Page 56 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You are asking me to…join you at your home?” She was missing something. Nothing about what he was saying made any sense. The more he spoke, the less sense it made.
He clarified. “I have a residence where you may go.”
Cressida drew her chin up in defiance—masking the ache. “I have a residence of my own, Lord Wakefield.” Granted, the dilapidated state of her Ratcliffe townhouse left up to question whether the abode constituted an actual residence. “I am not without a home.” At least she wasn’t without a roof over her head. Hers leaked, but it was still a roof.
His features became strained. “Of course you have a home, Miss Smith.”
One of them just had to be direct. It may as well be her. “Then why…”
Then the understanding hit her, but in a beautiful way. “You want to do right by me,” she whispered, falling in love with him all over again.
His chiseled features froze and then stuttered somewhere between horror and embarrassment.
A bachelor’s residence.He’d been making her an indecent offer.
Mortification brought Cressida’s toes curling sharply into the soles of her feet. She turned her face to the window, edging it back just enough to look out. “I see.” Cressida managed a curt nod, barely holding herself together. “Youweren’toffering to do right by me.”
“No,” he said tersely. “Is that what you were expecting?” His smooth, mellifluous tones of before had lost all their warmth.
“Expecting? No.” Secretly, she’d been hoping, but not because he felt a sense of obligation. Rather because he remembered her and had carried, if not the deep abiding love she had for him, at least some admiration, some affection.
A gentleman like the Earl of Wakefield didn’t wed women of Cressida’s stock and background, and neither did they appear interested in keeping them as mistresses.
Not that she wanted to be one of his mistresses.
Liar, you’re so pathetic. You’d have taken that meager scrap.
To give her shaking fingers a purpose, Cressida fiddled with the curtain.
Benedict shot a hand out.
Gasping, Cressida’s gaze locked on his long fingers gently, but firmly, twined about her wrist.
“Leave it,” he commanded.
With a juddering nod, she let the curtain fall.
He is afraid to be seen with me and being forced to marry her.
Desperate to save face this day, she shot a hand up and knocked on the roof.
The carriage came to a slower stop this time.
Benedict frowned and glanced about. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything, my lord. You, on the other hand, are leaving.”
He bristled. “The hell I am.”
“You invaded my carriage, declared I’m to return with you, and now are refusing to leave, even though I’ve told you, time and time again, that I have no intention of going anywhere with you.” Her voice grew increasingly impassioned. “I’ll see myself home. There needn’t be any further reason for us to suffer one another’s company. I’m not asking you to leave. I’m telling you.”
His features tightened. “Ah, but based on our activities last night, that isn’t necessarily true. At least, we cannot yet be sure of that.”
Cressida shook her head.
He gave her a pointed, meaningful look.
What was he saying? She just stared at him.
