To Tempt an Earl

Bethanny Lamont closed her deep brown eyes and sighed, knowing she’d never be able to sleep.

But she was trying to, nonetheless.

How could one partake of something as trivial as sleep when tomorrow was her debut? Every moment of training, every lady-like pursuit would come to a pinnacle tomorrow when she was announced at the ball held in her honor. Her skin felt feverish with excitement, her heart danced an excited rhythm, and her toes curled in anticipation for the final arrival of such a long-awaited night.

She sighed contentedly, secretively.

Because, well, she did have a secret after all.

It was entirely possible that she had subtly asked Lady Southridge — her self-declared grandmother — if Lord Graham — Lady Southridge’s much younger brother — would, by chance, attend her ball.

Which he would!

And this knowledge was the true cause for her inability to sleep even a wink. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she slept or stayed awake; her dreams would be the exact same variety and feature a very striking hero.

It had been two years since she’d last seen him, but every moment was etched in her mind as only a thousand remembrances can do. The slight curl of his hair, the exact golden hue of his skin, the way his cheeks dimpled when he flashed a smile.

She sighed. And relaxing into the soft comfort of her bed, she allowed her mind to wander into familiar territory; memories of Graham.

One of her favorites took place while only sixteen. She still hadn’t blossomed — as Carlotta had called it — and already struggling with her awkward grace, she was striving to learn to waltz with some decorum.

She had thought she was alone. The library had certainly seemed empty, and she’d taken full advantage. With just enough space in the far corner of the room, she practiced a poised curtsey and began to waltz with an invisible partner. Whispering the count to keep from missing a step, she spun and swirled; keeping to her toes, her movements would be hopefully less clumsy. Unfortunately, all that keeping to her toes had done was to increase her lack of grace, and she tripped over her own feet and stumbled to the floor, arms flailing.

She swore.

After all, at sixteen one truly believes that the world does revolve around the ability to waltz. For if a debutant cannot waltz, how can a gentleman fall in love with her grace and beauty?

“I don’t believe the duke would approve of such language from his ward.” An amused voice shattered her irritation, replacing it with humiliation.

Bethanny glanced up, her eyes widening as dread chilled her heart.

Anyone but him. The Prince Regent, the worst gossipmonger. Just not him.

But as fate, or failure, would have it, it was the very handsome and dashing Lord Graham. His smile could warm her insides for days at a time, and, truth be told, he was the very person she hoped to waltz with someday.

Too bad that would never happen now.

Bloody waltz.

She never liked it anyway.

“I do find that perhaps my assistance is needed.” He walked around the chaise and extended a gloved hand to her, his golden hair falling forward slightly as he bowed.

“Pardon?” Bethanny blinked.

“Come, let’s try this again. I’m told I’m a wonderful teacher.” He winked and then smiled when Bethanny placed a trembling hand in his. His amber-colored eyes danced with a mischief and merriment that immediately set her to ease, yet awakened some swirling emotion she couldn’t name.

“You see, Miss Lamont. To waltz is about two people moving as one. So it’s only natural that you’d find it exceedingly difficult to practice by yourself. Allow me the honor.” He began to hum, his rich voice vibrating against her, melting her.

Unable to resist, and not wishing to, she delighted in the pleasurable sensation of his hand at her waist, radiating warmth. He was the perfect height, not towering over her, but tall enough to make her feel feminine, petite and… safe in his arms. He continued to hum and, exerting the slightest pressure, he led her in a waltz that, though was still somewhat lacking in grace, was far improved over her original attempt.

“See? You only needed an experienced partner.” He glanced down and colored slightly.

Bethanny felt her brow furrow at his reaction, curious as to what secret meaning could have made him blush slightly.

“Well, you did say you were a good teacher. You have been proven correct in your assessment, my lord. I thank you,” Bethanny replied, hoping she sounded more mature, more knowledgeable than her sixteen years.

“Thank you, Miss Lamont.“ He nodded. “Now, let us step this way.” He tenderly led her to the left. “And you must remember that a gentleman will always keep a proper distance between himself and you. Don’t let someone bully you into a more… intimate… embrace.”

“Oh?” Bethanny swallowed then gathered her courage. “And how close would be too close, my lord?” she asked as she blinked innocently — or so she’d hoped.

“Hmm.” Lord Graham’s brow furrowed. “I’d think that anything closer than this would be considered too close, Miss Lamont.”

Drat. He didn’t pull her in closer. Thinking quickly, she tried again.

“Say some cad tried to pull me in. How would I extricate myself?” she asked.

