Page 91 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“Ah, but I believe you did,” he said with a grave solemnity that sent the boy further shaking.
Benedict reached up and swept his hand along the outside of the soot-covered pickpocket’s ear. The boy curled up into himself in a clear bid to avoid the blow he knew was coming because that’s what he’d expect. But he didn’t know Benedict,not in the way Cressida had come to know him. With a flick of his hand, Benedict brandished a gold coin and presented it before the child’s eyes. Had Benedict handed over an entire pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the lad couldn’t have been more transfixed.
“Gor, sir, yer a wizard.”
Emotion filled Cressida’s throat. He most certainly was.
A half-grin tipped Benedict’s lips up. “Hardly that, lad.”
The boy’s stunned expression wavered, and the momentary illusion of an innocent childhood vanished under the weight of the twelve or thirteen years in which the boy had lived in such squalor. And he considered that coin with a desperation that Cressida knew all too well.
If only she’d been a lady who’d inherited a life that was grand, or if she had funds of her own. She’d have been all too happy to give the gift of enough coin to last the boy’s life, sparing him from such.
Wordlessly, Benedict pressed the coin into the child’s fingers. Knuckles that were bruised and swollen—an indication of the battles the child had been forced to fight in these merciless streets—wrapped quickly around the offering as though the Lord had granted him an eternal gift of life and wealth that he sought to protect and guard.
Wide-eyed, the pickpocket peeked at the tiny flash of gold exposed underneath his fingertips, and he protected that coveted gift the way he knew it ought to be protected in this part of London. Hell, anywhere. Cressida herself was testament to that.
So captivated was she by the fortune bestowed upon the young lad, and so utterly captivated by the play of astonishment upon his features, she stared on. Then, with quiet grace, Benedict reached inside and proffered a velvet purse. The child stared at it warily. His gaze a mix of envy, greed, and longing.
“You’re free to take it.”
“What for?” the boy asked with a wary and rightful suspicion for one who lived in these parts.
“You’re impressively stealthy,” Benedict said.
The boy grew at least a foot under that praise and then almost instantly shrunk. He wrinkled a sharp nose that had been broken numerous times and wore a slight bend.
“Not so stealthy that you didn’t catch me.”
“No.” Benedict didn’t seek to lie and give the boy false praise. Certainly, not praise the child wouldn’t believe anyway, given his life. “But I expect you could have trained a whole army with the experience you’ve had. You’ve just merely, with your height, grown to have a disadvantage. You’re ready for new work. Your skills and talents would be best put to better use in a different endeavor. One that won’t have you swinging for it either.”
Cressida took in the exchange with wide-eyed fascination, noting how casually and respectfully Benedict spoke to the young boy.
He didn’t give false platitudes. He gave him honesty and directness.
“Here’s my address,” Benedict said, reaching inside his jacket. “I have someone I’m going to put you in touch with. We can give you good, honest work there.”
Cressida’s ears perked up. He handed over a card, and Cressida leaned in, straining to see the location or details written there. But the thief had it pocketed inside his jacket before Cressida could steal so much as a full look. She strained, waiting for either of them to give a clue or an indication. Benedict hadn’t sent him to his residence, she knew, because those he himself owned. Her intrigue doubled.
“You don’t look like the sort of gent who has dealings with that place and those people.” This time Benedict sneaked a look at Cressida, and as the boy followed his pointed stare, she knewthat look wasn’t for her. It was a reminder for the boy to hold his tongue.
She wrinkled her nose, oddly cross at the fact he’d let this stranger in on secrets he held and yet kept from her, a woman whom he’d made love to dozens of times and done the most intimate things with.
“But then as if you aren’t keeping secrets enough from him…”
The young man gave a slight nod, nearly imperceptible, indicating he’d taken the earl’s cue. With that, Wakefield shot out a hand. The lad eyed it and, without hesitation, took it in a firm grip and shook.
After the young man had gone, Cressida and Wakefield continued on through Burroughs Market, and she resumed her search for Trudy, filled with her own questions about Benedict, the Earl of Wakefield.
Chapter 22
Wakefield had been carrying so much these past two days. He more than half expected the moment he stepped inside his sister and brother-in-law’s ballroom, he’d find every set of stares swing to him while the music came to a crashing stop and whispers ensued. As such, it felt peculiar to arrive at the Earl and Countess of Stanhope’s lively lavish affair and barely earn a curious look from a single one of some two hundred guests. But then these were the affairs his sister and her husband always hosted. They never put on an event that was anything less than extravagant and well-attended and sought after.
After having arrived at a late hour, Wakefield had also spared himself the scrutiny of an agonizing receiving line. Why, he was practically invisi—
“Benedict.” That excited squeal did manage to penetrate the enormous din of the ballroom.
So much for remaining unnoticed.
