Page 55 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“You shouldn’t.” It was his turn to feel the same humiliating flush climb his neck and cheeks. “You were a virgin.” A virgin who also knew about French letters and sponges.
There’d be time enough to consider that important information later.
“You were correct earlier,” he murmured. Humbled, ashamed, and humiliated by that realization, Wakefield bowed his head in a useless show of remorse. “Youareright,” he regretfully conceded. Discomfited, Wakefield dragged a hand through his hair. “This is entirely my fault. It was a…” He found himself stumbling and searching for words as she had. “Anegregious, unpardonable offense I committed by not taking care.”
Whatever her motives or truthfulness, or lack thereof, the fact remained he’d ultimately been the one to take part in immoral playacting. He’d been the one who had made love to her over and over. He’d been the one to also come inside her, more times than he could remember. Whatever came of last evening and this early morning rested entirely and solely on him.
Wakefield drummed his fingertips distractedly upon his thigh.
The fact remained, the minute she was out of his sight, anything could happen. She could take some other gentleman as a lover. The minute that happened, there was no saying whose child it was she carried.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw. There was an absolute certainty for Wakefield. He would absolutely know whichchildren he fathered. Whatever led this woman to his bed, he would always honor his obligations and do right by her. It was settled. Wakefield stopped his drumming.
“I’m afraid, regardless of your wishes, youarecoming with me.”
Chapter 11
For everything Cressida thought she knew about Benedict, the Earl of Wakefield, right now, seated across from the cynical gentleman as he demanded she accompany him to one of his residences, she discovered something new.
“You are mad,” she breathed.
No. Not just mad.Stark raving mad.
Benedict looped an ankle across his opposite knee. “Why don’t we call it a temporary lapse in sanity?”
His hard lips curved in a maddeningly smug grin she’d never seen him bestow upon another, and she wondered if he reserved all that cynical mirth for her.
Discomfited, Cressida drew back. “You may call it whatever you want, my lord. The fact remains, if you believe I’m going anywhere with you, you are madder than a March hare.”
The vein at his right temple bulged and pulsed.
Good. Her icy cold rejection quashed his cocksure arrogance. Served him right, the jackanapes.
The earl’s fight for restraint didn’t terrify her as it should, but rather, it fascinated Cressida.
Just as that arrogant smirk had been unfamiliar to her before now, so too was this version of Benedict. Every time she’d ever interacted with the earl or observed him from across a room, he’d been completely in command of himself. Certainly, he’d never been the hot-tempered sort. Somehow, this shockingly new side to him made him more…real.
His self-possession drew her, held her in awe. The men in her life had been wholly lacking in self-control. Her brother. Why, even her father, had lost himself to his grief.
The taut lines at the corners of his hard mouth eased. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’ve been presumptuous.”
An apology now? Cressida’s lips parted for a breath she hadn’t intended to take. Men didn’t apologize. For that matter, people in general did not. How many times had she witnessed her friends of the Mismatch Society struggling with those two words for friends and sweethearts. But here, Benedict freely apologized and took ownership of his bad behavior.
A regretful smile curled his lips into a half-grin. “Will youpleasecome with me?” This time, in gentlemanly tones, he asked a question that wasn’t at all gentlemanly.
He’d vacillated too easily from domineering lord to coaxing charmer for Cressida to be anything but wary.
“Where exactly are you ordering me—”
“Nowasking,” he glibly intoned.
“—to go, Lord Wakefield?”
He flashed another smile. “Why, to my residence,” he replied, like his was the most natural response in the world.
The carriage hit a particularly large hole that lifted Cressida from her seat and sent her landing hard on the cushions. She grunted.
Lord Wakefield remained firmly on his bench because, of course, even the common cobblestones would pay him homage and treat Cressida with disdain.
