To Tempt an Earl (28 page)

"Perhaps. Although a truly intelligent
gentleman wouldn't need privacy." The duke speared him with a
meaningful expression.

"You've got to be joking." Graham took a step
back. Had Clairmont lost his mind?

"Graham, once you hit the point of
desperation, privacy will not matter. All that will matter is that
you find a way to secure her heart to yours. You'll not care if you
have an audience of one, or three hundred. Because all you'll see…
is her. All you'll hear... is her answer. You could be in the
presence of the Regent and Napoleon having tea, and you wouldn't
care a whit. Because all you'd be aware of is
her
."

"I bloody am only aware of her. I'm only
thinking of her comfort…"

"You, my dear boy…" The duke patted Lord
Graham's head.

Like a dog.

And Graham affirmed his earlier curse of the
potbellied stallion.

Only this time, he was a gelding,

"Know nothing about how women think. There's
nothing more romantic than an overt expression of love. There is a
time for candlelight, romance, and whispered love, but there is
also a time to throw caution to the wind and to go with your heart,
your very impatient, demanding, and lonely heart. And when you do,
your actions become the very stories they can't wait to tell the
lovely children you'll undoubtedly have. Remember that."

The duke nodded and strode away, leaving
Graham alone with his very loud, very demanding, and lonely
heart.

And at once, he knew exactly what he'd
do.

He only hoped that the duke knew what he was
talking about. Or else it was going to be a disaster.

"Charades!" Carlotta
announced
to the group as the gentleman settled themselves
from their arrival. Lord Graham was last, his gaze meeting hers
immediately, a fierce light of determination causing goose bumps to
prickle on her arms.

A few ladies clapped, bringing Bethanny's
attention back to the group, their gloved hands causing the sound
to be a muted thump. A few gentleman bit back groans.

Bethanny glanced at the array of guests,
amused. Lady Whitehead and her daughter seemed overly eager, and
Lord Neville looked as if he wished he could blend in with the rug
on the floor.

Apparently charades wasn't the first
selection of diverting games for the reclusive bachelor.

Bethanny bit back a laugh at the poor man's
expense, but before she could fight it too terribly, it was lost to
a sense of curiosity. Lord Neville, as uncomfortable as he
appeared, cast his gaze toward Beatrix.

And lingered.

Beatrix seemed utterly unaware, and Bethanny
had the sisterly urge to inconspicuously sidle up to her and pinch
her till she noticed.

There was far more going on than either would
admit.

Very well, she'd simply watch and, when the
moment came, she'd pounce and figure out what exactly was going on
between her sister and the reclusive lord.

"You suspect something as well," a low voice
murmured softly to her left.

Only a fraction of a moment later, her body
sensed the warmth coming from his nearness, sending her into a
state of provocative desire.

And the parlor was
not
the place to
have such emotions.

"Indeed. Have you also noticed something?"
Bethanny asked, her tone slightly breathless, though she was
desperately trying to control it.

"I have my own suspicions… though I must
admit I've been far too distracted by someone else to pay proper
attention to the amorous intentions of others," he answered.

Bethanny met his gaze. The intensity of it
was deep and comforting, like steaming chocolate on a dreary day,
inviting and uplifting, yet secretive and alluring.

The man could cause more emotions than a
Shakespearian play.

And all it had taken were a few moments, a
few seconds of conversation, and she was in knots.

"Are you enjoying your evening?" Bethanny
asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"I can think of ways I'd enjoy it more,"
Graham replied, his gaze dancing as he lingered on her face and
settled on her lips.

Involuntarily, Bethanny moistened them,
trying to quell the intense desire to bridge the short foot of
space and take him up on his implied offer.

Lord Graham groaned softly, closing his eyes
as if in agony. "Clairmont is a master of torture," he whispered
softly, more to himself than anyone.

But Bethanny heard and couldn't help the
small laugh that escaped.

His eyes shot open. "You're just as bad,
minx. But don't worry. I'll even the score… someday," he
promised.

"I certainly hope so," Bethanny heard herself
reply before she could stop herself. A deep blush was painful
across her face.

"I always make good on my word, love.
Always," he whispered, reaching for her hand, and placing a
smoldering kiss to the back of it. "Please excuse me. I have to
speak with our hostess." With a fiery, lingering gaze, he spun and
left Bethanny with her heart hammering and her belly warm with
anticipation.

She watched as Graham approached Carlotta and
spoke softly to her. Carlotta's eyes widened, and she glanced to
Bethanny then back to Graham before excusing herself from a few
other guests and conversing privately with him a few feet away from
the group.

Bethanny grew suspicious.

Eyes narrowed, she watched as Graham spoke
and Carlotta nodded.

Drat.

Neither gave away any indication as to what
they were planning.

With a reluctant sigh, she glanced to the
duke, who was conversing with Neville. He met her gaze and raised
his glass as if toasting her.

Something
was underfoot.

A moment later, Carlotta clapped, calling the
attention back to herself. "Shall we begin? I've had a volunteer to
begin the game! Lord Graham, if you please?"

Lord Graham smiled tensely and strode to the
middle of the room. The twenty or so guests backed away, giving him
room to proceed. Bethanny walked over to her sister, Beatrix, and
waited, her brow furrowed, curiosity eating at her attention.

Lord Graham bowed and crossed the room toward
her. With a smart bow, he paused, pointed to her, then backed away.
Smoothly, he began to waltz with an imaginary partner.

Bethanny held back a giggle as she watched
the dashing gentleman waltz across the floor... alone.

