Page 75 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
Anndshe’d said it.
A sinking sensation settled in Wakefield’s stomach. So this was why he’d been summoned. They dragged him here as some kind of moral beacon. For one horrifying moment, he entertained the possibility that the three of them were aware of his crimes and sins at The Devil’s Den, and his recent acquisition of ownership, and that this was all some grand display to make Wakefield feel like the blighter he was.
“Tell him, Benedict,” Katherine exclaimed. “Tell him how serious you took your studies and have conducted yourself.”
“Why does he need to tell me if you’re doing it yourself, Mother?”
With all the tumult Wakefield had endured today, this—this—was the final straw.
“Your mother is right,” he snapped, temper barely held in check. “The trouble you can find yourself in…is staggering.”
He stepped forward, voice rising.
“That’s what young gentlemen never speak of. Not truly. Not enough. If at all.”
A pause. A breath. And then with blistering heat—
“We’re talking about men who run around with no thought, no care. Seducing women. Getting them with child. And altering not just that lady’s life—”
His voice broke, then deepened.
“—but their own. And any innocent offspring they carelessly bring into this world too.”
With every utterance that flew from his lips, Cressida’s face appeared and his guilt compounded. “One minute, you’re living a carefree life with zero entanglements and having a rollicking good time. And the next, you’re stuck neck deep in more trouble than God Himself could solve. So yes, if it is, as your mother says, and you’re behaving like every other randy chap out there, then you’re going to regret it, and you’re going to regret it mightily. Trust me,” he exclaimed. His chest heaved and his shoulders shook. Three sets of very wide eyes looked back at him.
The door exploded open. “An urgent message for Lord Wakefield,” the butler said, panting and out of breath. “Said I was to come get you, interrupt immediately, and that you need to receive this.”
Wakefield’s gut clenched, and he was already crossing over to meet the man more than halfway. With a hurried word of thanks, he ripped the page open and read the note.
“The lady is on the move. Location where she can be reached.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, crushing the page in his hand.
“Benedict.” His sister’s voice came haltingly behind him.
“Wakefield?” Bainbridge shared in his wife’s concern.
“Uncle Benedict?”
Wakefield hurriedly composed himself and stuffed the page inside his front jacket. “Sorry to rush off. Yes, as I was saying, Frost, do listen to your parents please. You don’t want to end up like…like…”Me. “Like every other useless lad out there, you’re better than that. Start showing it.” With that most hypocritical advice he’d ever shared, Wakefield set off at a brisk clip through the door and headed in search of Cressida.
Chapter 17
Cressida entered through the front door of her Ratcliffe townhouse. As soon as she walked inside, she determined her brother wasn’t there.
He bumbled about. He stumbled into things, mostly because he was drunk, and in no small part because he was graceless. It had proven helpful when she wished to evade him, because she always knew, without fail, where his steps were coming from.
Cressida called out quietly, not for any fear that her brother was suddenly going to jump out at her like some bogeyman. “Hello?” She spoke as she did on account of having been conditioned to making herself as small and as quiet as possible. “Trudy?” she called.
Only silence welcomed her. Frowning, Cressida pushed the door shut behind her.
Loosening the clasp of her noisy muslin cloak, she hung it on the hook that served as a makeshift space to hang articles for guests who were coming or going, neither of which there ever were. Trudy’s hearing had become increasingly poor over the years.
Worry tightened her gut. Any other time, Trudy not coming immediately would’ve been no cause for concern. This was different. There was about as good a chance that Trudy wouldn’t be waiting right at this front door for Cressida to return as that she’d heap praise upon Stanley’s ears. When she’d finished her search of the downstairs, her panic increasingly grew.
“Trudy?” Cressida shouted.
She took the steps fast, evading the loose floorboards and the rotted one with a hole that was about to send the wrong person falling right on through, or, if it took Stanley down, the right person.
