In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sometime past midnight, Oswald gently removed his hands from Aphrodite’s bare body and tucked his behind his head. Ghostly moonlight streamed through a part in the curtains, and he stared up at the shadows frolicking on the ceiling.

He couldn’t sleep because worry and guilt were heavy on his heart and his thoughts had no rhyme nor reason. They kept shifting from his late wife to his secrets to Aphrodite.

He might not have made it obvious but what Duke Strathmore had said about his secrets were tugging at his conscience. Twisting his head, he looked at Aphrodite and felt a tumult take his chest.

She deserved to know the truth about his life, including the sordid sections of his past; but he feared how she would react to knowing he had been a favored customer at bawdy houses.

Oswald burned to tell her everything, just as he had told her about Claire. He ached to unburden himself of the lie by omission, see if she understood and go forward with no lies between them.

Even while he contemplated it, a part of him was refraining; what did it matter anyway? The less she knew would be better for her; wouldn’t it? He wanted to protect her and if that meant from his sordid past that should stay in the past, he would do it.

And now this never-ending business with Claire.

Devil and damnation, he could not wait for this overdue business to be over. Hopefully, if the Bow Street Runners did their job properly, this time, it soon would be over. All there was to do now was…wait. He did not want to live his life under the shadow of her scandal, not anymore, not when he had Aphrodite.

He realized that the heart he had given Claire was not the same one Aphrodite held. Her tender hands held his scarred heart but little by little, it was healing. He just needed this last business with Claire’s murder to be over.

The sweet, substantial, unending bounty of Aphrodite’s love humbled him and Oswald knew that he was the luckiest bastard alive when she had chosen him.

With a sigh, he slid from the bed and donned his robe and a pair of loose trousers. It did not make sense to stay and battle with fleeting sleep; he could damn well get some work done.

He navigated the corridors by memory and arrived at his study. After lighting a lamp, he made quick work of getting the fireplace roaring, poured a glass of whisky and sat at his desk.

Opening his books he got to work quickly, passing one hour or two without trouble. With single-minded focus he proceeded to sort out the business papers of the past week, sorting letters and closing debt accounts. He kept at it until the fire began to burn low, and as he stood to stoke it, Aphrodite came into the room.

She was hugging the lapels of her robe tightly. “Oswald, what…what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know, Sweetling,” he said. “But I couldn’t sleep. I had to find something to occupy my mind and I did not want to wake you.”

Perching her hip on the edge of his desk, she reached out to touch his face. “Does it happen to you often? The sleeplessness?”

He kissed her palm, “Now and then, not enough for you to worry about, Sweetling.”

“Well, since you’re up, I stay with you,” she replied, while gesturing to his drink. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“I’m drinking whisky,” he said. “Not exactly sweet enough for you.”

Her brow lifted. “I was seven when I started to siphon sips of whisky and brandy from my father’s liquor cabinets. He even had a bottle of something that tasted like acid and liquid fire there too. I’m not as delicate as you think.”

“Sounds like you got a taste of blue ruin.”

Amused, he stood, went back to the cabinet and poured her a drink and when turned to her, seeing her delicate, small and feminine body on his large dark-wood desk. As he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed, and he felt the jolt all the way to his toes.

She took the glass and sipped it, giving a soft hum. “It’s…robust.”

“Remind me to let you taste blue ruin again,” he smiled.

She swirled the drink. “Are you sure it’s only sleeplessness?” she asked. “Earlier this evening, when we were outside you were different. You…you were pensive and defeated. Are you worried about this investigation?”

“No,” he lied.

She lifted her glass and sipped. “I might be mistaken, but it seems as if you’re trying to shut me out.”

“I am not,” he stressed. “I assure you, Sweetling. I just could not sleep, and I chose to get some work down.”

Sipping her glass, she replied, “I know you are keeping something from me, but I will not push. I want you to tell me when you’re ready.”

