Page 18 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl (Seven Deadly Sins #4)

C ressida 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.

Perhaps Trudy had helped herself to some of Stanley’s spirits, which she took to sneaking out of necessity for the pain she faced in her aging joints.

Cressida checked all the rooms, even the ones she knew with an absolute certainty her old nursemaid would never be caught in, on account that there were entirely too many mice or holes in the roof. She went to the room she and Trudy shared.

Racing from the room, Cressida caught the doorjamb to keep herself upright and bolted for the baron’s chambers. “ Trudy ?” she implored, anxiety bringing her voice creeping up. On occasion, when they knew Stanley wouldn’t be back, they invaded his chambers, which were befitting a king and not the abusive toddler he was. There, they’d take turns sleeping to ensure neither of them were caught, but those were celebratory nights.

Trudy absolutely wouldn’t be here now, lounging in comfort, even if it was well deserved, as long as Cressida wasn’t there. Tears pricked her eyes and blurred her vision, and as they fell, she wiped them back angrily, desperately looking to see. Oh, God. What if Stanley and his shrew had taken the old nursemaid and were holding her until Cressida returned and did their bidding?

Panicked, knowing she’d already searched the house and Trudy was absolutely nowhere, she still bolted about, shouting her nursemaid’s name as if, in doing so, she would make the other woman materialize from thin air. Cressida took the path downstairs as quick as she’d taken the ascent and instantly regretted it. The heel of her boot caught a soft patch of rotted oak, and even as her foot stayed in place, anchoring her, her entire upper body went pitching forward.

She came down hard on her stomach. All the breath exploded from her lungs, and pain radiated throughout her body from where she’d taken the fall. Cressida lay dazed with half her body prone and her legs extended up and backwards. Blackness clouded her vision and began to narrow into little pricks of white. She’d passed out a number of times and recognized what was happening. Her brother had dealt enough powerful blows to let her know the world was going dark. She lay there and fought for calm. Breathing too fast and too hard would only send her into that total abyss of blackness.

Cressida closed her eyes and laid with her cheek upon the moldy floor. She stayed that way until the pain ebbed some and the darkness receded. She struggled to lift her lashes. A shadow fluttered and flickered.

Her gaze collided with a pair of gleaming, buckled, heeled shoes, that wide leather big enough to fit just one man’s foot—one hated man’s foot.

Christ. Hers was a prayer and a curse.

A coarse chuckle echoed around her. “Ah, my slut of a sister has returned.” Stanley towered over her, exerting his size and power.

Refusing to give him that satisfaction, Cressida mustered through the pain and climbed to her feet. She’d learned to say less to cut these exchanges short.

Stanley tugged at a white satin kerchief riddled with yellow sweat stains and wiped at his damp brow. “Well? I take it you’re good and defiled now, ready to fulfill your husband-to-be’s every horrid fantasy.” Crowing like a blackbird, he rubbed his paunch and looked around. “Where’s the old woman?”

Relief assailed her.

Trudy wasn’t here.

He didn’t have a hold on her, which also meant he didn’t have a hold on Cressida. He’d given his hand away.

Feeling ten feet tall, Cressida scraped a derisive stare over her brother. “You don’t need to concern yourself about Trudy.” Mocking the search he’d done of his own, Cressida scoured the room. “Where’s the baroness? Still warming some other man’s bed until you sell me for some coins to keep her happ—”

Her brother shot out a hand and caught her arm.

Stanley pushed his fleshy, pockmarked face so close, she gagged at the scent of garlic on him.

The cruel smile on his lips oozed satisfaction. “You still haven’t figured out that until you are married, you will still answer to me.” He wrenched Cressida’s arm behind her back.

A pained hiss slipped from between her teeth and tears filled her eyes.

“Not anymore,” she managed to squeeze out past the pain. “Since you sold me like a whore. You’ve made a powerful enemy, Stanley,” she taunted.

Benedict may mistrust her, but he’d also given every indication he would protect her, and that gave her power over the coward.

Stanley eased his grip. His jelly features wavered. “What do you mean?” he asked in his whiny tones.

“I mean, if you think I’m just going to be able to be whisked away and married to the duke, you have another thing coming. The gentleman who bought me last night is concerned I’m with child and has every intention of keeping me close until he can verify I am not with child.”

