Page 51 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
At last alone, with no one there to witness her misery, she collapsed against the surprisingly comfortable squabs.
It was done.
All of it: the requirements her brother had placed upon her. The foolish dreams she’d entertained about the Earl of Wakefield. There’d be no salvation. There was no one coming. There was no hero. There was no true love. There was nothing and no one, except she and Trudy.
Cressida hugged herself tight as tears again threatened. It was like a vise had been clamped around her lungs and heart. She fought back the building pressure and pain that sent her chest curling into itself.
Bone weary, she let her head fall back as the carriage rattled as slowly into motion.
No, there was no hero coming. There was no—
The carriage came to such a jarring stop, Cressida cried out and pitched face forward against the opposite wall. The force ofthat collision stole the breath from her lungs and left her dazed. Through that fog, she registered shouting.
She fought to get herself right. Her driver’s angry bellows managed to trickle through her muddied head. An instant later, Cressida understood the reason for his fury.
The door was yanked open. She gasped and stumbled into motion, reaching for her dagger and then remembering she hadn’t been permitted to bring it with her to the club. Prepared to meet her assailant with her fists, Cressida brought her arms up—and stopped.
Her gaze collided with the angry stare of her would-be kidnapper.
Her tongue thick, her lips barely moved for her to properly form the name. “Benedict?”
The Earl of Wakefield narrowed his eyes. Without uttering a single word, he climbed inside and drew the door shut behind them. He rapped once on the ceiling. That slight knock sent the hackney into motion.
Cressida frowned.
Loyal driver or not, the coachmen clearly recognized who was in a position of power—and it was definitely not Cressida.
Chapter 10
Fury lived within Wakefield, and he couldn’t determine whether that blistering anger stemmed from the fact the lady had simply up and left, or the way she hugged herself closely against the side of the carriage.
For all his lapses in character and judgement these past fourteen hours, he wasn’t given to harming or scaring women. Did she truly believe he’d hurt her?
As soon as that question was set free in his brain, he recalled everything he’d done with Cressida Smith and to her—how many times he’d taken her, fast and hard, like she was as broken-in as any whore. Whatever the lady’s intentions for him may be, she’d still been a virgin.
His anger cooled.
“Are you…well?” he asked, gentling his voice.
Shaking her head, she stared at him from around her pearled mask like he’d spoken in tongues.
“I was…rough.”
Understanding filled her enormous eyes. “Oh.” She dipped her gaze to her lap.
Heat slapped his face. “I did not realize you were a virgin,” he said between compressed lips.As if that pardons your treatment of her?“I was not as gentle as I would have been had I known—”
“Sore.” She cut him off, wearing a blush of her own. “I’m a bit sore.”
Abitsore?
“…Hold on tight, love. I’m going to give you the ride of your…”
Wakefield winced.
“I’m fine, truly,” the lady added for good measure.
For his benefit? Why in hell was she reassuringhim?
