"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.
Because all that mattered was that she'd seen his heart, and that she returned his love.
As he watched her eyes brimming with unshed tears, he couldn't help but reach out and kiss her once more, not caring that everyone was watching. It was scandalous, but perfect. Releasing her lips and kissing her cheek, he tasted the salty trail of a tear that had finally spilled over.
Someone cleared his throat, and Graham reluctantly backed away, though his gaze never left Bethanny's. Her eyes were shining pools of love and delight, of hope and forgiveness.
Thank the Lord. Forgiveness.
"I'm assuming there is more to your extended version of charades than an unrealized desire to moonlight as an actor?" Clairmont asked, his tone amused yet with a slight edge.
Though Graham couldn't fault him; he had kissed his ward publically.
Couldn't blame him, but couldn't exactly regret his behavior either.
"Indeed. I'd like to announce my engagement to Miss Bethanny Lamont." Graham spoke with excited wonder, his tone almost foreign to his own ears.
Bethanny glowed, her face radiating the joy that echoed in his own heart.
"Then I shall not call you out," Clairmont announced.
Graham shot him a dark look but was beaten to the punch, so to say, by Carlotta, who had done the same then swatted her husband with her fan.
Clairmont simply chuckled and winked at his wife, who blushed.
It was most assuredly time for those two to retire to their bedroom.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't hear a proposal." Beatrix took a step forward, her tone assertive and challenging. "Did you?" She turned to Lord Neville.
"Er, actually… no." He shrugged and then shared a smile with her.
Graham exhaled an impatient breath. "It seems I forgot something, Miss Lamont." Standing, he pulled Bethanny up as well. "Miss Lamont, will you do me the intense honor of being my wife, and thereby putting me out of the acute misery of living without you, since you are my heartbeat, my breath, my very life?"
He didn't think Bethanny's smile could grow any brighter, yet it did. It was like trying to stare at the sun. It was too bright, too beautiful, only something heaven could contain.
"Yes. Finally!" she answered and threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, before leaning back and placing an enthusiastic kiss, far less chaste than the one he had initiated earlier.
"Bethanny!" Clairmont scolded.
She ignored him
Bless the woman, she was perfection.
"Bethanny, dear," Carlotta whispered softly.
Reluctantly, Bethanny pulled away, but not before she whispered a soft, "I love you."
Graham felt his heart swell with gratitude. "Not as much as I love you, but I'll give you the rest of your life to try."
"Agreed."