Page 4 of In Compromise with the Earl
He smoothly snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and downed half of it. A part of him had expected cut-rate champagne, but he was only tasting pure, rich, Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin.
Dryly gazing around the room, he found the eyes of Lady Faven, a Baroness who had lost her husband in a similar fashion as he had lost his wife, only her spouse had been poisoned and not stabbed. She lifted her glass to him, and he replied in kind. Maybe she could be his match; they would have similar stories to share.
“Lord Tennesley in the flesh. I thought you had gone off to be a monk,” a teasing voice said. He turned and saw a young woman he had never seen before, but clearly knew him.
She was lovelier than he’d expected, slender and petite, with a fine and delicate facial structure and a perfect, bow-shaped mouth. Her skin glowed with health and vitality, and her blonde hair was piled up on her head and cascaded down her back, showing the thickness and luster of the mass.
Her brilliant blue eyes held his while he inclined his head. “You have me at a disadvantage, My Lady. You know who I am, but I am a bit at a loss of who you are—?”
Her brows lifted. “And here I thought my father’s reputation would precede me. I’m Aphrodite Newfield, daughter of the Viscount of Kingsley. I, however, have heard of you. My sympathies on your late wife, but you’ve been hiding away from the world. Why?”
“Well, I suppose I went into hibernation,” he said dryly.
“Funny enough, a few people thought you were dead,” she remarked.
“In many ways I was,” he said, while looking into his flute. “But I’ve come back from the proverbial grave.”
“I can see that,” she remarked. “And in good style too. I think it’s good to see you defying the odds.”
“And those odds are?”
“That you would dare to get married again,” she replied. “I mean, if you are here with the rest of London’s outcasts, aren’t you looking for a match?”
Cocking his head, Oswald asked, “Where are you going with this, My Lady?”
A flirtatious smile made the mischief in her eyes grow more apparent. She clinked his flute with hers. “I think its commendable of you to show the detractors that they are wrong in their assumptions. Good evening, My Lord.”
He could not stop his eyes from following her and his lips pursed when he saw another woman dressed in gray—probably her maid—hurry after her. “What a curious, sphinxlike young lady,” he murmured.
“Viscount Kingsley’s daughter is an enigma,” a man next to him said. Then he gave Oswald a contrite smile. “I apologize for listening to you two, but I must give you a word of caution. What she said about her father is true, he is a Lothario.”
“And you are?”
“Quentin Draven, Earl of Easton,” the man with dark-red hair, dark-brown eyes and a slanted grin, stuck out his hand. “At your service.”
“Oswald Bristol, Earl of Tennesley,” he replied while shaking. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. So, you’re here…with the rest of us castoffs.”
Swirling his drink, Quentin said, “Sadly. It seems that I am not social enough to find a wife, so…here I am.”
“Join the club,” Oswald muttered. “For one thing, I think this service is smokescreen humdrum, so don’t be too disappointed if nothing happens.
“I don’t know,” Quentin mentioned, while sticking his hand into his pocket. “You never know. It might be truer than you think.”
“And I’ll eat my boots,” Oswald snorted. “This will only end up as material in her gossip column. No one will marry, mark my word.”
Chapter Two
Not utterly thrilled at being called away fromEarl Tennesley, Aphrodite leisurely walked over to where Lady Pandora was standing. She had spotted him the second the earth-bound Titian had entered the room, and for the first time, and despite being ordered to do so, she thought she might not have made a terrible mistake in coming there.
His dark-brown hair was pell-mell, falling into thickly knitted brows and broody blue eyes that would prod people to look away, yet they took her breath away. Her gaze was drawn to the sun-bronzed, dusky hue of his skin and his excellently tailored suit fit his frame with precision.
The dark formal suit highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest as it tapered down to a lean waist and hips. There were rumors about his excellent fencing and equestrian skills, and if true, it showed in his muscular thighs, straining the fabric of his well-fitting trousers.
“Aphrodite,” Lady Pandora said, tucking a strand of her impeccable blonde hair behind her ear. “Color me surprised at seeing you here.”
“I agree,” Aphrodite replied. “But I suppose seeing a certain person here has made up for it.”
“Earl Tennesley,” Lady Pandora said mirthlessly. “Aphrodite, I know about your penchant for throwing yourself into waters too deep—”
