Page 13 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl (Seven Deadly Sins #4)

W akefield paced the office.

He had bought himself time.

He’d sent a servant to escort Miss Smith to her chambers, where Cressida was even now receiving a proper bath. After she bathed, the girl assigned as her maid would dress Cressida and see to her hair. Then she’d be provided a meal and tea.

Invariably, though, time was running out.

There came a knock at the door.

Wakefield stopped in his tracks. “Enter!” At bloody last.

His butler, a discreet, loyal fellow named Stetson, drew the panel open to reveal the long overdue guest.

For most men, being born a duke was enough. The Duke of Rothesby had been blessed with it all. Good looks. Not a strand of midnight black hair out of place. His gaze ice. His tall, muscular frame put together.

Charming personality. The men wanted to be him. The ladies wanted to bed him.

The title alone demanded respect, but the Duke of Rothesby’s presence and sheer size alone was what truly commanded a room.

“The Duke of Roth—”

“Thank you, Stetson,” Wakefield cut off the announcement. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded the moment Stetson left.

Rothesby cast a wry grin. “Well, good morning to you, Lord Wakefield. What a warm greeting, considering I only received a summons thirty minutes—”

He didn’t have time for this banter. “I’ve landed myself in a spot.”

The duke arched a brow. “A spot?”

“A bit of trouble,” Wakefield hurriedly added. Definitely. All five feet five inches of lithesome—“Not necessarily trouble, but it could be. I need help.”

The bloody urbane duke curled his lips into an infuriating grin. “Let me see if I have this correct.” Rothesby folded his arms at his chest. “You are in trouble, and you believe I’m able to help you because…?”

He waited for Wakefield to explain himself.

Wakefield waved a hand up and down in the fellow’s general direction. “Well, because you’re a rogue .”

The Duke of Rothesby winged an eyebrow up. “You’ll have to do better than that, Wakefield.”

“You know about… situations such as the one I find myself in.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Rothesby chuckled. “May I at least sit?”

Wakefield pointed to one of the leather armchairs. “Please.” He was making to take his place at the head of the desk when Rothesby stopped him.

“Oh, no, I’m not going to have you sit across the other side of that fortress, chap. We’re going to sit face-to-face and discuss whatever the hell reason you’ve brought me here.”

Wakefield paused. Behind his desk was where he felt most steady. It was a position of power. It recalled that he had people who answered to him and responsibilities to see to. Now, Rothesby would strip him of that comfort.

“All right,” the other man said when Wakefield joined him. “Now, tell me, what is the kind of trouble you’ve found yourself that you seem to think I am an aficionado on?”

“As I said, I may have found myself in some troub—”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned as much several times now.” Rothesby hooked his ankles together and waited.

“As you may have been aware, I was at The Devil’s Den.”

The other man interrupted him again. “I saw you there, speaking with Dynevor.”

The duke missed nothing.

“There was a woman I became involved with last night.”

“Ah.” Rothesby tilted his head back. “I take it this lady is also the source of your trouble?”

In his mind, he saw Cressida as she’d been in bed—delectable, passionate, inquisitive, bewitching in every way, and then this morning, just as spirited and glorious in her rage as she’d been in her sexual splendor.

Wakefield flexed his jaw that still smarted. Then gave a tight nod.

“I fear you’ve appealed to the wrong chap,” Rothesby drawled. “I don’t have trouble with young women, or any women, for that matter.”

“You wouldn’t,” Wakefield mumbled under his breath.

The cocksure gentleman leaned in. “What was that?”

“Oh, come,” Wakefield exploded. “You’re a rogue. You’ve been with all number of women. You must have landed yourself in a complicated mess before.”

Rothesby sat expressionless and then, with a thunderous bellow, he roared his hilarity. “I may be a rogue, but I’m not a sloppy one. I’m not some youth at a university and neither are you, Wakefield. What difficulty could you have possibly gotten yourself into with a lady who frequents The Devil’s Den?”

Wakefield knew the moment Rothesby sensed the gravity.

The duke’s angular countenance grew serious.

Wakefield considered his words carefully. Though the man was a rogue with a wildly notorious reputation, Wakefield trusted him. The fellow was a gentleman in every way. Back in their Eton days, Rothesby had been the favorite lad all the other boys wished to be and keep company with. With the adoration heaped upon him, Rothesby could have been a prig. But instead, he’d looked out for the bullied students—the ones like Wakefield and his former friend, Waters.

