In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Ten

It was shameful how scarlet-tinged jealously had flashed across his vision at seeing Aphrodite with Quentin. He was not jealous by nature, yet the thought of any other man with her made him want to growl like an unchained beast.

His fists clenched. The reaction was not rational nor was it warranted—but it had come out anyway. Worst of all, Lady Fairchild had seen it, thankfully, she took it to mean something else.

“What an upsetting tart,” she scoffed while they entered the Manor. “Greeting you without acknowledgement like the uncultured hoyden she is. You were right to look down on her for such an impolite move. Mark my words, she will leave here as unmatched as she arrived.”

While she spoke, Oswald was mulling over his reaction and felt guilt close over his chest. Aphrodite was only doing what she was supposed to be doing, but there he was like the troglodyte she had once called him, growling over her like she was his property. He had to apologize to her—and Quentin as well.

“Hm,” Lady Fairchild looked around. “Would you like to have some tea and talk for a while, My Lord?”

He shook his head. “I—another time, perhaps? I realized what Lord Easton meant and I must speak with him.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed, suspicious look but waved him off. “If you must, but I would bargain that in exchange, you will be my dinner partner tonight.”

“Done,” Oswald stepped aside and bowed. “Good afternoon, My Lady.”

He strode away while feeling the weight of her gaze resting on the back of his neck. Her questioning gaze mattered little to him as he retraced his steps to see if Aphrodite had left the garden—only to nearly tumble into her again when he strode around a corner.

Quentin reacted quickly and swiftly pulled her aside or all three of them would have gone down in a heap.

“Where is the fire?” Lord Easton jested. “Under your feet, perhaps?”

“You could very well say that.” Oswald raked a hand through his hair. “I’m glad I found you because I must apologize for Lady Fairchild. Her behavior earlier was unwarranted.”

With perpetual cheer, Quentin nodded. “I accept your apology.”

“I too accept your apology,” Aphrodite said. “But why do I sense that there is more that you are apologizing for?”

Looking at her knowing gaze, Oswald could not bear to answer before the other Lord. Quentin cleared his throat. “I do believe that is a conversation for you two, alone. Excuse me.”

Oswald looked over her shoulder to Lydia, who was pointedly studying a flower, then went back to patiently waiting for Aphrodite. “Must I say it?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps I was mistaken in seeing that jealous flash across your face. It’s fine”

“No,” his teeth ground, “it’s not. I should not have acted that way, it was unbecoming of me.”

“It didn’t look that way to me,” Aphrodite said. “In fact, you seemed quite happy to have her in your arms and have her turn her pristine nose up at me.”

“What? That was the farthest thing from the truth—” Oswald replied, but then spotted her expression. “Are you jealous?”

“I am not jealous,” she stated, the lie making her words come out thick, strained and blatantly obvious. “You may do as you please.”

“Really?” he said, taking a step toward her, and she stepped back. “I dare you to convince me otherwise.”

She scowled. “I do not have to do a thing.”

“And now, you are the one who is lying,” Oswald said pointedly. “Or should I not now point that out?”

“You may say all you would like,” Aphrodite said. “I am irritated with that Lady who insulted me to my face. There is no jealousy in any of that.”

“I thought—possibly erroneously—that you had passed the point of getting up in arms when your father is mentioned,” Oswald dropped his tone to a sympathetic one.

“In many cases, yes,” Aphrodite said bitterly. “But to have it thrown directly in your face like that…it still stings. There are times when I wish—I sorely wish there was no shame at all so I wouldn’t have to bear it or force a smile through the insults, but it’s my cross to bear, isn’t it?”

For once, Oswald connected the sneers he received with others when he was in town to the scorn she received from others and felt his stomach twist. “You’re not the only one bearing the brunt of another’s inexcusable transgressions.”

Her eyes flickered up and a slight tick to her lips gave him an indication that she had pulled herself from the grief she had almost allowed to take over. “You’re right. I don’t know why I am so bothered when her family could have worse skeletons in their closet.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly.

Aphrodite sighed. “I think I need to clear my head. Excuse me?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

As she left, he realized that the truth of mutual jealousy between them was clearly troubling. As before, his rationality told him not to mix with her too much, to protect himself and insure he spent time with the other ladies who did not have the capability of sinking under his skin so easily.

