed till its presence had been removed.
Pushing his strange observation to the back of his mind, he tugged
on his gloves as he entered the library, a smile curling his lips
as he saw his old friend.

"Clairmont!" he called out, immediately
reaching for his friend's hand.

"I say, old man, how are you?"

He studied his friend. The cynical gleam in
his eye was startlingly absent; rather, his expression was light,
weightless even. A strange emotion stirred in Graham's belly, one
with which he wasn't familiar.

Envy.

Shaking his head to dispel the horrid
emotion, he focused back on his friend.

"Quite well, no worse for the wear." The duke
chuckled.

Never before had Graham seen his friend so
blissfully happy. It was almost frightening.

Yet the burning sensation of envy overpowered
any other weaker emotion. Later he'd have to figure out why exactly
he was feeling so out of sorts.

Or maybe he'd just forget it entirely.

"I can see that! You're positively tame! I
never thought I'd see the day," Graham teased.

"Ah, I'm far from tame, my friend." Clairmont
grinned wickedly.

Ah, there's my old friend.

"How is your governess these days?" Graham
asked, earning a chuckle from the duke.

"Splendid. After all, she is married to
me."
He raised an eyebrow, a very self-satisfied grin firmly
in place.

"And here, that was the very reason I even
asked the question." Graham shot back.

Clairmont glared.

Graham chuckled and rocked on his heels. How
he missed teasing his friend. Perhaps the envy was simply a passing
fancy.

"So I'm told that my presence is needed, with
your ward's come out and all." Graham strode to a chair and sat,
his gaze firmly on his friend, watching for his reaction.

"Who told you that rubbish?" Clairmont
grumbled as he took the chair across from Graham.

"My sister."

"Your sister is nothing but a thorn in my
side."

"Mine too."

"You haven't been around bloody long enough
for her to even tickle you, let alone gouge out your flesh."

"My, my, we're macabre."

Clairmont glared.

"I can see why my presence is needed."

"I do not need you."

"Are you concerned that the girl won't make a
suitable match?" Graham leaned forward, apprehension taking over
from the earlier banter.

Clairmont's glare deepened.

"What?"

"I should be so lucky."

"Pardon? Isn't the whole reason for the
season to find a husband?" Graham asked, perplexed.

"Yes, but—"

"You don't think she'll find a match?"

"No, but—"

"I'm failing to see—"

"Because you keep interrupting me! Damn,
you're as bad as your sister!" Clairmont stood and stalked to the
fireplace.

"Now, Clairmont, there's no reason to stoop
so low," Graham grumbled.

"Forgive me. It's just…" He paused, his
shoulders sagging slightly.

Graham stood and walked toward his friend,
unaccustomed to seeing him in such a state of upheaval. It was
awkward, and he didn't know how to react, or to help.

"Bethanny… she's beautiful," the duke spoke
reverently, with pride and fear.

"I'm sure she's quite lovely," Graham spoke
softly.

Clairmont turned toward him, an intolerant
expression clouding his blue eyes. "No, you don't get it. She's not
lovely, she's… she's… my nightmare. Every fortune hunter, dandy,
rake, and decent fellow is going to be fawning all over her, and I
will have to resort to beating them off with a large stick if they
think they can gain entrance into my home. You know how men's minds
work, Graham. They'll see her as nothing more than a fine face, a
beautiful figure. They'll see her money, her connection to me and —
and ah! I don't want some rake to ruin her." Clairmont was pacing
furiously, his expression stormy, unsettled and wild.

"Heaven help your daughters, should you have
any," Graham murmured to himself.

Clairmont stopped midstride.

Perhaps he'd spoken too loudly.

"Therein lies the issue. I'm responsible for
my wards, but they have become my family. Bethanny, Beatrix, and
Berty, they deserve love matches. Heaven knows how difficult
marriage can be, and I'm married to a saint. I never understood the
dynamic of marriage till I entered it myself, and, being
ferociously in love with my wife, I do not want any less for the
girls. They deserve to be cherished, adored,
wanted
. Not
simply used to carry an heir and discarded. And for many men of the
ton
, that is exactly what they want from a wife. I refuse to
sentence them to that fate. Not when it's in my power to protect
them. As I said, marriage is difficult, and without any fondness,
affection or love for the person you married, it's doomed."

Graham simply stared, gazing at his friend as
if seeing him for the first time. "I…don't quite know what to
say."

Clairmont exhaled loudly, his gaze looking
heavenward. "Your sister was right." He said after a moment. Then
closed his eyes.

"No, I'm quite sure that's not what I was
going to say." Graham teased.

Clairmont opened his eyes and glared, again.
If Graham weren't so self-confident he would have wondered if his
presence was even appreciated.

"No…and heaven help
you
if you dare
repeat it to your sister. Bloody hell, I'd never hear the end of
it."

