Page 83 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
He’d still risen at sunrise and taken his morning ride in Hyde Park.
He’d given Cressida time to sleep.
But this was really quite enough.
Wakefield tossed aside the copy ofThe Timeshe’d read and re-read.
There could be but one conclusion to reach—she was avoiding him.
He went still.
Avoiding him…or…sneaking off again.
He cursed himself for letting his guard down and came quickly to his feet.
“Burgess,” he shouted.
Bypassing the bell, he beelined for the door…and nearly knocked into the stealthy servant.
“Apologies, my lord.” He swiftly recovered and dropped a deep bow.
“Miss Smith,” he barked.
Burgess looked about as if he was searching for the lady in question. “Yes, my lord?”
“Where the hell is she?” he demanded, keeping control on a thinly fraying patience.
“Ah.” Understanding lit the younger man’s eyes. “I am afraid she is not here, my lord.”
His pulse jumped. “Not here?” he echoed.
“No, my lord. Miss Smith is not in the breakfast room.”
Wakefield closed his eyes and prayed for patience, and when that didn’t help, he counted to ten. Where the hell had she gone this time?
“I can clearly see for myself that she is not in the breakfast room, considering I have been here for nearly three hours and there’s been no sight of the lady.”
“Three hours, you say, my lord?”
Heat climbed Wakefield’s neck. At some point, the conversation had shifted to a question as to his mental fitness.
“Burgess?” he asked, repeating the other man’s name, his voice strained as his patience. “Do you intend to tell me where she is?”
Burgess was determined to make him drag it out of him, “You see, my lord, it is funny.”—The daft fellow thought any of this was funny?—“The young lady went to the kitchens when she first arrived yesterday.”
Maybe I should just sack him now.“I do not need to know, Burgess, what arrangements the lady made with Cook. What I’m asking is…”
“Oh, no.” The servant interrupted him. “She wasn’t looking to plan any meals.” His butler leaned in and spoke on a whisper. “That was what the staff thought too, that she’d come to discuss the meal, the evening meal. And she was quickly told that someone would come to her rooms and…”
“Would you spit it out already, Burgess?”
Alas, it appeared his butler listened about as well as Cressida.
“Everyone took offense to her being there. The lady asked to bake.”
“What?” Benedict blurted in disbelief.
Burgess had succeeded after all; he’d flummoxed Wakefield.
