Page 45 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“Dynevor?” his brother-in-law urged.
Lord Dynevor frowned. “After the close of the auction, I followed club policy and went to meet with the lady. I gave her the safety measures in place and allowed her another opportunity to leave if she’d changed her mind. At that point, I also gave her the name of her purchaser.”
Something about hearing the other man casually speak about Cressida sent his body into a full recoil. “I didn’t purchase her,” he gritted out. Hearing it stated in such vulgar terms made the lady out to be a whore.
“It’s all the same.” Dynevor waved a gloved palm.
Wakefield grabbed the equally tall lord by his jacket and shook the imperious pup. “You buy whores,” he hissed. “By the very nature of your club’s latest offering—”
“Of a sudden, it’s my club?” Dynevor quipped.
Wakefield continued over him. “The women are here of their own volition. They pay to take part, you said.” That in and of itself meant he hadn’t treated Cressida Smith like some whore.
For some reason, that distinction mattered way too much to Wakefield.
He gave the younger man an even harder shake.
“Wakefield, unhand him,” his brother-in-law ordered in the same reproachful way he handled university lads who’d had too much drink.
Wakefield and Dynevor continued to ignore him.
“Aye, the women who want to play the role of virgin do pay.” An infuriatingly unfazed Dynevor stared at Wakefield like he was a bedlamite. “The night you spent with the lady, however,comes out of the club’s profits, just not directly out of your pock—”
Letting loose a lengthy curse, Wakefield hurled the earl away from him.
Dynevor crashed backwards against the edge of his desk and glared. “Jesus, Wakefield! What the hell is wrong with you?”
What was wrong with him?Everything.
Shaken, Wakefield dragged a hand through his hair.
Someone settled a firm hand on his shoulder. Half-crazed, he looked blankly at his brother-in-law.
Latimer stared at him with concern. He gave Wakefield’s shoulder a steadying squeeze and then put a question to Dynevor on Wakefield’s behalf.
“Dynevor, did she give any indications she knew Wakefield? Anything at all.”
Ah, the stoic proprietor did for Wakefield what Wakefield himself remained incapable of doing—returning to that slight pause Dynevor had met that same question with.
Grateful for that support, Wakefield used the opportunity to compose himself.
Dynevor scrubbed at a blunt jawline that left the fellow looking perpetually angry. “I gave her the name of her bedpartner like we do all the others. I let her decide if she wanted to fuck Wakefield.”
Wakefield sucked a breath sharply through his nose.
Latimer clasped Wakefield’s arm; that anchoring grip kept him in the present.
“And?” Latimer prodded.
“And she appeared to know him. Looked real relieved she did. Almost…happy,” the earl grumbled. “She seemed real innocent. From the look of her—”
Wakefield lit into him. “What kind of look is it you’re talking about?”
The earl’s hard lips moved. A dumbfounded Dynevor looked to Latimer for support.
Wakefield’s brother-in-law lifted his big shoulders in a shrug.
“I don’t know, Wakefield,” Dynevor said, flustered. “She’s got callused hands and came in a dress I wouldn’t let my maids wear. I figured she got herself sold into marriage to some bounder she hates who doesn’t take care for her needs and wanted to see to it herself.”