Raking a hand through his hair, he went back to the Manor, and bypassed the drawing and sitting rooms to head to his chamber. He pulled off his jacket, almost ripped his strangling cravat off and did away with his shirt. After splashing some water on his face, he went to don a dressing robe, when something out his window caught his eyes.

It was Aphrodite, in her breeches and shirt, racing pell-mell down the paddock like a seasoned jockey. He stood—mesmerized. The chestnut stallion could easily rival Goliath in size and power, but she handled him as if he were a doll. She reined the horse in with perfect skill and turned to allow him to trot. While being far enough away to not see her face, he saw when she reached up and undid the tie in her hair, letting the blond locks tumble down her shoulders.

Directing the horse to another run, she sped off, her hair and loose shirt billowing behind her. One handedly grasping the reins and the other holding the crop, she raced back and forth, her body and mount moving as one fluid motion.

He knew others prized women who were elegant on the dance floor, but he loved this more—she looked angelic. He propped his body on the wall and crossed his arms, a wan smile flitting on his lips as he watched. By the way she worked the horse, he remembered the times he had done the same, trying to outrace the worries that lingered on the edges of his mind.

Finally peeling himself away from the window, he went to pluck a book off of his end table and located some documents he had brought along about his Estate. Half a futile hour later, he laid the documents to the side and went to the window again. Aphrodite was sitting on a fence post, her lithe body held by the smart tuck of her boots on the rungs while her horse nosed at the grass.

He threw on a shirt and, before he could question himself, headed out to the paddock to meet her. She lifted her head as he strode closer and stopped a foot away. “You do ride stallions.”

Her lips quirked while she lifted a hand and brushed his wind-tossed hair out of his eyes. “One thing you should know about me, Oswald, is I don’t make a practice of lying.”

His name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine. “So earlier, you were not jealous?”

“Not as much as you were,” she smirked. “To calm your sensibilities, there is not a spark of attraction between Lord Easton and me. I do and will consider him a good conversationalist and, in the future, a firm friend.”

The horse’s nose bumped into the back of Oswald’s arm and he turned to feel a hot breath from flaring nostrils coast across his hand. Reaching up to pet its head, he asked, “What his name?”

“Troy,” she said. “And he’s probably hunting for apples. Here…” she held one to him, “go ahead.”

Taking the fruit from her, he was not surprised when the tips of his fingers tingled. Turning to the horse, he held the apple flat on his palm, “When did you start riding?”

“I was five,” she said. “Started with Welsh ponies and then worked my way to Quarter Horses. Soon enough I found thoroughbreds and never looked back.”

“Ah,” Oswald noted. “You ride like a natural.”

“It did not come easily. When I got over seven hands, I nearly fainted because I was afraid of heights,” she laughed dryly. “But it was something I wanted so I forced myself to get over it. Seems like that method is not as handy as it was when it comes to other problems.”

“I suppose mastering the shame your father dropped on your shoulders,” Oswald said. “I know the feeling, and I used everything I could to blot out Claire’s memory from my mind. Nothing worked.”

“Like what?”

“Drowning myself in Blue Ruin for months on end,” he said. His sensibilities would never forgive him if he mentioned the bawdy houses or the times when he had nearly killed himself with laudanum.

Her sigh was audible. “I’m sorry.”

With the horse crunching through the core, Oswald turned to her. “I suppose we’ve both been betrayed in a way, my wife with her infidelity and your father with his responsibility to protect you.”

“I gave up on my father protecting me,” she said grimly. “I don’t need him.”

Closing on her, he reached out and nudged her head up. “Yes, you do.”

Her eyes flashed. “No, I don’t! I have not for years.”

Pulling his hand away in fear that he might not stop touching her, he stepped away. “We all need someone one day, Sprite.”

She looked to the side. “Not me.”

As she made to hop off the post, she winced and yanked her hand away to see a tiny droplet of blood on her thumb. Snorting softly, he slipped his hands on her hips and gently lifted her off the post to the ground. “Let me?”

She held her hand out with a tinge of wariness in her eyes. Pressing his thumbs into her finger, he managed to pluck the splinter out of her finger. “It shouldn’t bleed too much.”

