Bethanny's grin continued to grow as she lay on her bed and relived the evening of her debut. It had been a smashing success, but more importantly, Lord Graham had most assuredly noticed her.
And had kissed her.
She touched her lips, still in a wide grin, and closed her eyes, remembering the exact flavor of his kiss, the slight abrasion of his barely discernable beard against her skin, and the masculine scent of spice mixed with soap. If she breathed softly, she could almost smell it again.
She sighed.
The only other time she had been close enough to bask in the masculine scent that was Lord Graham had happened inadvertently and quite some time ago. Berty — being Berty — had stolen one of her ribbons and run off with it. Bethany had caught her red-handed and pursued her, chasing her down the hall, past the stairs and to the front door. Of course Berty had known that Bethanny wouldn't dare burst through the front door as she had. It simply wasn't done, for a young lady to behave in such a way, especially one living in one of the most sought-after addresses in Mayfair.
But just before Berty had made her escape, she had glanced over her shoulder at Bethanny and stuck out her tongue.
The hoyden.
Bethanny remembered the anger that had simmered at her sister's brazen behavior, and simply, the audacity of Berty sneaking into her room — again — and stealing a ribbon when she had millions — or at least close to that amount — of her own…
Enough was enough, so Bethanny narrowed her eyes and raced to the front door, peeking out through the side window. Sure enough, Berty was skipping along merrily, no longer concerned about her irate older sister. She began walking around the side of the block.
With a sinister laugh, Bethanny rushed to the servants' entrance out back. Quickly, she passed the startled servants and burst through the heavy wooden back door — after all, back doors were an entirely different variety and very acceptable to burst through — and turned the corner in hot pursuit of her sister, sure she'd intercept her readily and before anyone saw her outlandish behavior.
Of course, the only person she intercepted was Lord Graham, who was coming to visit her guardian, the duke.
Bethanny didn't have a moment to react; rather, she plowed into a black coat covering a very firm back and landed on her seat with a loud groan.
She leaned back and closed her eyes.
Perhaps if she pretended to faint, whomever she'd just accosted would forgive her for such a blunder.
But then she heard a familiar chuckle. "You might as well open those brown eyes of yours, Miss Lamont. I know you're quite awake," Lord Graham's voice called softly.
Inwardly Bethanny sighed with both humiliation yet delight in hearing his voice.
At least she could count on him not to hold her behavior against her… though it certainly wouldn't assist her efforts in helping him see her as more than a little girl.
"Bethanny! Are you hurt! Oh Bethanny!" Berty's voice called a moment later, shrill and afraid. "Oh, Lord Graham, this is all my fault! I stole her ribbon, and she was surely looking for me! Oh, why did I do it! Blasted thing." Berty choked.
Bethanny continued to keep her eyes closed. At least her humiliation had one silver lining: revenge on her sister.
"Ah, so you're the culprit," Lord Graham scolded in a stern manner.
Bethanny almost opened her eyes at his tone, then caught herself, curious as to what he was up to.
"Bethanny? Please answer me! I'll never take your ribbons again. I swear it." Berty was kneeling over her now, patting her forehead and grasping her hands.
"She's quite injured, I'm afraid," Lord Graham added solemnly.
Bethanny wanted to roll her eyes but didn't; rather, taking secret delight in his playing along.
"Is she? What are we to do?" Berty lamented then gasped. "I know! In my picture books, the prince always kisses the beautiful girl to wake her! You're not a prince, but…" she paused, as if regarding him, "but you are a lord, so perhaps that is similar enough for it to work! You must kiss her!"
"Pardon?" Lord Graham asked in a confused tone. Bethanny could hardly blame him; it was a rare day that Berty didn't confuse her, and she was her sister!
"Kiss her! Oh, please kiss her, and I know she'll wake up, and then she can forgive me, and I'll never take her ribbons," Berty explained succinctly, as her young mind saw all the puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.
"Er, I'm quite certain that is not how it works," Lord Graham argued.
"How would you know? Have you tried it?" Berty asked impatiently.
"Actually… no," Lord Graham answered.
"Then you have no experience from which to draw a conclusion. Or at least that's what Carlotta tells me… frequently," Berty grumbled.
