To Tempt an Earl (7 page)

And Graham gasped, finally remembering to
breathe.

Which was another mistake — adding to his
lengthy list this evening — for the air was already permeated with
seductive scent of her, reminding him of the softness of her lips,
the press of her soft body…

And heaven help him, he could have damned the
consequences and all but ravished her right then, if not for the
hesitant expression in her eyes.

Hesitation and… guilt?

And at once, Graham felt as if run over by a
carriage with six horses and weighed down by bricks. Because Miss
Lamont was not shocked at all to see him.

Which could only mean one thing…

While he hadn't recognized her, she had most
assuredly recognized him.

Bethanny tried to keep her breathing even as
she approached the circle of her family and Lord Graham. His
expression would have been amusing had the implications not been so
severe. To say he was shocked would have been a gross
understatement. She was quite sure the man had stopped breathing,
if his gasps at the duke's patting of his back were any indication.
Which didn't bode well for her. He was even more handsome than when
they had met on the balcony. His golden hair was slightly tousled,
adding a bit of a devilish delight to his perfectly chiseled face.
His jaw was set, as if angry, but his expression was void of that
emotion.

His evening kit was dark and cut to
perfection, accentuating his masculine frame. Her earlier
assessment had indeed been correct, for he was broader than she
remembered. His amber gaze was burning through her, creating the
now named sensation of desire she had only just experienced earlier
at his hand. It was intoxicating, it was tempting, it was…
altogether frightening, because Bethanny knew that Lord Graham was
beginning to piece things together. His gaze sharpened, narrowed,
and then lit with awareness.

After all, as shocked as he was to see her,
she hadn't the slightest surprise in seeing him, which obviously
had led him to only one conclusion.

She'd known it was him all along.

But of course she would have remembered him!
It was insupportable to think that a man, who had clearly matured
already, would change so dramatically in a few years to make him
unrecognizable. He looked just the same as he had in all her
dreams: golden locks unwilling to bow to conventional style, amber
eyes flashing with charm, and dimples that could make a girl melt.
That his evening kit accentuated his broad shoulders and the
musculature of his legs only heightened the memory.

However, a young lady could easily undergo
such a transformation, such is the way of maturity, and Bethanny
had blossomed late.

"Bethanny! Aren't you delighted that I
reserved that fabric for you? No one will dare wear it after you
are shining so brilliantly this evening!" Lady Southridge gushed
and strode forward, her expression full of delight and
mischief.

Bethanny felt some of her anxiety melt as she
looked to her self-declared grandmother. "Yes, you always do have
the best eye for color."

"She did have help, you know." Carlotta
raised a playful eyebrow and joined their little circle, blocking
the view of Lord Graham.

She wasn't quite sure if that was a good or
bad thing.

"The gentlemen cannot keep their eyes off of
you." Lady Southridge commented, tapping Bethanny lightly on the
shoulder with her gloved hand.

"I'm sure His Grace is pleased with such a
smashing debut." Lord Graham's voice penetrated the circle as he
strode forward, his eyes cold.

Bethanny suppressed a shiver. Perhaps it was
better when she couldn't see him.

"Thank you, my lord," Bethanny replied, her
heart hammering as she searched his gaze for any warmth, anything
that might give her hope.

"Graham, allow me to present my ward, Miss
Bethanny Lamont." The duke made a sweeping gesture, and Lord Graham
reached out his hand. Bethanny placed her gloved hand in his, her
whole body trembling.

"A pleasure, Miss Lamont." He bowed crisply
and kissed the air above her hand.

His accusing gaze bore into her, causing her
heart to beat with guilt and trepidation. One thing was for
certain: he wasn't happy to find out his mysterious miss wasn't so
mysterious after all.

But why?

His gaze never left hers. She tilted her
head, studying him, searching his gaze for her unspoken questions.
His eyes remained distant, cool. One would think they would fairly
dance with their secret. After all, if she could see herself, no
doubt her eyes would be all but burning with it; however, that
spark was snuffed with the ice in his gaze.

Drat the man. Everything was going so well,
and he had to go and ruin it.

"Graham, isn't Bethanny lovely?" Lady
Southridge asked, her face beaming.

"Yes, I must say I didn't recognize you, Miss
Lamont." Lord Graham raised a challenging eyebrow as he continued
to gaze at her.

"Ah, time has a way of changing us all, Lord
Graham. I do hope that I make a lasting impression this time,
however," Bethanny replied, biting back a grin as his eyes
narrowed.

"Of course, my dear! How could Graham forget
an exquisite vision such as yourself?"

"Indeed," Graham replied dryly.

The duke cleared his throat. "A moment,
Graham?"

Lord Graham bowed and stepped away, following
the duke a few paces away.

"Graham positively couldn't keep his eyes off
of you, my dear," Lady Southridge whispered, pulling Bethanny's
attention from the duke and Lord Graham's conversation.

"Oh, I'm sure it's simply that I've changed
so much since he last saw me," Bethanny replied, her neck and face
flushing with the depth of truth to her statement.

"Though I must say he appeared quite
unsettled," Lady Southridge added.

To say the least… though I can't exactly
blame him.

"He did seem to grow pale when he saw you,
dear. Perhaps you remind him of someone," Carlotta added, her
expression curious and watchful.

Far too watchful.

"What!"

All three ladies turned to the loud
exclamation from Lord Graham who was quite upset about
something.

What Bethanny wouldn't give to be three feet
closer to overhear
that
conversation.