"My lips are sealed." Graham made a show of
pretending to lock them up.

"My heartfelt thanks."

"So, at the risk of hell freezing over… what
exactly was my sister correct about?" Graham asked, once again
taking his seat in his abandoned chair.

"I need help."

"With?" Graham leaned forward. Never before
had the great Duke of Clairmont needed anything, let alone
help.

Good Lord, what was the world coming to?

"I need you to help me keep an eye on
Bethanny."

"Is that all?" Graham leaned back, his head
tilting to the side. He was expecting something…more that
babysitting a deb.

"All? You still don't bloody get it, do you?
I swear I might have to agree with your sister on one more thing."
Clairmont shook his head and paced a few steps more.

"Oh, and what is that?" Graham asked
sarcastically.

"Your intelligence."

"There's not need to be insulting just
because you're in a lather over your ward." Charles tugged on his
coat sleeves, annoyed.

" Are you coming to the ball?"

"Am I invited?" Graham teased.

"You
were."
Clairmont clipped.

"Yes, I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the
world."

"Speaking of the world…why did you come back
to London during The Season? You know your harridan of a sister
will simply try to marry you off."

"Perhaps I'll let her." Graham studied the
shine on his Hessian boots. After a moment he glanced up. Clairmont
was studying him with an expression mixed between disbelief and
horror.

"You can't be serious."

"You're quite right. The woman will be
selected by myself, of course. Never can trust a sister. " Graham
shrugged, a grin teasing at his lips.

"You… married." Clairmont pointed at
Graham.

"Yes."

"
This
season?"

"I believe that is what I said, yes." Graham
nodded.

Silence.

"Do you not believe me?" Graham asked,
offended at his friend's cynical expression.

"I…do."

"You're bloody convincing." Graham
grumbled.

"Why?" Clairmont asked, his brow
furrowing.

"Why not?" Graham shot back.

Clairmont shrugged and walked toward him,
sitting down in the chair directly across. "Why now, is a better
question?"

"I'm not getting any younger."

"How sage."

Graham glared. Clairmont was wearing off on
him apparently.

"I need to have an heir, and marriage cannot
be as trying as you say. Look at you! Aside from the scowling,
pacing, caged animal, you're positively beaming." Graham suppressed
chuckle.

Clairmont didn't appear as amused.

"I'm one and thirty, I might as well get the
whole business over and done with. Why not this season?" Graham
shrugged and leaned back into the plush chair.

"You… are exactly what I'm afraid of."
Clairmont stood abruptly. Truly it was as if the man could not sit
still. It was bloody dizzying.

"Pardon?"

"You! Men like you are exactly why I am
concerned about Bethanny's come out. Detached men, men who want
heirs, spares, and a mistress on the side."

"I never said anything about a mistress."
Graham felt the need to interject.

"Yes, but—"

"And if memory serves correctly, you have had
scores more mistresses than I." He added further.

"Before Carlotta."

"Yes."

"So it's different."

"A mistress is—"

"No, and that, my friend, is exactly what I'm
afraid of. A wife is not a mistress… and a mistress could never,
ever take the place of a wife. The two are completely unrelated. I
was once like you… an utter fool—"

"Why, thank you." Graham cut in, his eyes
rolling in impatience. Clairmont was as emotional as a bloody
woman. It was exhausting. Was this what marriage did to a man? Made
him moody, emotional, and irrational? Heaven help him.

"I mean no disrespect."

"Because calling one a fool is generally
taken as a compliment," Graham added.

"No, you nodcock."

"Ah, the compliments continue."

Clairmont cast his gaze upward as if in
prayer.

"You look like my sister."

His prayer ended abruptly and was followed by
a fierce scowl.

"What I'm trying to say is… unless your heart
is invested in your wife, you'll never understand marriage, nor
will you reap the amazing benefits of sharing your soul with
another person. Carlotta isn't perfect, nor am I, but we're prefect
for each other. She compliments where I lack and vice versa. It's
a… waltz, our life together. Some give, some take, some crafty
maneuvering, but never ever separated from the other. She's my
lifeline, I'm her strength. I want that same… I don't know the
word… I just want that for Bethanny, and quite honestly, I want it
for you too…" Clairmont paused, his gaze piercing through
Graham.

"Ah, old chap, I'm quite moved," Graham spoke
softly. "I guess I never thought of it that way."

"So will you help me with Bethanny?" He took
a step forward. "I just want her to be happy," Clairmont
pleaded.

"Yes, I will. I'll be her bloody guardian
angel if I need to be. There's nothing you have to fear." Graham
stood and shook his friend's hand.

"Thank you, and in return, I'll ask Carlotta
to give you the names of few good women of the
ton
. Your
sister could do the same, but I'd trust Carlotta's taste over
Dianna's."