Page 106 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“Pfft.” Cressida gave him a scathing once over. “From my vantage on the stage, you didn’t place a single bid on me.”
She waited for him to deny it. Cressidawantedhim to point out that he’d competed for her that night. Strange how the absence of that confirmation should inflict even greater pain upon her heart.
“Lord Rothesby, on the other hand, settled a sizable fortune to spend the night with me,” she said bitterly.
A storm gathered in Benedict’s eyes; as black and dangerous as any tempest.
Cressida thought for a moment she’d gone too far in her challenge of him.
Despite herself, Cressida’s courage flagged. Somehow, she managed to find her voice.
“Someone stopped the action that night, and I found myself with you.” And, her life would never be the same for it. “So perhaps, if you have feelings that you were trapped, then maybe you should look elsewhere to the one who coordinated my transfer over to you.”
His expression startled; his gaze stunned; Benedict rocked back on his heels.
Cressida dusted her dirt-stained palms together. “Now, I bid you good day, my lord.”
In finding pride in herself for going toe to toe with the Earl of Wakefield, Cressida lifted her chin, marched right past him, and kept on walking. Only when she reached the end of the graveled path did she look back.
“Oh, and Benedict? My future betrothed didn’t want the burden of bedding a virgin. My brother and his wife found additional ways to make coin from my name. That’s why I was at The Devil’s Den.”
She continued her escape from the garden and as she did, she felt his gaze follow her the entire while.
Benedict may have broken her heart, but one thing he had taught her was the satisfaction to be had in speaking her mind and not backing down. That would be one of many things she’d leave this place with—that and a broken heart.
Sometime just before midnight, Cressida came to realize Benedict wasn’t coming back. Yet again, he’d called into question her character and questioned her motives. As resentful as she felt towards him, she could also accept the reason he’d reached the conclusions he had, and she wasn’t stupid, nor was she naive. She understood that after just a few days, no matter how much had come to pass between them, no matter how intimate they’d been, she was still a stranger to him…largely.
There was intimacy. They’d shared and done things together most intimate in a physical way. She’d even shared parts about her history and her love of baking. And, well, Benedict had continued to demonstrate and display the way in which he cared for those who were under his protection. Be it his sisters or somewoman who he’d only just met under circumstances that were dubious at best, each were afforded the same care and regard.
He might not trust her. No, he did not trust her, but he saw that she was well looked after, and he would do the same for any babe she might conceive. A babe. Seated on the foyer bench, her knees curled up close to her chest, she cradled herself closely and slipped into the dreamlike imagining herself heavy with Benedict’s child, of him at her side, of the eventual babe born to them. The boy would have his father’s strong chin, with a slight cleft at the center, and long tousled strands of gold-blond hair.
Cressida closed her eyes. Back when she’d had her first Season and made her debut, she’d partaken in champagne. After but one glass, she’d been filled with this heady warmth and lightness. Not even those fine French spirits could compare to the buoyancy within her now.
There came a sharp rap at the front door, and her eyes went flying open.
Before Burgess could even step out from wherever it was he kept his post at this hour, Cressida went flying to her feet and tearing over to the door. She caught the door handle to keep herself upright and then yanked the door open.
A grim-faced stranger stared back. His square-set features were too pronounced and strong to lend even a remote handsomeness to him. His hard eyes were a shade of sapphire so dark as to nearly be black. All the guards she’d let down in her time here with Benedict went up, but too late.
Dressed all in black, from his trousers to his gleaming boots, to the layered cloak he wore, he bore a strong resemblance to the grim reaper come to claim the soul of whoever answered the door. And unfortunately, Cressida had been the wretched one to do so. Of course, it wouldn’t be Benedict. Fear left her throat dry.
Cressida tried to shut the door quick to save herself, but her savior came in the unlikely form of her temporary butler, Mr. Burgess. “May I be of any assistance?”
The evenness of Burgess’s distinguished voice had a calming effect. The servant hurriedly inserted himself between Cressida and the dark stranger at the doorway. She was all too happy to melt back into the shadows.
“I’m here to see his lordship, Lord Wakefield.”
He directed only his words at Burgess. All the while he withdrew a card and handed it over, the stranger’s gaze remained locked on Cressida.
Her thoughts screamed. What if her brother learned of her connection to Benedict? What if he’d sent someone here…?
But he’d have to possess the coin to hire someone as refined and elegant as this gentleman, and he certainly didn’t have means to do so on his own. But there was the Duke of Harrowden whom her brother planned to sell her to.
Burgess studied the card.
“I’m afraid his lordship is not in for the night.”
Finally, the stranger flickered his gaze in Burgess’s direction.
