Page 122 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“Here is a word of warning,” Wakefield said evenly while he trembled inside with rage. “You are never again to go near Cressida Alby. If you touch her, I’ll kill you. If you breathe her air, I’ll kill you. If you so much as walk in her shadow, I’ll end you before you even take a full step near her. You, Baron,” he snarled, “are a walking dead man. One wrong move, if you so much as utter her name even, I will make what happened to you here a bloody picnic. Are we clear?”
Moaning miserably, the baron couldn’t manage a word.
“Ah-ah.”
“Not good enough,” Wakefield taunted. Catching him by his neck, he forced his head forward and then slammed it hard against the oak planks of the floor.
“Yes,” Cressida’s brother cried out, weeping like a babe.
“Say it. Say all of it,” Wakefield insisted.
“Won’t, won’t, won’t touch her. Won’t, won’t, won’t…”
Towering over the man as he lay on the floor, Wakefield slapped him in the face.
“Say her goddamn name,” he shouted. This time his rage overwhelmed the calm he’d somehow managed.
“I won’t touch Cressida.”
Wakefield backhanded him on the other cheek.
“Her entire name, Baron!”
“I won’t touch Cressida Everly Alby.”
Cressida Everly Alby? Cressida Everly Alby.
He hadn’t even known her full name before now. Now he’d never forget it.
Wakefield drew back and delivered a final knockout blow. The baron’s form went limp, and then his eyes rolled back as he collapsed, sprawled on the floor.
Wakefield reared back and spit in his face. And then, with Markham standing sentry at the door, Wakefield left.
Chapter 32
Cressida remained precisely where she’d been since Trudy took her leave.
Now Benedict knew exactly the manner of woman he’d let into his life, though unintentionally, of course. The memories of what they’d shared, of him sitting beside her, just talking with her in the servants’ kitchens as casually as if they were any happy wedded couple who’d stolen that early morning time for themselves to talk about their life.
Cressida’s throat worked. For a brief moment in time, she’d had a glimpse of what life might’ve been like and what it certainly was like for the fortunate people. People like the friends she’d made at the Mismatch Society, most of whom were now happily married and desperately in love with their husbands, and whose dashing husbands were in love with them in return. The hardest part of it all was now that Cressida had known that glorious, heartfelt intimacy, she could never forget it, and now she’d live the rest of her life remembering what it had been like, if even for just a brief moment in time.
Now came the next hardest part—trying to forget what it had been like for that very short while because retaining those memories were an impossibility. Cressida wouldn’t be able to survive the reality of her circumstances and her actual fate, not as long as she held on to those times she’d had here with Benedict.
“Oh God.” It was too much.
Curling up onto her side, Cressida brought herself into a tight ball and folded her arms up about her knees, simultaneously rocking and shaking. She stared emptily at the cheerful fire dancing in the hearth, those ebullient flames so at odds with the misery threatening to tear her asunder.
Cressida absently noted the damp tracks left by her own tears. There came a slight click. Silently cursing, Cressida hurried to wipe away the remnants and signs of her misery, but she wiped too hard. She winced, recalling her brother’s attack all over again.
She didn’t want to speak to Trudy now. She didn’t want Trudy to sit next to her and force her to open up her heart about Benedict. She didn’t want to hear any further about Trudy’s uncharacteristically optimistic outlook on Benedict’s interest in Cressida. Not as long as she’d known the woman, not in all her twenty-five years, did Cressida recall her nursemaid being the hopeful sort who hung her hat on hope and shiny stars.
Cressida felt Trudy searching her gaze around the room. Maybe all the nursemaid’s instincts failed her lately, for she always knew where to look for Cressida. The floor was where she slept. The floor was where they both slept too many times.
Cressida took in a shaky sigh. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said exhaustedly.
“Well, considering we haven’t spoken about it at all, I thought you might spare a moment if you are awake.”
Cressida gasped and sat up, straightening from repose. Her heart thumped unsteadily.
