Page 80 of In Compromise with the Earl
I’d prefer she not know but if matters get out of hand—
He entered his Hall to dark hallways and silent rooms. In the quiet he went to his chamber to see Aphrodite already in bed, sleeping soundly. Blonde wisps curled around her face, her lashes, dark against her cheek and her lips, soft and parted just so, beckoned him.
Removing his jacket, and boots, he slipped into the bathing chamber to rinse his face before going back and doing away with the rest of his clothes. In his underclothes, he slid into the sheets, gently wrapping an arm around her middle.
“O…Oswald—” she whispered, her voice clouded with sleep.
“Yes, Sweetling,” he replied, tightening his grip. “I’m here.”
Feeling the stress and lack of sleep advancing upon him, he succumbed and let stupor drag him down to deep sleep. He kept his hold on her securely because a part of him feared what she would do when she would find about his past. At least, it was not that night.
His sound sleep turned fitful until Aphrodite rested her head over his heart, and he stilled. When he blinked his eyes open, his fingers were lodged in her hair.
He tried to chase the fleeting images of his dreams but while he could not follow them, the ominous feeling they had carried rested in his chest like a block of lead. Slipping out of the bed, he kissed her forehead and went to wash his face.
Guilt that he was hiding his past from Aphrodite rested on his chest, but the hope that he would never have to do so was also laden in his heart. He returned to see Aphrodite waking and he slipped into the bed beside her and reached out for her.
Her body was a bit stiff with resistance and he saw hesitation and an accusatory note in her eyes. “What happened last night? Where were you?”
Oswald’s eyes narrowed. “I was in London.”
She pulled away, “Were you? I hardly think seeing your steward would take the entire day.”
Feeling stung, Oswald pulled away. “I was in London, but I made a detour to White’s to have a drink. Nothing untoward happened.”
She slipped out of bed and donned her robe. “White’s, the bastion for male camaraderie, and a focal point where one can easily be lured into the arms of other women.”
“Is that what you think?” his lips flattened. “That I would be unfaithful to you?”
“I did not say you were unfaithful to me, but I know the underbelly of London comes out after midnight,” Aphrodite said, a flicker of remorse flashing over her face. “And since I know you are keeping something from me, I can only suppose what is happening.”
He stood. “I have never touched another woman since we met and got married.”
“What are you hiding from me,” she asked, coming closer. “Just tell me.”
His lips opened with the confession on his lips, but he spoke differently. “There is nothing wrong.”
She was not pleased, and he saw it. “I see.” Without a word, she turned and headed to the bathing chamber and Oswald gritted his teeth so severely that a flash of pain jabbed itself into his temple.
Oswald knew he had missed the opportunity to be truthful and he had upset Aphrodite without reason. He tried to tell himself that he was doing right in protecting her from his sordid, shameful past, but he knew he was going about it the wrong way.
Aphrodite was not a child, she knew the ugly, twisted, perverted side of the peerage as she lived with a man who embodied the worst of all the vices. But that still did not make him want to show her more; if he could get this threat crushed before it reared its ugly head, he would take the secret to the grave.
He stood, dressed in his robe and left the chamber, craving a blistering cup of bitter coffee. When his valet went off for the pot, Oswald sorted out some items on his desk when his eyes landed on a note—eerily like the first and he dreaded opening it, but he did.
You’re wasting your time. I am not a part of the despicable whorehouse, but I still know your secret. How will your lovely wife feel about you laying with filth?
This time, he did crunch the note into a ball as anger and panic raced through him in equal measure. If he could lay a blistering facer on the man who was threatening him, he would keep going until blood matted his fist.
This was beyond the pale; who could it be?
“Strathmore,” he growled.
He could not get past it that the man had, in his jealousy that he had not won Aphrodite, had gone digging and found Oswald’s secret. And being a Duke, no one could deny him anything, even if it meant violating another’s privacy.
Forcing himself to think how he was going to confront the Duke, Oswald swallowed half the hot brew, scalding his throat, but barely feeling the burn.
He had to find the Duke and get his confession, and he had to do it quickly or his life would start spiraling apart.
