Page 2 of In Compromise with the Earl
On a scale of what he had suffered before with overindulging in liquor, this was minimal. The silk sheets slipped down his chest like a wave of water and landed on his lap. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, his right hand brushed something—no, someone.
Warm skin met his touch, and he did not have to think hard to realize who it was—a courtesan. Last night he had gone to an exclusive brothel that catered to the elite in London, trying—and failing—to rid himself of those horrid memories that plagued him. Especially because of that day, April first.
No wonder they call it All Fools Day. I was the King of them to believe Claire was faithful to me.
Shifting his feet to the side, he stopped when a hand rested on his back, “Where are you going, My Lord?” Even in sleep the courtesan’s voice was sultry with seduction. “Please stay and let us play a little more.”
“Can’t,” he said while reaching for his trousers.
She—Anne, Amelia, Annette?— reclined against the pillows, her dark-red hair tumbling over her shoulders, her large breasts on full display.
“Just one more round, My Lord,” she coaxed. “Can’t leave a lady wanting, can you?”
He finished his shirt and donned his trousers and boots. Standing, he gave her an empty look. “I must go, but I’m sure you’ll have others to keep you company after I leave.”
Without another look, he grabbed his coat and headed to the front room just in time for Madam Beatrice to come around the corner. Her handsome face was heavily painted and she was dressed in a low-cut day dress so gauzy he saw her nipples.
“Ah, LordTennesley,” she greeted with a curtsy, hersotto vocetone as calm, steady and unflappable as always. “On your way out, I believe?”
“Yes,” he said, “I just need my carriage.”
She came closer, her eyes running over his face. “May I offer you a cup of coffee? On the house, of course. You seem, overexerted.”
Oswald had to hold back a derisive snort. Overexerted—what a polite way to say he looked like death warmed over. He could feel it too, down in his bones, he felt cold, empty and hollow. The feeling had started to settle inside him the day he had gone to collect his unfaithful wife’s body from the morgue.
The rumor around thetonwas that Claire had a revolving door when it came to men she entertained in the days he was away from home.
“Thank you, but no,” he bowed his head and turned to the door. Wincing at the sunlight, he went to call his carriage himself.
Pausing to look over his shoulder, he stared at the unimpressive brickwork of the brothel and sighed. It was his verdant hope that he would never have to go back there, but was there anything that would keep him away? What could possibly change that his life that would shift his life again? It could be something good.
And pigs would sprout wings and fly.
Chapter One
Mercifully, Oswald managed to slip into his Hall undetected by his mother and went to his chamber, to disrobe and fall into bed. He would call for a bath and coffee after he had a satisfactory nap, however, no sooner had he pulled the covers up when his mother’s rapid, hummingbird knock sounded on his door.
“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath. To his door, he lifted his voice, “One moment.”
Slipping out of bed, he snatched the dressing robe off the back of a chair and hurriedly donned it. Opening the door, his gaze dropped to his diminutive mother, Henrietta Bristol, Dowager Countess of Tennesley.
“Yes, Mother?” He heard the tiredness in his voice and at her sympathetic moue; she had heard it as well.
“Didn’t sleep well, Dear?” she asked.
He sagged on the doorjamb and raked a hand through his hair. “You might say that.”
She reached up and tapped his face, “I’m sorry, Dear, but your cousin Leo is here for breakfast, would you please come join us?”
“Mother—” he sighed, sagging on the wall as fatigue made his body heavy.
He rubbed his face. “Give me a few minutes to get somewhat presentable. I will be down soon.”
With a small smile, she nodded and went down the corridor, and Oswald retreated to his chamber. He went to his bathing chamber and dunked his hands into the basin to splash water on his face and rinsed his mouth so they would not smell the alcohol on his breath.
He didn’t bother with his hair, but slipped a pair of loose trousers under the robe and went to join his mother and priest cousin in the breakfast room.
Entering the room, he spotted his mother and Leo there conversing over cups of tea and coffee respectively. His mother’s light-blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, while his cousin’s was a shade darker but still blond.