Even though he was confident Rothesby wouldn’t breathe a word of what they discussed, this particular exchange had to do with Cressida. She had her name and reputation to worry about.

Taking a deep breath, Wakefield went on to explain. “You are well aware of the…” He grimaced. “Auction that took place.”

His wasn’t a question, but Rothesby nodded anyway.

As Wakefield shared, he took care to omit any and all details that would properly identify Cressida. When he’d finished, the always composed Rothesby looked mildly ill.

His good humor gone, the duke unhooked his leg and sat back in his chair. “Well, hell. I’m afraid I can’t help you with this. This situation is…is…I…”

Hell, he’d managed to leave the glib Rothesby speechless.

Cursing, Wakefield ran his hands through his hair and tugged.

Rothesby wore a sympathetic look.

“I should also add,” Wakefield mumbled, “the lady…was a virgin.”

The duke had a visceral response so strong that had he not been sitting, Wakefield knew he’d have hit the floor. “She was not a Cyprian?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No, she was not. We’ve apparently met before.”

“Zounds.” Rothesby grimaced. “Well, consider this the last auction I ever take part in at The Devil’s Den or any club, for that matter.”

“I’m glad my mistake has proven a help to you, Duke,” Wakefield muttered. “Now if we can return to my situation.”

The duke lay his arms on the sides of his chair and drummed his fingertips. Suddenly, he stopped that infernal tapping. “You can always marry the lady.”

Wakefield stared at him. “ That is your solution ?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Isn’t it possible that may have been the lady’s plan?”

“Yes, very possibly,” Rothesby acknowledged. “The thought did enter my head.”

Wakefield frowned. Could the lady be capable of such treachery? He didn’t want to believe so, because, hell, he… liked her . He admired her spirit and willingness to defend herself against a dolt like him.

“The fact remains, Wakefield,” Rothesby said, recalling his attention. “You did take the lady’s virginity, and by your own account, you know her.”

Wakefield exploded to his feet. “I don’t know her. I cannot recall her.”

Rothesby tilted his head back but didn’t bother to stand. “Well, she knows you.”

“It’s the bloody ton ,” Wakefield railed. “We all know one another. It’s an incestuous affair.”

The duke pulled another face. “Come on now, fellow. These are the women we’re going to have to marry. Don’t need to go painting them like they’re some sisters or cousins.” He paused. “Though, in fairness, most of them are cousins.”

“What else do you have, Rothesby?” Wakefield urged impatiently.

The gentleman shook his head. “What else do I have?”

Horror set in. “My God, this is the only advice you had. You are bloody useless, Rothesby.”

“I’m bloody useless?” the duke scoffed. “This from a man who has no possible solution of his own, is desperate for help, and called me…” He must have seen something in Wakefield’s eyes. For he sharpened his eyes on him. “Wait, you do have an idea.”

Wakefield nodded. “I thought it’d be best to wait until the lady has her courses and determine whether marriage is necessary.”

Rothesby stood. “Well, there you go. You have it all figured out. It turns out, you don’t need me—”

“I do because I have to determine just how to keep her under wraps as the lady doesn’t want to be kept under wraps.”

Rothesby looked at the door, then Wakefield. The gentleman reclaimed his seat. “You’re going to have to explain exactly what you mean when you say keep her under wraps .”

With his neck absurdly hot, Wakefield found himself wrestling violently with his cravat.

The duke pointed. “In your seat like a friend. That’s what friends do.”

Wakefield sat. “I asked her to remain here.”

It had been so long since Wakefield had a real friend, he’d quite forgotten the ways between them. The only chap he’d really let close was Waters, and then Waters had gone off and married Marcia.

The duke looked about. “Do you mean here, in the residence where you keep your mistresses?”

Wakefield nodded.

Rothesby burst out laughing for a second time. “Oh, my God, this is bloody rich.” He wiped moisture from the corner of his eyes with no signs of his humor letting up.

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing,” Wakefield grumbled.

Why had he invited Rothesby again?

“Your solution to having taken a virgin’s innocence was to set her up inside the place where you keep your mistresses? A lady who, by your own admission, was an innocent and belongs to the ton .” The duke gave him a pitying look. “My God, you do need help, but I’m not going to be able to offer you any sound advice, as you’re off your bloody head.”

