Page 40 of In Compromise with the Earl
Oswald’s hand slipped to her bottom and curved over the backside, and as she expected him to hold her—he ripped himself from her. Guilt and shame covered his face as he stepped away. “I should not have done that.”
While he apologized, Aphrodite saw beneath his controlled façade and spotted raw passion dancing in his eyes. “Forgive me,” he grimaced and tuned to the horse.
“Why?” Aphrodite asked.
“It was not right,” his hands didn’t seem focused as he attended to the bored-looking horse. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”
She rested her hand in the middle of her back. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And since when is following your heart something to be ashamed about?”
His laugh was empty and hollow. “Trust me, my heart was not the organ I was following.”
A strange ripple ran over her skin, and she gently turned him. “Have I told you why I spoke to you that first night? Why, of all the Lords here, I chose you?”
Slanting a look at her, his brow knitted together. “No. Why did you?”
“Four years ago, while you were in Soho, a young woman in rags swooned in the middle of the street. You caught her, lifted her and held her while others looked at you with scorn, as if she was not worth resting on your fine jacket.”
“You carried her to a physician nearby, paid him from your pocket and when she was better, bought her a meal for sustenance. I was there, at the corner of the street and watched it all. Never in my life had I ever seen such chivalry to a complete stranger,” Aphrodite said. “It touched me.”
He turned, and she saw a haunted look in his eyes. “Marian, her name is Marian. She was alone then, begging for pennies on the street.”
“What happened to her?”
Oswald took her hand, and a fleeting smile ticked his lips. “I sent her to school and now, she is a governess in Manchester, very healthy I might add. She sends me a letter every Christmastide.”
“You’re a good man, Oswald,” she touched his face. “Why are you so hesitant in taking what you want?”
“Because what I want might just condemn us both,” he grated.
“Are you worried about Jameson?” Aphrodite asked. “Don’t be. He is probably more worried about his scuffed clothes than whatever slight you two had.”
“I’m worried about me,” he dropped his attempt at caring for his horse. “Whatever he might have say about me does not matter. It is water off my back. He might spread rumors about you, besmirch your name or—”
Aphrodite laughed. “More than my father has? I don’t think so?”
“You don’t mind more scandal? Especially from me? A man who couldn’t see his wife’s actions before it was too late?” Oswald asked, surprisingly without the old bitterness he always carried.
“As far as I see it, someone is always going to have something to say,” Aphrodite added. “If you or I live a life by their standards, nothing will ever be enough and no will ever be happy, so why not ignore the chatter? We have had enough gossip about us to last a lifetime, I’m impervious to it by this time.”
“It does mean…” Oswald reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder and placed a thumb under her chin, “that you would want more.”
“I want you,” she said.
His mouth flickered. “You do not mince words, do you?”
“What’s the point?” She shook her head. “I have liked you for years, admired you from afar and now that I know who you are, I like you even more. Curmudgeon and all.”
“That insult sounds so affectionate,” Oswald smiled. “But we do have to walk carefully. Duke Strathmore can be a problem for both of us. If he is going to force this dawn appointment, I will have to answer it.”
“And how good are you with a pistol?”
“If it happens, you will see,” Oswald grinned. “The Peerage might lose a Duke tomorrow.”
Chapter Fourteen
Laying in his bed, Oswald’s eyes were closed because his mind was back in the stables, with Aphrodite’s supple body molded to his. He remembered the feeling of her taut nipples on his chest, the plumpness of her kiss-swollen lips and the rife desire in her eyes.
He knew he had pulled himself from her—but God knew he had not wanted to do so. His dreams, however, showed him the truth of his desire.