Aphrodite stared at him with eyes that could only compare to the color of Heaven. When he looked at her now, however, it was through the eyes of a man, not a lad. She was gorgeous, petite and strong, but he saw how fragile that beauty was. She had kept herself self-contained for so long, decided to depend on herself alone for so many years.

He admired her endurance, a character that drew his attraction and would deepen over time, but he knew from personal experience how that strength could crack. “You’re so young—” he said, unthinkingly.

She bristled. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Gripping her arms to keep her where she stood, he said, “Nothing bad. Just that you have so much to learn about the world.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I am not naïve.”

“Far from it,” his thumbs made circles on her shoulder blades while the ever-present attraction flared up. “You cannot walk alone, Aphrodite. I know it scares you to trust anyone, hell, I was that way from the day I ripped off the blindfold about Claire’s deeds. I thought everyone around me was a traitor and could not be trusted, but it’s not so. You must trust at least one person in your life. It is a lesson I learned the hard way.”

She pulled a corner of her lip in, and the flash of vulnerability in her eyes. “And you, can I trust you?”

“I want to say yes,” Oswald removed his hands. “But my objectivity is already compromised when it comes to you.”

“And why is that?” she asked.

Because I do not want to deny this illogical and ill-fated attraction to you that will lead me—us—into a tangled mess.

“Your words ask me a question, but your eyes tell me that you already know the answer,” Oswald said enigmatically. “You and I are not good for each other.”

“Your kiss—”

“Was the first of my mistakes,” he said, stepping away. “We’ve been matched with others, Sprite. Is that not enough indication that we’re not suited?”

“And you and Lady Holier-than-thou are?” Aphrodite asked pointedly, her left brow arched to her hairline. “Or is that you’re afraid to see what might be good between us.”

He rubbed his eyes, “Things are complicated, Sprite. It’s not only that I—” he shook his head. “I didn’t come here with any expectations and from what I’ve seen, you’re practically engaged. Your generous friend has paired us with others and much as I want to think the odds can be defied this time, there might be prices to pay. Even worse, seems that things get muddled with you around.”

Laughing, she replied, “I’ll take that as compliment. Its time we’re back at the Manor. Our absence will be noted, and I do not want any untoward rumors swirling around us.”

“If they have not started already,” his lips twisted.

* * *

That evening, as Aphrodite entered the dining hall, smoothing non-existent wrinkles out of her emerald silk gown; she saw the Duke, surrounded by four ladies, all vying for his attention with their coquettish gazes and posturing. Lady Fairchild, Oswald’s match, one of them.

They can all have him.

Taking a glass of water, she sipped at it while looking over the rest that were gathered. Like iron to a lodestone, her gaze landed on Oswald—only to find him observing her, with a guarded, brooding look that would, at any other time unnerve her and make her think of a keen hawk circling above prey.

Now though, she saw heat and speculation in his eyes, she wondered what was going through his mind. Was he thinking of the conversation they had earlier? His enigmatic stare made her temporarily forget about the others around them and it was the cold sensation in her palm that drew her attention and forced her to look away to marshal her thoughts.

Oswald, what are you doing to me?

She looked back at Jameson to see a woman in a very provocative red gown with a very revealing neckline, trailing a sharp nail up his arm and to his impeccably tied cravat. Glad the troublesome Duke was still occupied, she turned, ready to find one of the Lords she was paired with and converse, when Jameson’s cultured drawl was in her ear.

“You’ve been ignoring me, Lady Aphrodite.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood in the worst possible way. Clearing her throat, she said, “Not true. I’ve been avoiding you altogether.”

“Why?”

His innocuous question, as if he were truly puzzled, only showed Aphrodite how strong his blind conceit was to the truth of the matter. “Your Grace—”

“Jameson.”

“Your Grace,” she stressed. “I do not think you and I are good for each other. It’s best—”

“That you understand that we will be,” he cut in. “Walk with me? I know that the roses’ perfume is much more potent at dusk.”

“It nearly dinner time,” she said.

The Duke plucked out a timepiece from his jacket and looked. “We have twenty minutes to spare.”

“If you insist, let me call my maid,” she said unhappily. “And we must keep close to the Manor.”

He smirked. “Why, my dear, do you think I will be crass enough to ravish you?”

Putting the glass down, she glared. “You would not dare.”

Jameson’s expression was not comforting. “We’ll have to see, won’t we? I came here to make you mine and I will not be leaving without you.”