Page 16 of In Compromise with the Earl
“I as well,” Quentin agreed.
Leaving the room, they headed to the West Wing and parted ways at the corridor with good nights, Oswald headed into his chamber. He strode to the window and dragged the curtains apart to let in the moonlight then went to light a lamp.
He suspected that Quentin was holding out to ask him a question about Lady Aphrodite, but what would he ask, and what would be Oswald’s reply?
Unready to ask any questions himself and unable to answer the question, Oswald brushed the issue off and disrobed. He donned his nightclothes, only a pair of loose trousers and slid under the sheets.
Slipping his hands under his head, he stared at the dark ceiling. In the quiet, he could not avoid thinking of Lady Aphrodite and her sparking eyes. Oswald admitted that he appreciated how quick with quips she was and her attentiveness. If pressed he had to admit that he loved her tenacity, but he did not like how she continued to question him about why he did not like her.
Plucking a hand from under his head, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. Aphrodite was a conundrum to him in so many ways, but what he hated to admit was that he wanted to know why. Was she a ladylike woman or was she an original? When did she learn to ride horses? How innocent was she?
“If she was willing to me kiss her, perhaps not innocent at all,” he muttered.
At the memory of how he had backed her upon the wall and kissed her neck, his senses filled with the scent of jasmine and the soft silk of her skin. Did she still taste as sweet as the flower? Was she as soft all over as he felt?
God, she was so petite and tiny. He would readily bet half his wealth that she was light as thistledown, and he could lift her with one arm. Her legs were slender and shapely, perfect for wrapping around his waist or over his shoulders.
How prettily would she sigh when he kissed her? Would she arch into his touch as his palms trailed down her spine? What scream would leave her lips when he slid inside her body? Would she cry out, dig her fingers into his skin? Or was she like Claire—so prim and ladylike even while they made love that she would lie like a slab of board and hardly make a sound?
Oswald grabbed a handful of his hair and sunk his fingers into his scalp and tugged hard enough that the pain stopped him from thinking. He could not imagine what it would feel like to be with Aphrodite, unless he wanted to end up like Ares. Disgraced and ashamed—for a second time.
He pulled his hands away from under his head and fell back against the pillows. What is it about that bloody chit? What was it about her that spoke to him? Or was it that he had been too distant from proper female company for so long?
Before he could ponder further, fatigue began to spread from the middle of his chest outward in unhurried waves. Turning on his side, his eyes, limbs—and while he hated to admit it, his soul—grew heavy. Sleep descended on him, and he was too tired to resist, he let it overtake him.
* * *
With the matchmaking exercise the Lady Pandora wanted them to do, Aphrodite had another viable reason why matchmaking was utter nonsense. She and a Lord, born and bred from the same area in London, were given direction to take a walk and find similarities between themselves.
What effect would it have to force them into recalling going to the same church or remembering that same beach, have on their compatibility? It turned out that the Lord—Lord something-or-other had a sweetheart at home and was only being forced to attend this farce because his grandmother did not approve of the girl, a vicar’s daughter.
In the end, Aphrodite told him. “I know the opinions of your family matter but in the end, they will not be living your life for you. I think you should do what makes you happy and if this girl does, then that should be enough.”
They had come to a section of the garden when the epiphany had dawned on the Lord, making him laugh. “You’re right. Why had I not thought of it that way?”
Now, as they had gone back to the drawing room, Aphrodite realized that Oswald was nowhere to be found. It took her a few moments of quiet inquiry to find that he had decided to go riding and explore the grounds.
She took a quick glance around then slipped from the room and headed up to her chamber. There, she changed into a pair of breeches, a shirt and the same boots as the day before. Taking care to not get noticed, she took a few empty corridors then slipped out into the back grounds.
Heading first to the stables, she entered to find Goliath’s stall empty. With a nod she went back out and looked around for any of the massive horse’s hoofmarks. From what she had witnessed yesterday, those powerful hooves ripped up ground as easily as she would tear paper.
She spotted some distinct marks and followed them, seeing them sink deeper into the ground as she drew close to the lake. The foliage was thick and the ground rich enough that she could smell the iron in it. As quietly as she could, she came around the trunk of a tree to see Oswald standing there with his massive horse at his side.
The lake was rimmed by juts of black rocks, and she watched as he walked out onto a large one. The sun was inching its way down to the horizon and she estimated was about four in the afternoon. The light framed his powerful body and rendered a halo around his head.
Goliath was drinking, unbothered, by Oswald’s side and she watched as his arms came around to his front. Cocking her head, she wondered what he was doing until he began to peel his shirt off.
Then he dropped the cloth on the stone behind him, revealing his back. She had to bite back a gasp. His back was leanly corded, and she could pick out the distinct planes of his back until they disappeared down his narrow waist and into his trousers. But there were scars too, old, jagged ones that flexed as he moved his arms.
She stood still, partially covered, as he did away with his boots and—her face flamed red—his trousers, baring his body. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at his dominating, incredibly masculine physique. Her eyes traveled from his shoulders to his back then to his narrow waist, tight buttocks, lean hips and thighs, long, muscular legs.
She inched closer, trying not to make too much noise with her boots and the dried leaves. Oswald stepped off the rock and into the lake, dipping his whole body down then coming back up with his dark locks matted to his head.
He took off to the other side of the pond and Aphrodite wondered if he had the strength to make it that far. Apparently, he could as he did the length twice before he came back and stopped a good length away from the rocky shore.
A devilish thought came to her and while Oswald went for another lap, she crept to where he had left his clothes, grabbed them and scurried away to the tree line where he would never get them. Then, she went back to the rock, sat on it and folded her legs to wait patiently.
Oswald was oblivious to what was happening, and he made two more laps before he swam back to the rock and stopped a good ten feet away at seeing Aphrodite. She grinned.
