Page 76 of In Compromise with the Earl
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sometime past midnight, Oswald gently removed his hands from Aphrodite’s bare body and tucked his behind his head. Ghostly moonlight streamed through a part in the curtains, and he stared up at the shadows frolicking on the ceiling.
He couldn’t sleep because worry and guilt were heavy on his heart and his thoughts had no rhyme nor reason. They kept shifting from his late wife to his secrets to Aphrodite.
He might not have made it obvious but what Duke Strathmore had said about his secrets were tugging at his conscience. Twisting his head, he looked at Aphrodite and felt a tumult take his chest.
She deserved to know the truth about his life, including the sordid sections of his past; but he feared how she would react to knowing he had been a favored customer at bawdy houses.
Oswald burned to tell her everything, just as he had told her about Claire. He ached to unburden himself of the lie by omission, see if she understood and go forward with no lies between them.
Even while he contemplated it, a part of him was refraining; what did it matter anyway? The less she knew would be better for her; wouldn’t it? He wanted to protect her and if that meant from his sordid past that should stay in the past, he would do it.
And now this never-ending business with Claire.
Devil and damnation, he could not wait for this overdue business to be over. Hopefully, if the Bow Street Runners did their job properly, this time, it soon would be over. All there was to do now was…wait. He did not want to live his life under the shadow of her scandal, not anymore, not when he had Aphrodite.
He realized that the heart he had given Claire was not the same one Aphrodite held. Her tender hands held his scarred heart but little by little, it was healing. He just needed this last business with Claire’s murder to be over.
The sweet, substantial, unending bounty of Aphrodite’s love humbled him and Oswald knew that he was the luckiest bastard alive when she had chosen him.
With a sigh, he slid from the bed and donned his robe and a pair of loose trousers. It did not make sense to stay and battle with fleeting sleep; he could damn well get some work done.
He navigated the corridors by memory and arrived at his study. After lighting a lamp, he made quick work of getting the fireplace roaring, poured a glass of whisky and sat at his desk.
Opening his books he got to work quickly, passing one hour or two without trouble. With single-minded focus he proceeded to sort out the business papers of the past week, sorting letters and closing debt accounts. He kept at it until the fire began to burn low, and as he stood to stoke it, Aphrodite came into the room.
She was hugging the lapels of her robe tightly. “Oswald, what…what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know, Sweetling,” he said. “But I couldn’t sleep. I had to find something to occupy my mind and I did not want to wake you.”
Perching her hip on the edge of his desk, she reached out to touch his face. “Does it happen to you often? The sleeplessness?”
He kissed her palm, “Now and then, not enough for you to worry about, Sweetling.”
“Well, since you’re up, I stay with you,” she replied, while gesturing to his drink. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
“I’m drinking whisky,” he said. “Not exactly sweet enough for you.”
Her brow lifted. “I was seven when I started to siphon sips of whisky and brandy from my father’s liquor cabinets. He even had a bottle of something that tasted like acid and liquid fire there too. I’m not as delicate as you think.”
“Sounds like you got a taste of blue ruin.”
Amused, he stood, went back to the cabinet and poured her a drink and when turned to her, seeing her delicate, small and feminine body on his large dark-wood desk. As he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed, and he felt the jolt all the way to his toes.
She took the glass and sipped it, giving a soft hum. “It’s…robust.”
“Remind me to let you taste blue ruin again,” he smiled.
She swirled the drink. “Are you sure it’s only sleeplessness?” she asked. “Earlier this evening, when we were outside you were different. You…you were pensive and defeated. Are you worried about this investigation?”
“No,” he lied.
She lifted her glass and sipped. “I might be mistaken, but it seems as if you’re trying to shut me out.”
“I am not,” he stressed. “I assure you, Sweetling. I just could not sleep, and I chose to get some work down.”
Sipping her glass, she replied, “I know you are keeping something from me, but I will not push. I want you to tell me when you’re ready.”
