Page 17 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
The Devil, as in Dynevor, wanted her for himself. Life was fast proving all men, in their own way, were all devils—just different sorts.
Tears filled her eyes. The time had come, and something about knowing the identity of the man who’d take her virtue made what would happen in but a few minutes real. In her head, she’d processed what was to come. She’d known she’d lay with a stranger and give herself in the most intimate way, but knowing it and being on the cusp of living that experience were altogether different.
And yet, even as revulsion filled her, the ache between her legs had become excruciating. All she wanted to do was stretch and squirm to escape it, and God help her, she feared her body would betray her morality this night.
Mauley brought them to a stop. “Here we are, my lady.”
Then, with nothing more than that brief pronouncement and a short bow, the guard left.
Shaking, Cressida ran her damp palms along her diaphanous gown; her own touch set off a different tremble within. She stared at the painted doorway.
The naughty painted tableau depicted Jove, king of sky and thunder, with his consort, Juno. The severe beauty knelt in supplication, her palms resting upon her philandering husband’s thick thighs and her mouth inches from his manroot.
She bit at her lower lip.
As a virtuous lady, the scene should horrify Cressida. Instead, the salacious tableau sent a fresh wave of longing through her.
Face flaming, she wrenched her panicky gaze skyward, only to face a mural with a different—and even more shameful—tableau. A horned Lucifer with one beauty on her knees, his manhood in her mouth, while another woman offered him her breast like it was the temptation that’d gone and ruined mankind for the rest of them.
Good God, is this what Dynevor expected of her?
She wanted to rip her hair out, scrape her jagged nails over her face, and wail.
Imagining doing these things and having them done to her were entirely different.
“Lady Aurum, we meet again.”
Gasping, she wheeled to face the young man—more of a boy in age, really. His eyes marked him decades older than his tender years. Embarrassment, coupled with the even more humiliating yearning between her legs, made it hard to look at him.
“L-Lord Dynevor,” she greeted.
Cressida tried to say something more but came up empty. She had nothing. She couldn’t finish a thought.
After all, what did one say to the gentleman who’d bought her and would take her virginity?
Nor did he bother with polite pleasantries, which she appreciated. “Have you changed your mind, Lady Aurum?”
With her mouth dry as the dust that filled the townhouse she called home, Cressida didn’t have enough moisture to form an actual word. She managed to shake her head.
That didn’t appear sufficient for the earl. “I trust Mauley reminded you that you’re free to leave at any—”
“He did,” she cut him off. Fear for Trudy proved greater than Cressida’s fear for herself or the lust that stabbed between her legs. “I choose to be here.”
And in her need to care for her former nursemaid, she did.
Satisfied, Dynevor nodded. “You were probably wondering at the abrupt end to bidding.”
His wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “I did.”
“One of my confidantes showed an interest in you. As the proprietor, I made the decision to call the event and gift you over to him.”
Gift her over…? She should be horrified.
Except, Cressida clung not to the latter, but the former. One of his confidantes showed an interest in her? He’d been seated with Lord Wakefield. Her heart thumped madly. Her belly fluttered like a thousand butterflies had been set free within her.
“Lord Wakefield is a good, honorable sort.”
Through the hope in her breast, it took a moment for Cressida to sort out her thoughts from the Earl of Dynevor’s words.
