Page 9 of In Compromise with the Earl
Pausing to drink, he reflected on the night before. Lady Aphrodite had started out so well, speaking common sense to Lady Ravenswood about what could have happened between him and his first wife. But then, she had shifted so quickly it had made his head spin.
Why in God’s name did I dance with her then?
The answer came as quickly as the question did—glutton.His mother was right though; he had to try something different since his efforts were taking him in circles.
“Fine,” he gave in. “I will go. I’ll have Turner pack my things.”
“You will not regret it, I promise,” Henrietta smiled.
He grunted in his coffee, while his mind fell on Lady Aphrodite. Last night when he had decided not to attend, Oswald had dismissed the urge to find Lady Aphrodite and confront her about what she had said, but now, he knew it was going to be unavoidable.
What could she tell him that he had not heard before? Moreover, could he stay at the Estate for three weeks in close proximity to Lady Aphrodite and keep his composure? She was already stirring things inside him that he had thought long dead. What more could she awaken?
Chapter Four
Pretending to read the book on her lap, Aphrodite thought about the Earl and how mercurial he was. When they first met, he’d been civil and even likable, but then it was as if the flame in a lamp had been snuffed out. He’d grown cold and standoffish, but he had still danced with her; why?
“Pardon me, My Lady,” Lydia said quietly. “I believe we’ve arrived.”
Looking up, Aphrodite viewed one of the most magnificent parks she had ever laid eyes on. The lane divided expansive parklands, with trimmed lawns to the right and an orchard of fruit and cobnut trees to the left.
In the background were hills with rolling forested slopes, and deep valleys. While approaching the front door, with footmen standing in the forecourt; they drove through a wrought-iron gate, a front garden with Bethersden Marble rag stone path lined by dwarf box hedging and a marble fountain.
One of the footmen helped her out, while two others lifted her trunks, valises and portmanteau from the vehicle and headed inside. A breath of rain-fresh air had a sweetness to it that she did not find in London, and Aphrodite realized why she had not seen Lady Pandora in so many months. Who would change this Estate for a cramped townhouse?
“Welcome, Lady Aphrodite,” a butler bowed. “Please, let me show you to the drawing room where the other guests are gathered. May take your bonnet and cloak?”
“Yes,” she said, and just as she was lifting the attractive rose-pink Leghorn bonnet off her head, matching her peach traveling gown trimmed with rose-colored piping—Lord Tennesley stepped into the room.
The tension in him was palpable, even from halfway across the room. She could see it in his stiffened shoulders and the rigidity of his chin and jutting jaw. His blue eyes were dark with dangerous heat and it was all she could do to stop her hands from reaching out to finger-comb his tousled hair into place.
She stared, mesmerized, and the sudden tremble in her heart was appalling, which was why she pretended not to see him and handed off her bonnet and beige traveling cloak to the butler. By the time she looked again, Lord Tennesley was gone.
But that did not erase the look of him, in his black trousers fitted splendidly to long muscular legs, or the jacket and waistcoat molded quite closely to his broad shoulders, from her mind.
Another footman showed her to the drawing room where a few other ladies were sharing a tea service, a few others were chatting in chairs by a window, while two lords were having a game of cards in another corner.
Lord Tennesley was scowling into that morning’s edition of theLondon Gazetteas if it had personally wounded him. Every instinct told her to stay away—but she went to him anyway.
“If you glare at in any harder, it might combust,” she said quietly. “What has an innocent newspaper done to draw your ire, My Lord?”
He turned a page. “Nothing yet, but I am sure there will be something.”
“Or mayhap you stepped left foot out of the bed?” Aphrodite teased.
Another page rustled. “I am not a superstitious Roman, My Lady.”
She tucked her legs under the seat, “But you do look like one, all dark and brooding. I wonder, what suits you best, Mars or Ares.”
He looked up, his blue eyes glittering while he held a long gaze with her. “Ares is a mockery,” he said. “Whenever he is depicted, it’s meant to shame him.”
The coolly arrogant statement made the hairs on Aphrodite’s nape lift in attention, her heart thumping in her chest and her palms growing clammy within her gloves.
“Then again,” he mumbled while turning another page. “I should know what humiliation is. I shall not, however, make the same mistake as he did with your namesake.”
Her cheeks burned with the snub. It was common knowledge that Ares wasAphrodite’s, the goddess of love,paramour. He was tactically saying that he wanted nothing to do with her.
She clenched her hands on her lap. “Have I done something to anger you, My Lord?”
