Page 83 of In Compromise with the Earl
“Same as you,” Oswald replied, looking pointedly at the women.
“Ah, the whores are dime a piece,” the man who reeked of tar and blue ruin leered “Have y…yerself a bonny old time,M’Lord.”
Tipping his hat, Oswald went inside and felt his throat close over at the thick smell of smoke, cheap gin and unwashed bodies. He could barely see through the dimness cloaked with threads of smoke but he spotted the Duke—as he was walking to the back with a woman.
Doesn’t he have the pick of the litter when it comes to women? So, why here?
Without apology, Oswald followed him and ended up in a corridor that was saturated with incense and at the end, a winding staircase. Even halfway down the stairs, he heard muffled sounds filtered through the walls; though the voices were indecipherable, yet he did not have to hear what was being said because the words were pleasure moans and groans.
In the basement, his breath caught with the familiar smell of sexual acts and the sound of flesh in flesh. He knew as he turned the corner he would come upon wickedness and depravity beyond imagining.
Nevertheless, he and the Duke were due a conversation and he did not care if the man was stones-deep in the woman, they were going to talk. The room doors were closed, but there were peepholes and he used them, not flinching as he spotted the carnal acts inside them.
He did not react to one single sight, not the orgy going in room two or the flogging in room five. He moved on until he came to the end of the row and saw Duke Strathmore lounging on a Roman bed, a red-headed woman kneeling between his legs, his expression enthralled as she took his manhood in her mouth.
He stepped away and banged on the door, hoping the two would pause, but he never expected to hear, “Come in, the door is open.”
Oswald fixed his jaw and opened the door, before stepping in only a foot inside. He kept his eyes on the Duke instead of the lady servicing him.
“We need to talk, Your Grace,” he said.
“In case you have not noticed, I am in the middle of something, Tennesley. If you want her, you’ll have to wait,” Strathmore said, his hand threading into the woman’s hair and his head lolling back.
“I am not here to get her services, I am here about your blackmail,” Oswald said.
“What the deuce are you talking about?” Strathmore huffed as his brows knitted. “I never sent anything of that kind to you.”
Oswald wanted to think the man was lying, but the knot in the middle of his gut told him otherwise.
“What did you mean about my secrets then?” Oswald snapped.
“Unless you don’t know many of us peers still think you were the one to kill your lovely wife,” Strathmore said. “If this one goes the same way, don’t you think that would show your colors.”
“I never laid a hand on Claire,” Oswald’s fist tightened at his side.
“But many others had. I’ve made my peace with you winning the Kingsley chit,” Duke Strathmore hissed through his teeth. “She was too much of a prude anyway. Now, if you will excuse me—”
Oswald did not wait a moment, he just spun on his heel and strode out, the grunts of the Duke’s capitulation thrown at his back. He left the basement and went to the upper floor, then exited the building all together.
If the Duke was not behind it—who was?
With a look to his cloaked driver, Oswald hopped into the carriage and rapped on the roof; he was bound for home. He tossed ideas through his head, and even while dissecting each suspected person, he still could not come to a solid conclusion.
It was an absent-minded realization of not hearing any noise of other carriages jerked him out his thoughts and he ripped the curtain away from the window. He found that he was on a dark lonely street and felt caution creep into his chest.
He reached up and rapped on the roof, while sticking his head out the window. “What the deuce are you doing—”
A gunshot cracked in the dark and he yanked his head away from the window, and the shot landed in the middle of the door. He reached for the door handle and made sure it was shut. Looking around the carriage, his jaw tightened.
Damnation, why did I not place a weapon in here?
He did not have one—but his driver was always armed. Swiftly, he kicked the door open and used the door as a shield before he clambered on top of the vehicle.
Another shot rang out while he got to the driver’s seat, a man who was slumping on the seat and realized that the man was not moving. Oswald reached out and ripped the hood off the driver’s head to see the vacant eyes of a dead man.
Another shot rang out, this time clipping one of the horses in the side and when the animal collapsed, Oswald knew he had little time. He scrambled to find the hidden compartment where the driver kept his pistol and he managed to yank the weapon from under the seat.
He grasped the cold handle and pocketed all the shots with their paper cartridge when another shot slammed into the carriage. Quickly he flew back into the coach, eyes out the window in the general direction of the continued bellows.
