Page 59 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
The title alone demanded respect, but the Duke of Rothesby’s presence and sheer size alone was what truly commanded a room.
“The Duke of Roth—”
“Thank you, Stetson,” Wakefield cut off the announcement. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded the moment Stetson left.
Rothesby cast a wry grin. “Well, good morning to you, Lord Wakefield. What a warm greeting, considering I only received a summons thirty minutes—”
He didn’t have time for this banter. “I’ve landed myself in a spot.”
The duke arched a brow. “A spot?”
“A bit of trouble,” Wakefield hurriedly added. Definitely. All five feet five inches of lithesome—“Not necessarily trouble, but it could be. I need help.”
The bloody urbane duke curled his lips into an infuriating grin. “Let me see if I have this correct.” Rothesby folded his arms at his chest. “You are in trouble, and you believe I’m able to help you because…?”
He waited for Wakefield to explain himself.
Wakefield waved a hand up and down in the fellow’s general direction. “Well, because you’re arogue.”
The Duke of Rothesby winged an eyebrow up. “You’ll have to do better than that, Wakefield.”
“You know about… situations such as the one I find myself in.”
“Oh, this is going to be good.” Rothesby chuckled. “May I at least sit?”
Wakefield pointed to one of the leather armchairs. “Please.” He was making to take his place at the head of the desk when Rothesby stopped him.
“Oh, no, I’m not going to have you sit across the other side of that fortress, chap. We’re going to sit face-to-face and discuss whatever the hell reason you’ve brought me here.”
Wakefield paused. Behind his desk was where he felt most steady. It was a position of power. It recalled that he had people who answered to him and responsibilities to see to. Now, Rothesby would strip him of that comfort.
“All right,” the other man said when Wakefield joined him. “Now, tell me, what is the kind of trouble you’ve found yourself that you seem to think I am an aficionado on?”
“As I said, I may have found myself in some troub—”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned as much several times now.” Rothesby hooked his ankles together and waited.
“As you may have been aware, I was at The Devil’s Den.”
The other man interrupted him again. “I saw you there, speaking with Dynevor.”
The duke missed nothing.
“There was a woman I became involved with last night.”
“Ah.” Rothesby tilted his head back. “I take it this lady is also the source of your trouble?”
In his mind, he saw Cressida as she’d been in bed—delectable, passionate, inquisitive, bewitching in every way, and then this morning, just as spirited and glorious in her rage as she’d been in her sexual splendor.
Wakefield flexed his jaw that still smarted. Then gave a tight nod.
“I fear you’ve appealed to the wrong chap,” Rothesby drawled. “I don’t have trouble with young women, or any women, for that matter.”
“You wouldn’t,” Wakefield mumbled under his breath.
The cocksure gentleman leaned in. “What was that?”
“Oh, come,” Wakefield exploded. “You’re a rogue. You’ve been with all number of women. Youmusthave landed yourself in a complicated mess before.”
