Page 18 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“Lord Wakefield?” she found herself echoing, afraid to hope, afraid to dare believe.
The proprietor of The Devil’s Den inclined his head. “Aye.”
Oh, God. Cressida’s legs went weak. He’d saved her after all.
The earl grunted. “He’s a good fellow.”
He was the best. A memory slipped in of a previous Season when she’d been standing miserably on the side of the ballroom, as usual, while every other lady around her was whisked off for a set, then two, then three, then four, and so on, by variousgentlemen. Not a single one of whom had noticed Cressida existed.
That was, except for the Earl of Wakefield.
“…may I have this set, Miss Alby…?”
They’d been introduced by Anwen Lesar, né Kearsley. He’d been the only gentleman to dance with Cressida that entire night.
“Unless,” Dynevor said into the awkward silence she’d left, lost in her ruminations, “you take exception at not having your auction seen through to completion, my lady. In which case, I can inform Wakefield and—”
“No!” she cried out, giddy with relief. She knew it! Hehadrecognized Cressida. “Please. No. He is…” Heat slapped her cheeks. “Itis perfect,” she swiftly corrected herself.
The earl gave her another long look and for a terrifying moment, Cressida believed she’d given herself away by revealing her abiding admiration and regard for Lord Wakefield.
Finally, Lord Dynevor nodded. “As you wish.”
Ironically, this had been the only dream she’d indulged in these years—the Earl of Wakefield. Never had she believed it might come true.
As Cressida let herself inside the Juno-Jupiter Room, she felt the proprietor’s eyes boring a hole into her.
The moment she’d shut the door behind her, Cressida rested her back against the elaborately painted panel. Her eyes slid shut.
Benedict.
Her heart thumped and for the first time this night, terror wasn’t the reason for its drumming.
Lord Wakefield was, even now, on his way to Cressida.
Biting at her lower lip, she fought—and failed—to keep a moan from slipping out. She’d not believed it possible, but thefire that’d been set within her with the drug she’d taken burned like an all-out conflagration in thinking about Benedict.
That wicked hungering no longer felt dirty but directed at the one her heart had always pointed to.
Tears filled her throat.
Since she’d discovered her brother’s requirement of her, Cressida had, in knowing she’d have to give herself to a stranger, been riddled with fear and horror.
He’d saved her.
What did she even say to him under such auspicious circumstances? A gentleman such as the Earl of Wakefield wouldn’t have any idea of the horrid, shameful acts people such as her brother were guilty of.
Click.
She opened her eyes and found him standing there.
Her pulse picked up.
Benedict.
Without taking his eyes from her, studying Cressida in the same intent way he had during the bidding, Lord Wakefield pushed the door closed behind them and turned the lock.
Funny all the fear she’d known this night should suddenly be forgotten.