While stunned—and dismayed—by her faith in him, Oswald kept his expression neutral. “I assure you, Sweetling, you have nothing to fear. Go back to bed. I have much more to finish, but as soon as I feel tired, I will be right by your side.”

She slipped off the desk and after swallowing the rest of the drink, kissed him and he tasted the woodsy, spiced taste. “Good night, Sweetling,” he murmured.

As she left the room, Oswald waited until her footsteps faded before he set his glass aside and caged his face with both hands. After a moment, he gathered his wits and truly set about doing his work.

* * *

Three days later, Oswald was at dinner with his mother, Aphrodite and Leo and the air in the room was light and happy. He was not privy to what went on between his mother and his wife, but he was just happy they were getting along.

Laugher was in the air after his mother shared a story of him faking illness to avoid Christmastide church service only to truly fall ill after playing in the snow for hours.

“Go ahead,” Oswald grumbled into his wine. “Make fun of me all you want.”

“Well, I could tell you a tale of how I nearly burned down my boarding school dormitory,” Aphrodite teased while reaching for her glass. “But I think that is best for another day.”

“Woe is me,” he rolled his eyes playfully.

“I’m undoubtedly pleased that there is happiness here,” Leo smiled. “This is how it should have been from the first.”

A footman knocked on the door. “Pardon me, My Lord and company. A missive had been received for you and its marked important.”

With a heavy sigh, Oswald thanked the man, stood and made his apologies. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He made short work of getting to the study and found the letter resting on a silver plate on his desk. It looked more of a card than a letter, so he picked it up and opened it. There was no mark of whose house the card had come from, no greeting, nor was there a signature; it held nothing, but six words written in neat, black ink. A single line, that at one glance, made his blood run cold.

I know your dirty little secret.

After staring at it, Oswald nearly crushed the note in his fist. There was nothing more, no other taunt, no demands for blackmail, nothing. He stared at it long enough that his eyes began to burn before he placed into a drawer and went back to dinner.

As he sat, Aphrodite’s brows crinkled. “Are you all right?”

“Just a message from my steward about the capital and all that,” his lips ticked down. “I’ll be in London with him for a few days with him. Hopefully we can sort it out quickly.”

“That’s good then,” she smiled.

His smiled was fleeting. “So, now, what other mortifying details of my past are we discussing?”

Later that evening when they parted, his mother and Aphrodite went to their chambers, Leo back to the church and Oswald to his study, he picked up the note again and studied it.

His dirty little secret—that had to be courtesans he had been with as he did not have another secret. But who knew? The words Duke Strathmore had said that night of the play sounded like a gong inside his head.

Does that bastard know? How the deuce had he found out?

“Oswald?” Leo’s voice startled him. He managed to place the note face down as calmly as he could then looked up.

“Leo?” his brows knotted. “I thought you’d left.”

“I had,” the priest said. “But I remembered something I need to ask. When Uncle passed, he said he left some shares for me in his will?”

Nodding, Oswald replied, “Yes, and I’ve been wondering when you wanted to cash them out.”

“Now is the time,” Leo said. “I want to purchase a better apartment in Mayfair. Since you are going to be in London, perhaps we can arrange to go to the bank?”

“Yes,” Oswald pushed down the upset in his stomach. “I’ll send you word when we can go.”

Coming to his desk, Leo’s face drew concerned. “To repeat Lady Aphrodite’s concern, are you truly all right?”

Shaking his head, Oswald said, “It’s the situation with my steward. His note did not tell me what is wrong, so I keep trying to figure out what it is.”

“Oh,” Leo nodded. “Well, I’m sure you and your equally brilliant steward will get ahead of it. Good evening, Oswald.”

With a distracted nod, Oswald reached out for a book and pretended to look over the figures, and only reached for the card again when he was sure Leo was gone.

He knew the first step in solving this mystery threat—he had to go to the Cytheria and speak with the Madam.

* * *

If one did not know that the Cytheria was the most exclusive whorehouse in London, they would never suspect it walking through the doors.