"Ah, a wise woman."
"You're wasting time! Kiss her!" she demanded.
"I cannot simply kiss—"
"Yes, you can! Kiss her! There's no one around, and I'll not tell a soul. After all, this is—"
"Your fault, I know."
"Yes."
Lord Graham sighed.
Bethanny secretly bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. She'd have to thank her sister later.
"What if we just ask her—"
"No! That will never work!
"You're quite opinionated for one so young," Lord Graham added.
"So I've been told. Now kiss her!"
"Very well, keep a sharp eye out, though. I'll not have some fop say I'm accosting your sister."
"Yes, sir," Berty immediately agreed.
Lord Graham's breath tickled her ear as he bent down. "I do hope that ribbon was made of gold, Miss Lamont." He chuckled then kissed her cheek. His lips were warm and soft, just brushing the corner of her cheekbone. It was lovely, sweet, and, at the same time, so melancholy, because though he was close enough to share the scent he wore of warm spice and peppermint, he was only there out of coercion of her sister.
Then and there she swore that one day he'd kiss her because he wanted to.
Like a fairy princess, Bethanny fluttered her eyelashes dramatically and gasped softly for effect, then rose.
Berty was beside herself with delight and a constant beg of pardon was forthcoming for some time after.
Lord Graham simply winked at her and left, surely to meet up with his friend, the duke, but Bethanny was forever changed…
It was amazing to compare the past and the recent happenings just the night before. They were so different. Yet sadly, they carried one similarity: the melancholy spirit. While Lord Graham had certainly kissed her of his own will, he hadn't realized it was her. And once he had, he'd regretted it.
But that didn't mean that Bethanny had to.
Rolling over on her bed, she rose and padded across the wooden floors to her low-burning fire. Holding her hands out, she let the warmth seep into her skin. A knock on the door alerted her that Molly, her maid, was bringing the newspaper and warm chocolate she'd requested each morning.
Warm chocolate with heaps and heaps of sugar.
And a splash of milk.
It was more of a dessert than anything else, but Bethanny could think of no better way to begin the day than with something sweet.
"Miss? You're awake early. Did you not sleep well, then?" Molly asked kindly as she laid down the tray.
"Actually, I slept quite well." Bethanny offered her maid a welcoming smile and reached for her chocolate.
When the first hint of flavor touched her lips, she closed her eyes, relishing the texture and sweetness.
"Since today is your at-home day, miss, which dress would you prefer? The blue or green?" Molly asked as she withdrew two garments from the wardrobe.
"The blue… I think." Bethanny's eyes darted from dress to dress as she peeked over her cup of chocolate.
"Very good, miss. You're sure to have quite a few callers today, it being the day after your debut and all. I heard it was quite smashing!" Molly's hazel eyes danced with excitement.
"It was quite the crush," Bethanny answered kindly.
"And would a certain lord have asked you to dance, miss?" Molly's eyebrow arched in question, a teasing grin at her lips.
"Perhaps."
"Oh! I knew he would, miss! You're far too lovely for any gentleman to not be begging for a dance! Was it all you were wishing?" Molly turned aside from the dresses and happily strode to her mistress, beaming with joy.
"Oh, Molly!" Bethanny grinned. Placing her chocolate on the small table just past the fire, she spun in a small circle. "We waltzed, Molly! A waltz! Can you believe it? It was delightful! Even now, I break out in gooseflesh simply thinking about it!"
"A waltz!" Molly echoed with delight.
"Yes! But…" Bethanny's joy was quickly turning to a worry. "However, we… did meet earlier… and he didn't recognize me."
"Well, you have done your fair share of growing up, you have." Molly nodded.
"Yes, well… I don't think he was pleased that it was me." Bethanny bit her lip.
"Oh? And why are you thinking that, miss? I'm sure he was thrilled!"
"No, you see… he… he seemed quite… shocked actually, when he discovered who I was."
"Shocked by your beauty, miss." Molly spoke confidently.
Bethanny shook her head then bit her lip. How she loved Molly; her fierce loyalty was a rarity and all the more reason for Bethanny's friendship with her maid. That loyalty also made Molly utterly trustworthy, but Bethanny dared not speak about the kiss out loud. She wanted it to be a delicious secret, one that was only shared by one other person. Graham.
