Page 14 of In Compromise with the Earl
The first course of turtle soup was served, and the delicious scent wafted up and made her stomach clench, reminding her that she had hardly eaten anything that morning.
They ate in relative silence for a time, the small hum of conversation around the table sporadic. Apart from the few comments Lord Whitstone made, that she replied to, they were quiet. She got the impression that he was a very shy man and felt compassion for him—no wonder he was there with the rest.
“What a pleasant evening,” a lady sitting beside Oswald said. “Tell me, Lord Tennesley. Do you possess a very elegant dining room? I feel you must.”
While reaching for his wine, Oswald blinked with what Aphrodite thought was a flash of alarm. To compound her suspicions, he went white.
“It’s the usual sort of dining room, I suppose,” he said after collecting himself. “There is a table and there are chairs.”
“Tiered crystal chandeliers above? Aubusson runner underneath?” the lady sighed as if in a dream.
“I suppose,” he said stiffly after a drink. “I’ve never much noticed.”
“I’ve always thought about mahogany wood with silk draping and filigreed wallpaper,” the lady went on. “Perhaps match the drawing rooms in the same tones, or even contrast the tones to make such a more interesting décor.”
Oswald looked bewildered, tongue tied and ready to run. Taking pity on him, Aphrodite interrupted, “Pardon me, My Lord, but earlier you were mentioning the stud stable you bought your horse from but never told me the location. My father is looking for another set of geldings.”
Relief flooded his face and though both knew she was speaking untruths, he took the saving branch with gusto. He told her about a farm in Leeds and Lady Aphrodite nodded.
On the part of the lady who had been talking to him, her face kept souring the more Oswald spoke to Aphrodite instead of her. Cleverly, she kept the conversation going until dinner ended.
The lady beside him left in a huff but Oswald stayed, nursing a glass of wine. “Thank you,” he muttered.
Shrugging, Aphrodite said over the rim of her wineglass, “You don’t strike me as the sort of man who gives a whit about walls or skirting or gilt.”
“I don’t,” he snorted. “I don’t think I ever will. Such frippery is not my forte.”
“Neither is it mine,” she replied.
The red-headed man from before came over and politely interrupted them. After introducing himself as Quentin Draven, Earl of Easton, he said, “A few other Lords are congregating in the billiards room. Care to join?”
After giving Aphrodite a swift look, he stood and tugged his jacket. “I think I will. Good evening, Lady Aphrodite.”
She lifted her glass. “You too, My Lord.”
As soon as he left, Jameson took the seat near her. “Who the devil is he?”
While irritated, Aphrodite hid it. “He was just telling me about his horse.”
“For half an hour?” Jameson said. “What a bore. What man talks about horses for that long of a time? Horses are nothing more than a footnote to me.”
Unable to bear more of the Duke’s smugness, Aphrodite rested her glass. “Would you excuse me? I find myself fatigued and I must retire.”
He slanted a look at her. “Why do I suspect that is a lie? Are you not happy to see me, dear Aphrodite? We’ve had such a good connection in the past few years.”
Connection? What connection beside you flaunting your wealth to me?
“Nevertheless, I must rest, Your Grace, have a good night,” she said, ready to part from him.
He stayed seated but his words landed squarely in the middle of her back as if he had touched her. “Run all you want, but you will be mine. I will not lose you this time.”
His words sank inside her with the cold bite of a threat instead of the promise she knew he meant it to be. She swallowed as the cold truth sank in; if things went as planned, he would do it too.
Unless…I can find a way to stop him. I must stop him or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But how?
Chapter Six
It was almost a relief when dinner ended, and Quentin had asked him to join the gentlemen in the billiard room for cigars and brandy.
