Page 64 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
There he went, disconcerting her again by saying the unexpected.Yes, she agreed with his second disparagement of the day. She’d be damned, however, if she showed it.
Cressida gave a little toss of her head. “Youhavebeen.”
“I could sit here and profess to you all the ways in which I’ve been a decent gentleman and carried myself in a way that, by society’s standards, are considered above reproach.” Benedict rubbed at the back of his neck. “But the truth is we may have met, but I am still a stranger to you.”
Her chest hitched. She knew more of him than he thought.
Cressida closed her eyes and returned to their first waltz.
“Favorite Season, Miss Alby?”
“Oh, it must be the winter, my lord.”
“Mine as well.”
They shared a look and spoke at the same time.
“Less lords about.”
“None of the awful peers around.”
Their long-ago laughter peeled like distant church bells around her mind. She’d been so certain that moment had been as memorable to him as it had to her.
“Cressida?”
His concerned voice drew her back.
“Hmm?”
“As I was saying, the only opinions you have to draw on about me come from our one night together.”
Cressida let him think that. She’d never admit the truth. To do so would be to reveal just how infatuated she’d been by him over the years and how much she’d resented and envied her friend for being the one whom he fixed his attentions on.
“Until recently,” he was saying, “I’ve never frequented establishments like The Devil’s Den.” His lips formed a wry smile. “That is, I’ve only ventured into them with the intentions of retrieving wayward friends. But those are not my usual haunts, and those are not my usual pastimes.”
Cressida had finally tired of his need to justify his presence last night and his involvement with her. “My lord, why are you telling me all of this?” she asked, impatient.
His grin faded.
“The fact remains,” he said, his tone conversational, his words far less so, “how I conducted myself before matters not. I did attend The Devil’s Den and we did make love.” His eyes darkened. “Many times.”
Her body burned, not with shame, but in remembrance of the wondrous things he’d done to her and with her.
“It was dastardly for me to suggest you remain—”
She looked pointedly at him.
Benedict hunched his shoulders and pocketed his hands in an endearingly boy-like show of sheepishness. “That is, it was dastardly for me to order you to stay here.” He turned his palms up. “I had no right to put that demand to you. You are free to remain. You are free to leave. Your wishes and choices are your own, and I will honor them. I will await your word as to whether a child was conceived.”
Of all that’d come to pass this day, it proved to be this offer from Benedict that overwhelmed her.
Cressida rubbed at her suddenly aching temples.
Benedict had corrected his course, making it impossible for her to hate him with the same venom she had earlier. He’d given her precisely what she asked for—freedom to leave. There was nothing left to say; she should go.
Instead, Cressida sat fixed to the brown Italian leather seat.
He’d said she was free to go.
