Page 12 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“…two hundred and twenty-five pounds…”
This time, Wakefield chuckled outright. “You know being publicly connected to a business and being an actual partner in the ways that matter are…are…”
A tingling sensation formed in his neck, and ran along his spine. Frowning, he started to look about for the source of that response, but found his gaze drifting to the stage—more specifically, the woman upon it.
“In terms of the payment paid to the patrons, the idea belonged to my sister. She pointed out there are married women amongst thetonwith no way to make their own money and without power. Here, they could come and not only have the ultimate choice but receive compensation to…”
Somewhere within that suitable explanation, Wakefield stopped hearing the proprietor.
The delectable woman on display commanded all his attention.
Wakefield sharpened his gaze on the young woman. She certainly wasn’t a beauty to rival the likes of Athena and Helen of Troy. Neither would she, by society’s standard, be more than pretty. What was it about her?
At three or four inches past five feet, she’d neither be considered tall nor short. Her hair, neither honey-colored nor spun gold, but a sloppy blend of light and dark shades of blonde and light browns. Her breasts weren’t ample and overflowing her plunging neckline as all men preferred nor were the globes nonexistent. The swells were curved just enough to emphasize a stomach so flat as to be nearly unreal, and impossibly narrow hips.
No, by ways of Wakefield’s preference in women, this unknown stranger would have never been one he’d steal a second—or, even for that matter, so much as a first, look—at.
And yet…
Fixed in his study, Wakefield poured himself another drink, and with his glass in hand, he leaned closer to the action. Her staring eyes called to him; the shades of them, he could not make out. All he could make out was her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him and him alone.
“She’s a new one,” Dynevor said, accurately deciphering Wakefield’s interest. “This is her first night.”
“Is it?” he asked noncommittally.
“I had the pleasure of interviewing her before she entered the auction.”
Wakefield’s muscles coiled tight.Interview. He wasn’t quite sure the earl’s choice of word was the appropriate one.
“Do you make it a habit of auditioning all the participants, Dynevor?” he asked, icily.
The earl chuckled. “I don’t audition any of them. Many come here looking for a place in my bed. The ones that tempt me enough, I’ll happily oblige.”
“…three-hundred and seventy-five pounds…”
The young earl had bedded the mysterious creature. Wakefield’s gaze drifted back to the center stage. Sure enough, Lady Aurum’s hungry gaze remained fixed on his and Dynevor’s table. The reason for the virgin’s singular attention on Wakefield’s table now made sense.
His lips curled with distaste. “I take it Lady Aurum was one of those whom you happily bedded.”
“…four hundred pounds…!”
“No.”
Wakefield whipped his head in the other man’s direction.
Lord Dynevor contemplated the trim, fit lady in question.
“No?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking the earl.
“As appealing as she is, the lady isn’t the manner of woman I consort with,” the proprietor explained with a vagueness that answered nothing.
Grabbing his drink, Dynevor took a long sip of brandy and moved his focus back to Wakefield. “What about you?”
“…Four hundred twenty-five…!”
Wakefield’s brows came together. “What about me?”
“Would you like her?” The earl splayed his palms at the stage; he presented the beauty to him the same way he had the bottle of fine French spirits he’d summoned earlier.