Suddenly he paused and took a startled step
back, placing a hand to his heart. He raised his hand as if judging
the height of a person, then placed the hand much lower as if
judging the height of a child. Shaking his head, he backed away and
ran to the other side of the room. With a determined stride, he
approached Clairmont. He pointed to the duke, held up his hands,
then purposefully placed them over his throat.

As if he were being strangled.

Bethanny lost it and began to laugh, covering
up the sound with her hand as Graham made silent choking noises. By
now, she was following the story and couldn't help but watch in
utter excitement and disbelief as the very masculine, very rakish
Lord Graham, proceeded to tread the boards like he were at Drury
Lane! She glanced to Carlotta, who appeared just as amused, though
her eyes lingered longer on her husband than the actor.

Lord Graham had stopped strangling himself
and ran toward a table across the room. With a quick glance about
it, he pulled up a napkin and placed it around his waist and held
up a silent instrument.

Surely he was implying Scotland, with the
makeshift kilt and imaginary bagpipes. Suddenly, his expression was
one of sorrow, as he pretended to wipe his eyes and dab his nose
with the napkin that he'd just used as his kilt.

Then he picked up something invisible from
the table and slit the top with a letter opener. He mimed the
motions of opening up a letter and made quite a show of reading it.
He threw it to the ground and stomped on it! But that wasn't
dramatic enough apparently, because he began jumping on it,
grinding into the floor with his boot!

Bethanny watched with wide-eyed wonder. Was
that what he'd done when he received the letter? What
that
his reaction? How glorious! It was as if she were watching from
afar all that had happened during that dreadful time when he left.
As much as it was entertaining, it was also a gift.

A very public gift.

The other guests were watching with
expressions ranging from confusion to rapt entertainment.

Lord Graham dusted off his hands and acted as
if he were mounting a horse. Granted, he'd ridden in a carriage,
but she wasn't going to be picky. With loping strides, he galloped
around the room a full circle and paused, dismounting. He strode
toward a bare wall. Standing back a few feet, he placed his hand to
his heart and patted in a quick rhythm.

The fast beating of his heart.

With an over-exaggerated deep breath, he
pretended to enter a house. Striding across the room, he approached
the duke again; only this time, he knelt.

The duke chuckled approvingly and winked at
Carlotta.

Lord Graham lifted his humble gaze and folded
his hands.

Begging.

Bethanny's heart pinched then swelled with
love and adoration for the gentleman who was laying his heart out
for all to see.

Such a display couldn't be easy, but it was
clearly done in love.

Love that was pouring off Bethanny in waves,
resisting any kind of restraint.

Lord Graham then took it a step further and
began bowing as if worshipping at the duke's feet.

Bethanny laughed loudly, along with the rest
of the group, as the duke pretended to kick Lord Graham.

Smiling, Lord Graham bowed and pretended
profuse gratitude and then began to search. With his hand placed at
his forehead, he pretended to be looking for something.

Someone.
Her
.

He picked up books and looked under them,
picked up pillows to glance beneath them, and then paused to
scratch his head in consternation.

Finally, he pulled out his pocket watch and
waited. Then, he smiled grandly and placed his timepiece away and
patted his belly.

Supper.

He paced the floor, his gaze shooting upward
as if watching a stairway. He paused, his expression changing into
wonderment. Without further delay, he strode toward Bethanny.

Her heart hammered in her chest, knowing this
whole scene was for her, was an overt display of what was in his
heart. She was certain that there was no way for him to speak with
her about their pained past and their uncertain future in the
company of chaperones and guests.

Yet, he had vaulted that wall and created his
own path to her heart.

Nothing was more wonderful, more
beautiful.

One day, she'd tell their children this story
over and over, never tiring of it.

Lord Graham's gaze was hot with desire and
intensity, heating her from the inside out and sending the silent
message that he was no longer playing a game.

He stood before her, grasping her hands. He
kissed each of them and knelt slowly, never taking his gaze from
hers. Tenderly, he took her hands and placed them at his heart,
smiling softly, moving them slightly, as if mimicking his
heartbeat.

"You," he whispered, continuing to move her
hands in the rhythm of his heart.

Bethanny took a deep breath.

It was her turn.

He had risked much. The least she could do
would be to offer a small token as well. With a deep breath, she
followed his example, kneeling before him as an example of her own
affection. After all, he had humbled himself before the cream of
the
ton
, the least she could do was meet him halfway.

Lord Graham's brow furrowed, and she offered
him an indulgent smile. Pulling her hands slightly from his, he
released her immediately, but she gasped his hands and pulled them
toward her. Slowly, she placed them on her heart, mimicking the
same rhythm he had begun.

"You," she whispered.

Lord Graham smiled then, a glorious and
wonder-filled expression that stole her breath.

"No," he leaned forward, "mine." With the
last word, he closed the distance and kissed her, a chaste kiss by
most standards, but utterly scandalous in the aspect that it was in
front of God and every one of their guests.

It was a good thing she was going to marry
him.

After that display, she had no other
option.

Nothing could have pleased her more.

He did it! Truly, at first he thought he
might expire from the weight of the implication of his actions, not
to mention he wasn't an exhibitionist, but after seeing the wonder
in Bethanny's eyes as he continued his charade, he was bolstered
with courage. The crippling fear of rejection was no longer an
issue. Further, he found himself not caring that he'd likely be the
source of the sweetest gossip once they returned to London. He
didn't care that he'd acted like a lovesick fool for the girl.