"I do believe he found me… pleasing to behold. However, I think, no, I know he was unhappy because… well… you see, while he didn't know he was speaking with me earlier, I knew it was him. And I didn't say anything about who I was, even though I knew he didn't recognize me," Bethanny confessed.
"Oh." Molly furrowed her brow and quirked her lips. "Then we'll just have to change his heart a bit, won't we?" She grinned mischievously. "Your cap's still set on the gentleman, is it not?"
"Oh yes," Bethanny spoke reverently.
"You're a smart one, miss. He might have gotten his manly pride prickled a bit when he realized you were quicker than he, but I suspect that he'll come around, given the proper encouragement." Molly shrugged and went back to the dresses.
"Encouragement?"
"Well, yes, miss. With your beautiful coffee-colored hair and those bottomless brown eyes, I doubt he's missed what a beauty you are. Add to that your kind heart and smart wit, he'll not be able to resist. Besides," Molly smirked a bit before schooling her features into a polite smile, "he's not going to forget you, that's for sure. And that, miss, is half the battle already won."
"Why in the bloody hell do I have to call on her?" Graham was not in the mood to argue with his sister. In fact, he wasn't in the mood for anything other than swiping the French brandy from his study and drinking till sleep found him.
Because he hadn't slept a wink last night.
Not even a bloody minute.
Because each time he'd closed his eyes, she was there. Her deep brown gaze seared through him, igniting a passion he really wished would remain inexperienced. So, he'd open his eyes and stare at his ceiling, or the wall, or the fire — anything that would get his mind off her. Yet everywhere he looked, he'd grown bored with whatever it was he been gazing at — though it wasn't shocking. How interesting was a wall, really? He'd relived their kiss, which in turn, had reminded him of the soft press of her body against his, the warmth of her lips caressing his own, and the flavor.
Heaven help him, he couldn't forget the flavor.
It was honey and champagne.
It was desire and surrender.
It was unlike anything he had ever sampled before, and like an addict he was already craving more.
But that was exactly why calling on Miss Bethanny Lamont was a very bad idea.
"Bloody hell."
"You've already said that… much as I wish you wouldn't. What is it that has you in such a foul mood this morning?" his sister commented sternly, her gaze scrutinizing him in a way that made his feet itch with guilt.
That was the rub. He did feel guilty. Guilty, because he hadn't recognized her. Guilty, because even after he had realized just who she was, it hadn't changed the fact that he'd wanted her.
Badly. And still did.
And finally, he felt guilty because he'd been asked by his best friend to look out for her. When, in actuality, all he'd wanted to do was compromise her so that she'd be his. Which, in turn, would betray his best friend. And possibly cause a duel, and he'd be the one who deserved the bullet.
"Edward?" his menace of a sister asked impatiently.
"I'm tired."
"You're not that old."
"I feel that old," Graham replied, sitting and resting his head against the back of the chair.
"All the more reason for you to marry this season then. Am I correct? I never thought I'd see the day when my baby brother was too tired to chase a skirt."
"See here!" Graham's eyes blinked open rapidly, and he stood.
"No, no, you're right. You're simply getting on in years. Why, to be honest, I was thinking the very same thing last night."
"Pardon?" Graham asked skeptically, his expression turning to a deep frown.
"Last night," his sister hitched a shoulder, "when you were dancing with Bethanny. You did seem quite… fatherly."
"WHAT?" Graham felt his jaw drop.
"You were quite… stoic. I've never seen you act in such a way with such a beautiful woman. My only answer was that you felt decidedly paternal."
"Damnation."
"You're quite vulgar this morning. I'd thank you not to curse any more, my—"
"If you say ladylike sensibilities, I might lose what breakfast I ate." Graham rolled his eyes. "Father-like? Paternal? I don't even know what to say."
"I was simply offering my observations." His sister shrugged slightly then raised her hand and examined her gloves.
"Paternal."
"You're repeating yourself again."
"I can't quite believe you said it."
"Of all the things I've said in my life… this is what you cannot get over? Truly?" Her eyebrows shot up in shock and derision.