“Why, that is im-impossible!” her brother stuttered. “That is…not happening.”

“Oh,” Cressida sneered. “It most certainly is. You should have thought about the possible ramifications of introducing me to a powerful gentleman.”

His already heavily florid cheeks turned ten shades brighter. “Who is he?” he demanded.

“I’m not giving you his name.” Using her brother’s absorption in the bad news she was levying, Cressida used the opportunity to back away from him slowly. The baron stabbed a finger in her direction.

“Ah-ha. That’s because there is no gentleman.” He chortled and his big belly bounced with his mirth. “As if any gentleman would want you.” His amusement faded to a dark, sinister fury. “If there was in fact a gentleman, you’d give me his name.”

Strengthened by the idea that Benedict would stand behind her against her brother, should she so ask it, she found the courage to flash him a derisive smile. “As it so happens, he’s real. It is just I respect him and I loathe you, and I hate the idea that you might have any idea of his identity because you aren’t even fit to lick the soles of his horse’s hooves.”

Stanley caught her quick in the face with a firm backhand. Cressida went sprawling backwards. More stars filled her vision. Her cheek burned with a familiar pain. For all the ways in which her brother was slow, the one way in which he’d always proven quick was the speed with which he struck her.

She’d not, however, let him keep her down. “You want to know if he’s real? You want his identity?” she asked quietly. “Then, by God, I’ll send him to your clubs and have him humiliate you there.”

Cressida talked a good talk.

Stanley hesitated. “You expect me to believe any man—any good, honorable gentleman—who’d have access to the same clubs I do cares about you either way? You, a whore he just bought last night?”

“Not all men are like you, Stanley,” she said solemnly. “Do you truly believe Dynevor gives memberships to poor, wretched scapegraces like you? Why, he wouldn’t even allow your wife inside.”

That seemed to reach him.

“What do you expect me to tell the duke?” he wheedled.

“That’s not for me to figure out.” Cressida went and fetched her cloak. As she’d intended, Stanley’s greedy eyes did a swift assessment of the luxuriant garment.

He was stupid and cruel, but he knew the fine cut and cost of clothes, and also that Cressida had recently come by a fortune in finery. “Where’s your goon?”

Stanley pursed his lips. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“Ah.” Cressida shrugged into her cloak. “Off looking for Trudy, isn’t he? Or is it me? Perhaps both of us.”

They’d come to the conclusion that Cressida and Trudy had run off.

“Can’t you just tell him you have your courses and be done with it?”

“Why? Because I’m so eager to return home for more of your abuse and to marry some ancient nobleman?”

“I want you to report back every day.”

The hell she would. “If you think I can sneak off every day without the gentleman noticing, you’re off your head.”

“Come, you stupid slut. You and I both know you’ll be here every single day. It’s going to be every day. And do you know how I know that? Because you’re going to keep returning until you find that old bitch. Whichever one gets to her first is going to determine who has the complete power here because when I have her, I’m going to hold her and keep her here to make sure you return.”

He tightened his mouth. “If I find your old bitch first, I’ll make sure you return or she’ll pay the price.”

Dread twisted in her belly. She knew he meant it, and she hated that she couldn’t even have that perceived victory over him.

With a smug smile, her brother left—no doubt off to his clubs.

Except, when he’d gone, she felt the same newfound sense of desperation. This one stemming from the fact that she had absolutely no idea where Trudy had gone.

As such, Cressida was trapped, tethered just as much to Stanley. She couldn’t stay. Her absence would eventually be noted by Benedict’s staff, and they’d alert him.

Collecting her cloak from the hook, she draped it across her shoulders. She had just drawn her hood on when there came a distinct movement at the front door.

Cressida went motionless. Only for a moment. Her heart skidded. It was either Trudy or Fellowes, or maybe both. An idea, which didn’t horrify her. At least then she’d be able to collect Trudy and bring her back to Benedict’s residence.

Enlivened for the first time since she’d come face to face with her brother again, Cressida ran to the door, yanked it open, and stopped. She’d been wrong. There was someone else it could be. It wasn’t Trudy, and it certainly wasn’t Fellowes.

The Earl of Wakefield doffed his velvet-lined top hat. “Hello, Miss Smith.”