Known mostly for its discretion and lesser for its depravity, Oswald had chosen it as a place mostly to block the worries of the world outside from his mind. How the doxies had indulged his sinful appetites was another matter.

Tall Corinthian-capped columns gave way to a pink marble atrium and Aubusson carpeted hallways. There were no erotic portraits on the wall, no lewd statues or moldings on the ceiling. There was no indication of the carnality that went on in the rooms above or in the dungeon where the constant sound of flesh smacking on flesh never left the air.

As he walked in, he belatedly realized that the island the Cytheria was named after, Kythera of Greece, was the idyllic birthplace of Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

God forbid his Aphrodite knew about this place.

A footman met him, dressed only in a thin toga. “May I help you, My Lord?”

“I need to speak with Madam,” he said curtly.

“She in the dungeons supervising a performance, My Lord. Shall I show you—”

“No need, I know the way,” Oswald said, then turned. Performance—he scoffed—fancy word for an orgy.

He took a corridor, veered left and took a winding staircase down to the bottom level. The dungeon was bisected in two, one half with separate rooms and the other half, one extensive room with a floor padded with blankets, silk pillows and sheet like a proper harem.

Indulgent moans and pleasure cries met his senses as he found the Madam standing impassive on a podium across from the sensual scene.

“Lord Tennesley,” she said. “Welcome back. How may I help you?”

Oswald came to her side but before asking his question, gazed over at the scene. A buxom blond, placed on all four, was lowering her mouth to a turgid phallus while a man grasped her hips and thrust into her, another woman was pressed on the wall and her partner’s hips flexed as he took her as well. His eyes cast uninterestedly as a woman sat on a man’s face grinding her hips and rubbing as her mouth was filled a thick member.

“Who among you is planning to blackmail me?” he asked directly.

She turned to him, “Everyone in my employ knows the devastating consequences that comes using anything that happens here against any of my clients.”

“Well, I yesterday I received a note saying, ‘I know your dirty secrets’,” Oswald said. “And that can only mean someone who here is planning something. In case you are not aware, I am married, and the worst thing I would ever want is for this part of my life to be exposed.”

“It seems to me that the best course might be to tell your wife,” the Madam replied.

“I do not want her to know anything,” he said. “I suggest that you find out who is doing this and stop it.” A cry of completion came from a woman and Oswald did not even look. “Send me word when you fetter this mole out. That’s all.”

He tipped his head and made his way out of the dungeon, and out of the building. He stepped into the fresh air and sucked in a breath that was not the musky cloak of sex.

He called his carriage and while waiting for it was coming, considered going back home, but decided to go to White’s instead. His second suspicion was that if the bawdy house was not the origin of the leak, Duke Strathmore would be the culprit.

Rubbing his face, he prayed that something good would happen, that the perpetrator would be found, this problem would be stopped before it went anywhere, and he could live a peaceful life.

* * *

Aphrodite found herself back in the garden again, with Biscuit nipping her heels. She found a place in the gazebo and made sure to not throw the pup’s knitted ball too hard so he wouldn’t have to run far.

Oswald had been gone all day since dawn and it was nearly dusk. She didn’t mind but the memories of when her father would be absent for what felt like days on end were fresh in her mind.

“I only wish he could be here to see the progress his mother and I are making,” she said forlornly to the air.

The pup came back with the ball and dropped it at her feet, waiting for her to throw it again. She took the ball and fingered it a for a moment, feeling a bit bereft.

She knew she there were steps to take when it came to making strides in taking over the duties of a Countess and find her footing in her career. Oswald had told her to start writing again and that was something she could take up while Oswald worked. She had not found her writings in the trunks her father sent over, so a trip to Kingsley Manor was imminent.

“Lady Aphrodite?” Leo said from the steps of the gazebo. “And Biscuit, how lovely.”

Smiling, widely she greeted him. “Leo, how wonderful to see you. Why are you here?”