"Actually… yes," Graham grumbled.
"Then one must deduct from your response that your inclinations toward the girl went an opposite direction." A grin began to tip the upper corners of her mouth, a grin all too familiar to Graham.
He had been played. By his sister.
And he didn't think the morning could get worse.
"I have no idea what you're implying." He strode to the fire and tugged on his cravat.
"You might be dense, but you're not stupid, Edward. She is a very beautiful young lady."
"Who I supposedly have paternal feelings for," he mocked, his face twisting in a sneer as he glanced to her.
"Or decidedly unpaternal feelings… perhaps the feelings of a potential suitor?" she asked, a delighted gleam in her eye.
Graham wanted to poke her in that blasted eye.
"Have you lost your mind?" Graham spun and faced her, calling her bluff and hoping he hadn't exposed just how close to the truth she was.
"No, I'm quite certain I'm in full possession of my faculties. You, dear brother, are the one I'm questioning."
"I, how could, why…" Graham took a deep breath and turned away from his sister.
"Sputtering always implicates you, Graham. You might as well admit it." His sister shrugged.
Shrugged, as if what she was implying wasn't damning. Or potentially ruining of a lifelong friendship.
"I admit nothing," Graham spoke through clenched teeth.
"Admission is not necessary for it to be true."
"I still do not see why I must pay a call on her this morning," he replied after a moment.
"Uncomfortable with the topic at hand? Is a change in conversation necessary? Hmm?" His sister's gaze narrowed in delight as her lips bent into a knowing grin.
"Actually, if you remember, that very question was the first that began this whole demented conversation."
"Demented? I fail to see how that adjective applies." She raised her chin a notch.
"Demented. Dear sister, most conversations I partake of that include you often include that very adjective."
"I'm insulted," she huffed.
"But not shocked." Graham grinned.
His sister's eyes narrowed, and if the two siblings had been younger, he no doubt would have seen her stomp her foot and growl. However, her irritated expression fazed into a knowing one.
Graham knew that expression. Whatever she was thinking was not good.
At least, not good for him.
"You're afraid," she challenged.
"Of what?" Graham scoffed.
"A deb."
"That's… you mean to say… I cannot… won't dignify that statement with a response." Graham sneered and turned away.
But stopped when his sister began clapping.
"Pardon?"
"I'm applauding you," she replied as he turned an annoyed glare to her.
"For? Or dare I ask?" he replied tightly.
"You finished an entire sentence after your stammering. You've come quite a long ways. I know how difficult it must be for you to lie about something so… delicate."
"I—I—" Graham sputtered, fully exasperated and furious.
"Don't choke, Graham. After all, if you're not afraid, why so adamant? And yes, I do believe delicate is the correct word for this subject, or woman." She took a few steps forward, her smile fading into concerned pinch in her brow.
Bloody hell, it was the look of pity.
Anything but pity.
"I want to see you settled. You yourself even said this was the season. There's no way you didn't notice the girl, Edward. I watched you. I saw your expression. Don't let a little bit of age difference and an irritable duke stand in the way of what could be life-changing."
"I have no idea as to what you are referring," Graham replied succinctly, biting the words as they came from his mouth.
Wishing that it truly was as simple as his sister had said. But she hadn't been there when Clairmont had confided in him. And even though his sister knew him well, she didn't know him that well, and if she did, she certainly wouldn't be suggesting that he pursue the purity of Bethanny Lamont. No, she'd be protecting her from him. That knowledge alone was enough to remind him of his place, of his necessity in staying away from her.
But oh, if she didn't tempt him, then nothing in this world ever would.
"I appreciate your sentiment. Truly. However, all is not as you expect, dear sister. You might think differently, but you are not omnipotent, and in this, you are mistaken." Graham bowed, turned on his heel, and left.
His sister's silence echoed louder than anything she could have ever said. She'd known he was lying, just as easily as he'd known the lie himself. And if he'd known she'd never believe him, why had he done it?
The truth was far more frightening than the possibility of admitting his feelings. Because the truth was, he wanted to lie to himself, but the problem with lying to oneself is that one never truly believed it.
Even if one wanted to.