Page 6 of In Compromise with the Earl
His jaw worked and anger flashed across his eyes but his tone was mild. “How curious. You, asking me, to dance.”
“And what does that mean?” Aphrodite asked, her eyes narrowing.
His lips quirked and without a word, he rested a hand in the small of her back and escorted her to the floor. Oswald’s expression confused her but as the sweet melody wrapped itself around them, she temporarily ignored how he looked and allowed him to whisk her off to the floor where they took the proper positions.
When her eyes met his, a blistering sapphire fire lit his eyes as controlled anger burned beneath his polished facade. Thick waves of tension pulsed off his powerful frame, and her body reacted in the most confusing ways, instead of recoiling from him, she wanted to press herself closer to revel in his potent energy.
Her limbs trembled and she had to focus to remember the steps while his gaze held her attention prisoner. He spun her, drawing her close enough that her bodice brushed against his jacket. Despite the heavy unease between them, they moved in flawless motion.
“Why against your better judgment?” she asked.
“I’m told you are a flirt,” he replied.
Her eyes dimmed. “It’s off-putting to some, I know.”
“It is,” Oswald said. “But in certain circumstances, it can be a good thing.”
Her hand inched a little up his shoulder and her gloved finger brushed the skin of his throat. He reacted as if a jolt of lightning had been jabbed through him. Thankfully, they were in a spin and when he came back, he had recovered, only to slide his hands lower, onto the curve of her spine.
“I have yet to master how to judge those situations, My Lord.”
Aphrodite’s gaze narrowed on him, the tense clench of his jaw, the tick of muscle in his cheek and harsh knit of his brows—but his eyes were not as hard as before. Indecision marked his gaze as the music rose in crescendo, and he twirled her with dizzying speed.
When they came together, she clung to him, hardly trying to control her heaving breast. Her gaze was fixed on his and her fingers dug into his arm. When his eyes flicked to her mouth, Aphrodite realized that if he kissed her right there, she would not be sorry.
But another place and another time.
“If that is the case, you should find someone to teach you, but not I.” he said.
She pulled away—she did not want to prove the rumors about her true, and besides she was not sure if Lord Tennesley was angry with her or if he was upset about the whole proceeding.
Better not poke an angry bear. “Thank you, My Lord,” she curtsied.
His reply was a curt nod before he walked off and again, Aphrodite could not shake the feeling that he was angry at her—but why? She drifted to the refreshments table in a daze. She sipped a glass of punch and tried to settle the emotions roiling in her chest. What was it about Lord Tennesley that stole her breath so many times?
The intense, incandescent flame in his eyes.
What would his eyes look like inflamed with passion, or dimmed with sorrow? Were they sharp with possession, dark with anger, bright with happiness?
“Pardon me, Lady Aphrodite?” A Lord spoke behind her, and she turned. He bowed. “I am Lord Exeter. May I have your hand for the dance?”
“I would be delighted, My Lord,” she put down the glass and took his hand.
Half the night went on that way with her not missing a single dance, but through it all she kept finding Lord Tennesley. As if he were a lodestone drawing her attention, she was always somewhere in his vicinity. They did not share a gaze, but when the skin on the back of her neck prickled, she knew he was staring at her.
When the ball broke for supper, she finally met his eyes and gave a small smile—but he turned away. Without reason, her stomach fell to her feet and she grew disconsolate. This could not be right; they had shared less than ten sentences with each other and a tension-filled dance, so how was it that him dismissing her made her feel…hollow? She didn’t know the man!
In the dining room, she forced her gaze away from him and went to find her seat. They were instructed to find their places by finding their names on a small card; she took her seat near to—confound it, Lord Tennesley.
She just saw her light dinner conversation flitter away into thin air. The Earl’s posture was so rigid she wondered if he would start to fracture at the seams.
“Enjoy,” Lady Pandora said, “but please do not open those cards until dinner is finished.” Feeling the coldness coming from her right, Aphrodite felt no desire to eat a thing, but still bit into her roasted pheasant, while Lord Tennesley favored his wine above his food.
Her finger itched to open the card but kept her fingers far from it. Was that her acceptance or rejection notice? Could Lady Pandora send her away knowing that her father wanted her there? She couldn’t touch her dessert and instead sipped her wine.
Lady Pandora touched her knife to her glass. “Thank you for your patience. I have thoroughly enjoyed your presence with me, but sadly not all of you will continue to my Estate. Please, open your cards to see your status.”
Trying to tamp down on her fear, Aphrodite pulled out her card and spun it. On the back was an eagle—and she was utterly confused. An eagle? What was that for? What did it mean?