The duke appeared confused, yet determined,
adding to the mystery.

"I say, what could they be discussing to
create such a stir?" Lady Southridge murmured.

"Heaven only knows," Carlotta replied with an
amused grin.

"True."

The gentlemen made their way the short
distance back to the ladies. The duke was grinning; Lord Graham
was…
not.

Without preamble, Lord Graham addressed
Bethanny, "Miss Lamont, I'd be delighted if you'd reserve the
supper waltz for me." His expression was anything but delighted, as
he'd claimed to be.

Bethanny glanced to the duke who appeared
pleased with himself, and then to Carlotta, who was studying Lord
Graham with an open skepticism.

"Of course." She nodded slowly.

"If you'll excuse me." He bowed, turned, and
left.

Bethanny watched his retreating back with a
heavy heart. It was difficult gaining everything she'd wanted, only
to have it stolen only a short time after.

She'd wait for the waltz, and then she'd find
her answers.

Hopefully he'd be inclined to share.

Even as he walked
away from Bethanny, he could feel her gaze on his back. He was too
close, and being that near to her was already wreaking havoc on his
mind. As angry as he was with her, her berry-red lips kept
reminding him of her taste; the smooth texture of her skin was then
brought to the forefront of his mind as he mentally replayed their
kiss over and over.

A kiss he wanted to experience again.

But it was not meant to be.

As if he'd needed another reminder, the duke
had pulled him aside and all but forced him to dance the supper set
with his ward. Of course, that wouldn't have been an issue, but the
reason
he wanted Graham to do it,
that
was the
problem.

He wanted Graham to dance with her so that
her first waltz would be with someone he trusted, someone he knew
wouldn't take advantage.

Ha.

Advantage.

Because kissing her on a deserted balcony was
a supreme idea for protecting.

Of course, he hadn't spilled his secret to
his friend. He had no desire to be hung, maimed, or called out on a
duel.

However, his guilt had caused him to lose his
composure slightly.

But hopefully, no one had paid attention to
his loud question.

At least no one who didn't already question
his sanity, i.e., his sister and, now included in that exclusive
club, Bethanny Lamont.

"Bloody hell," he whispered to himself. The
evening was a disaster. And as if it couldn't get worse, he heard
the first strains of the supper waltz.

"Better get this over with," he murmured
again, closing his eyes for a moment, simply to gather his wits.
He'd need them.

As he strode over to where Bethanny waited,
his eyes narrowed. Already she was surrounded with suitors, no
doubt all vying for her attention. The hot stir of jealousy reared
its ugly head once again. Against his better judgment, he
straightened his shoulders and went into the fray.

"Miss Lamont? I believe this is our waltz."
Graham offered her his most charming smile. Just as he'd intended,
the group of young bucks began to back away, their expression
crestfallen.

Had he ever been that green? Dear Lord, he
hoped not.

"Of course, my lord," Bethanny spoke softly,
her brown eyes glancing down so that her dark lashes brushed
against her cheeks, which were now tinged with a becoming shade of
rose.

She was far too beautiful for her own
good.

And he was far too much of a rake to be put
in a position where he had to be honorable.

Self-control had never been so difficult.

She was silent as he led her to the dance
floor. He turned to face her and slowly placed his hand on her hip.
Even through the folds of her dress, he could feel the warmth of
her skin. He immediately remembered teaching her to waltz, but
there was no similarity to the girl she had been and the woman
before him.

Except the eyes.

Her brown depths were the same rich color yet
full of experience that belied her youth. Her form was perfection,
a dream in his arms. Even the slight lack of grace with which she
danced didn't lighten the atmosphere about them. Everything about
her pulled him in. The entire waltz was a creation of torture; it
unmanned him yet created the most arousing sensation of pleasure
he'd experienced in some time, possibly ever.

Needing to distract himself, he grasped her
hand and began leading.

Then promptly stepped on her toe.

"My apologies," he whispered, croaked
actually, because he wasn't exactly in command of himself at the
moment.

Bloody hell, it could only get worse.

"Of course," she murmured, her gaze fixed on
his cravat.

Graham continued the attempt to pull himself
together and was failing miserably when she spoke.

"I… forgive me, my lord. It's quite apparent
that you did not recognize me from earlier. I am sorry for any
discomfort that may have caused you," she said softly.

"I must say, I was indeed… surprised." Graham
cleared his throat. Surprised? He was bloody well shocked to the
point of suffocation.

She was silent then, her gaze shifting to the
dancers surrounding them.

"You didn't… seem surprised, that is?" he
asked, voicing the question plaguing him.

"I wasn't," she answered immediately, her
gaze meeting his. Her chin tilted up defiantly.

"Oh." Because what else could one say? "But
then that would mean that…"

Her eyebrow arched in challenge for him to
finish his thought.

Good Lord.

She'd known
who
he was and kissed him
anyway!

Or had she kissed him
because
of
it?

"Miss Lamont—"

"Bethanny, if you don't mind, my lord." Her
voice was as exquisite as her body, melodic and alluring, a siren
call if he ever had heard one.

"Beth — no, Miss Lamont. You mustn't let
gentlemen be so familiar with you." He shook his head and scolded,
aiming the chastisement at himself as well. He could not call her
by her first name. It would be foolish and punishing. A first name
implied certain intimacies… and in his current state of desire, he
couldn't help but imagine those
intimacies
in bright
detail.

"But it's you." She shrugged, calling his
attention back to the conversation.

"Yes but—"