“She’s proving resistant to the idea of remaining here.”

“My goodness,” Rothesby deadpanned, “I wonder why.”

Stirrings of guilt assailed him, and not in a small part because his friend had just pointed out how dastardly Wakefield had been in his handling of the entire affair with Cressida.

“It is essential she remain, Rothesby.” Surely, the other man saw why.

“And why can’t she stay inside her own bloody residence?” Rothesby asked in complete befuddlement.

Apparently, the duke needed clarifying after all.

“If she finds a lover in the interim, it will be impossible to say if any babe conceived is mine.”

“My God, Wakefield,” he whispered. “Please, please, for the love of God, do not tell me you said any of this to the lady.”

At Wakefield’s answering silence, the duke’s eyes bulged.

Rothesby dropped his hands on his knees and leaned over. “Wakefield, let me ask you a question? Why in hell would the lady wish to stay when you’re being such a bloody prick?”

The noble fellow made no attempt to conceal his disappointment and distaste.

Shame was fast becoming an all-too-familiar emotion for Wakefield. He attempted to make the other man see. “We aren’t all blessed with both fine family lines and title and a grand reputation to go with it.”

“You mean like me?” Rothesby nodded slowly and sat back. “I’d argue making amends for our father’s failings means nothing when one lets down one’s own moral code.”

This time, when Rothesby stood, it felt like the greatest moral lashing.

Wakefield deserved far more than an emotional whipping.

“Do you want my advice?” Rothesby quietly asked. “In all seriousness this time?” He didn’t bother waiting for Wakefield to answer. “Stop being such a bloody prim, proper arse. If you’re going to attend clubs like The Devil’s Den and Forbidden Pleasures and whatever other debauched ones you frequent, then be a man about it, and stop taking your fears and frustrations out on the young lady whose virginity you took. And, Wakefield?”

“Yes?” Wakefield said this time, meaning it and wanting it.

“Do what you do best and be the gentleman you actually are.” Rothesby clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Explain to the young lady that you are concerned about her and her possible circumstances, and if your fear comes to fruition, you were the one who got her that way.”

“…If there’s a child, there’s also the matter of determining if the babe is…”

His shoulders slumped.

God, what a bloody bastard he’d been to lob those marks against her character. Wakefield should be castrated.

Humbled, he managed a nod so the other man knew he’d heard him.

“One more thing, Wakefield,” the duke said quietly. “Don’t keep her under lock and key like she’s a prisoner. Treat her as a woman who may very well be carrying your babe and trust her enough to live her life. And, if she ends up coming back to you and telling you she’s with child, accept what she says, and don’t make her feel unworthy.”

“I…” Wakefield grimaced. “I needed to hear this.”

Rothesby snorted. “Bloody right you did.”

Feeling remarkably…better from all that, Wakefield bowed his head. “That was quite the set-down. Thank you for that.”

Rothesby’s carefree grin was back in place. “Glad to help.”

Rap-Rap-Rap .

Both men started. Rothesby shot him a questioning look.

Wakefield shook his head in return. He wasn’t expecting anyone. At least not anyone other than…

Stetson spoke loudly, clearly meaning for his employer to hear. “His Lordship said he’s not accepting visitors, miss.”

Next came Cressida’s answering—and very arch—reply. “That’s convenient, as I’m not a visitor. I actually happen to be a prisoner. So, if you would, step out of my way.”

Wakefield felt all the blood leave his face. “Christ,” he hissed.

She was here! Desperate to get Rothesby out before Cressida accidentally made herself discovered, he looked to the other man for a solution.

Alas, the duke wore an equally panicked expression and searched about the way a child did for a space to hide in hide-and-seek. The gentleman briefly considered the window.

Wakefield gave the floor-to-ceiling panes an even longer look.

The door panel exploded open, and Cressida stormed inside.

“My lord, I will not be made a prisoner by any…” Cressida’s cheeks drained of color. Her startled gaze flew from Wakefield to Rothesby and then back again to Wakefield.

Wakefield caught the shock of recognition in the peer’s gaze and knew the instant Rothesby identified Cressida by her tawny, brown-gold curls, now drawn back into an elegant chignon.

Wakefield gritted his teeth.

Satan’s Army. This day cannot possibly get any worse.