Page 67 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
Benedict sketched a deep bow and, without any other words flowing between them, he left Cressida staring after him.
Chapter 14
After he took his leave of Cressida, Wakefield’s business for the day continued. His current business should also happen to be as unconventional as the first. Money and power got a person anything, and that included an immediate meeting with Lord Markham, one of the top investigators in England.
Granted, so did connections, but the connections Wakefield had to the rival investigative company happened to be ones he made through his brother-in-law, Latimer.
As a result, the situation merited outside help, without any links to the two men he’d joined ranks with, which accounted for his appointment with Lord Markham.
Seated across the gentleman’s elaborate desk, Lord Markham listened while Wakefield told his sins and crimes for a second time this day. The other man’s austere face gave nothing away. But somehow, the gentleman still oozed cynicism, threat, and power. The fellow’s hard lips could have been chipped and chiseled of granite. His every feature, from his too-sharp cheekbones to a jawline edged of steel, were as blunt as the man himself.
His face was a cold as the man’s office itself. Furniture was scarce but for the partner’s desk that dominated the space and a pair of saber-leg armchairs as stiff-backed and brutal as the room’s owner. The sapphire-black painted walls contained not a single painting or portrait.
When Wakefield finished, the stony-faced and hard-eyed Lord Markham appeared to be a blend of annoyed and bored. “Are you asking me to dispose of the lady?”
Wakefield stared incredulously. “No,” Wakefield said, utterly horrified. He searched for some signs the other man was joking, and it soon became apparent no jest was intended.
With a tightly cropped golden halo of hair, the gentleman had the look of an archangel but spoke with a coldness and lethality of Satan’s finest killer.
His heart hammered against his ribcage. Just hearing the investigator speak so casually about offing Cressida—“Absolutely not!” he said forcefully, wanting to be absolutely clear. “In fact, if the lady is harmed—”
Lord Markham held a hand up. “Let me spare you. I know who you are, Wakefield. I know your reputation. Obviously, I don’t believe for an instant you came here to hire me to silence some lady or dispose of any bodies.”
Why, the gent sounded downright disappointed.
“I’m merely pointing out that you don’t need me, and you certainly don’t require my services for the type of questions you have. The lady belongs to Polite Society. Someone connected her with The Devil’s Den. With your connections, it’ll be easy enough to put questions about discreetly. The gossips can give you for free what I’ll charge you a fortune for.”
Markham snapped his book closed in a clear indication that the meeting was concluded.
Wakefield dug in. “I believe you missed the point,” he said coolly. “I don’t want questions—just the opposite. I’m looking to avoid all that entirely.”
Markham’s mouth went taut as if he’d tasted something bad. “That’s not the kind of work I do.”
Wakefield leaned forward. “Well, I am asking you to make it your work, and I’m willing to pay you double for your services.”
A cool smile quirked the other man’s lips. “I’ve done my research on you. It appears, however, you’ve not done the same on me. If that were the case, you would know I don’t need a fortune from you. I already have one of my own, and I have the ability to decline whatever work I want. So do not go throwing money at me as if it matters or means anything. Are we clear?”
A warning glint lit Markham’s eyes, indicating Wakefield had gone too far.
He was fucking up every last discussion he had and every last relationship in the span of a half day’s time. First, he’d grossly insulted Cressida. Then there’d been the amiable Rothesby, whom Wakefield hadn’t believed could be offended, and now one of the most ruthless investigators in the entire empire—a mercenary man who’d just as easily end a young lady as split Wakefield’s neck open.
He’d come here knowing about Markham’s reputation. Having interacted a short while, Wakefield had finally caught up on how to deal with the man.
“I misrepresented my concerns,” Wakefield said flatly. “This is not a matter of me being worried I fathered a child with this woman.”
Markham smirked. “Though you’d also be lying if you said you weren’t worried about it too.”
“Yes,” he allowed. “That is obviously a concern. But none of this makes sense.”
The investigator was bored. He wanted a challenge. Wakefield gave him that in his next opening.
“Think of it, Markham, the lady is somewhere near twenty-three. Maybe twenty-four. She moves in the same social circles as me, and yet she claims she can disappear for weeks on end without anyone discovering her identity.” The more he spoke, the further he roused his own earlier suspicions. “She knows who I am. What am I to think, other than that her family has masterminded some kind of plan that involves me?”
Markham weighed all that a moment. “You want my opinion, Wakefield?”
That appeared to be the question of the day.
“I want you on staff,” Wakefield said icily. “But I’ll take your opinion.”