“Clever question.” He offered an approving grin. “Now, Miss Lamont, I’m going to attempt to pull you in, and you must resist. You see, a gentleman, or rake, will not want to draw attention to himself on the dance floor. He’d want to be secretive about his intentions, assuming your youth to make you easy prey.”

“Am I?” Bethanny asked.

“Are you?”

“Easy prey,” Bethanny asked, leaning slightly forward.

“Er…” Lord Graham blinked, then his gaze sharpened. He didn’t answer right away but studied her for a moment, as if judging his answer.

“Actually, no. I don’t believe you are.”

“Good.” Bethanny nodded, her toes tingling from his intense gaze.

“Do not let my answer give you a false sense of security. Rakes love a challenge.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” She glanced down to his shining Hessian boots.

“Now, if you feel that some scoundrel has pulled you in too far, and you cannot extricate yourself…” Lord Graham pulled her in.

Bethanny felt her eyes widen as her lips parted in shock and wonder. He smelled of cloves and cinnamon with a hint of peppermint. She’d never forget that scent.

“Yes?” she whispered breathlessly.

“Simply step on the cad’s toes. Hard.” Lord Graham replied, grinning widely.

“Pardon?”

“Shove your heel into the cad’s boot—“

Bethanny began to follow his advice and stomped her heel on his boot.

“Bloody — er, drat. Miss Lamont, I didn’t intend for you to…” He took a deep breath and broke the frame of their waltz. “I didn’t intend for you to practice on me.” He placed his hands on his hips and shot her a longsuffering glare.

“Oh. Er, forgive me?” Bethanny felt her face heat with a deep blush.

Lord Graham shook his head and glared.

Bethanny gulped.

Then a grin broke through. “Of course!” He chuckled.

“Unfair! You had me frightened that I had severely offended you!” Bethanny scolded, and, before she could think, reached out and swatted his shoulder.

“You should have seen your face.” Lord Graham laughed.

Bethanny glared.

“Hey, must I remind you that your foot inflicted serious damage on my highly polished boots? My valet is going to be livid! I’ll be sure to place the blame on you.”

“Afraid of your valet? Here I thought you were braver than that.”

“You, miss, have never met my valet.”

“True.” Bethanny giggled, thrilled to be in such easy conversation. It was a dream. Ever since she had first seen him upon returning from Greenford Waters — the Duke’s estate in Bath — Bethanny had harbored a secret obsession with Lord Graham.

“Miss Lamont, this has been a joy, but I’ll now take my leave.” He released her and stepped away, immediately rendering her chilled and craving his presence.

Bethanny shook her head at the fading of the memory. Time had been kind to her over the past two years, and she had finally bloomed — Carlotta’s words — and now she actually had a chance to catch Lord Graham’s attention and — God willing — his affection. The last time she had seen him was when he had bid them all farewell. She had cried for a fortnight afterward, knowing she’d not see him for at least two years. But now with her ball on the horizon, and with the good fortune of Lord Graham finally returning, there was finally hope.

She’d at least catch his eye. Though she had to admit that she’d catch everyone’s eye. It was after all, her ball. But surely he’d see her as more of a woman than the child he’d been introduced to; at least she hoped for it.

Every fiber of her being hoped it.

Her governess-turned-guardian — who was actually more of an older sister — Carlotta Evermore, Duchess of Clairmont, was thankfully unaware of her secret. If she had any suspicion, she would have told her husband, the duke, who would have already taken it upon himself to have a long — or several long — lectures with her on the need to be extremely cautious in any sort of attachment. Bethanny found it very ironic, and, frankly, amusing that her guardian was so overly protective and overbearing, given his former reputation.

And she was quite sure that the information she’d been given concerning said reputation was of the tamest variety.

Also, the fact that Lord Graham was not much younger than the duke wouldn’t help her cause either.

And quite the rake himself.

But rakes could be reformed, at least that’s what always happened in the gossip, and, being a student of observation, she could readily attest to the truth of that gossip. The duke’s intense love for his wife, Carlotta, was a testament of that fact.

And it wasn’t an understatement when she said the man was reformed. Because if there ever had been a rake, it was he, and if there had ever been a man to make a complete about-face with his nature, it was also he.

For pity sake Bethanny and her sisters couldn’t sneeze without him asking if they were catching cold. It was endearing, but also quite… smothering.

Bethanny’s mind began to wander, and, as it usually did, found its way back to its favorite subject of pondering, Edward Greenly, Earl of Graham. And with a soft smile, she imagined what his hand would feel like at her waist as he led a waltz, and how soft his lips would feel pressed against hers in a kiss.

And Bethanny slept… and dreamed.