Page 105 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
Whether he cared one way or another about the fact she was destined to marry another, he gave no indication.
“And I take it you disapproved of their selection and sought to find yourself a different candidate,” he said.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew what he was suggesting without saying it. Each doubt he leveled Cressida’s way came barbed with poison.
“Who?” she asked wistfully. “In other words, was I at The Devil’s Den that night to try and snare you as a husband, Benedict?” Her lips trembled at the corners in a heartbroken smile. “Did I think you’d marry me? I would have never dared believe that. I know that someone like you wouldn’t marry a woman of my family’s standing.”
He didn’t even deny it.
Misery assailed her.
Cressida moved her gaze over his impassive, granite-hard features. “You know I wouldn’t trap you, Benedict,” Cressida said haltingly.
His stony silence was as damning as it was agonizing.
The breath burned in her lungs.
This was all so out of control. The iciness in his gaze told her clearer than any words what he could have uttered about his opinion on that statement.
“How dare you?” A healthy rage took hold of her and she fed that emotion.
His eyelid twitched. “How dareme?”
“Yes!” she hissed. “Need I point out that you were the one who bid on me? If I were attempting to trap you, don’t you think I would’ve had a way to do it? More specifically, to ensure that I went to you and didn’t risk putting myself up for sale in front of a room filled with eager gentlemen. Any of whom could have bought me that night.”
Benedict noticeably tensed.
Cressida stilled. The memories of that night trickled in.
“…Two hundred pounds…!”
There’d been a flurry of bidding from patrons; some of the men ones she knew of from events she’d attended. The others strangers. There’d been the Duke of Rothesby standing at the back, sipping from his drink.
“…Do I hear five hundred twenty-five, gentlemen…”
Through all of the horror of that degrading night, there’d been but one gentleman whom she’d looked to.
The duke continued to bid, and then, that ungodly sum he’d put on her.
“…Three-thousand pounds…”
There hadn’t been another amount called out after that. The auction had simply ended.
She would have remembered. She’d had eyes for only Benedict.
She drew in a breath. “You did bid on me, didn’t you?”
The corners of his mouth pulled taut but he remained stonily silent.
“You must be able to answerthatquestion, my lord.” His unwillingness to explain added to her growing fury.
She sneered. “I never took you as a coward, but time and time again you continue to prove me wrong about all conclusions I’d drawn about your character.”
Benedict’s mouth pulled into a taut line. He didn’t, however, take the bait.
“I never took you for a coward, my lord, but then I’ve learned all number of things about you in our time together—few of them admirable.”
Other than the way his spine snapped erect, Benedict remained a master of restraint and as laconic as a rock.
