Page 102 of The Rakehell of Roth
“Shut up.”
With Matteo’s help, Winter was dressed in record time, and soon they were on their way to the Lady Hammerton’s mid-season ball. In the carriage, Isobel couldn’t stop smiling. Winter would be in a pleasant mood, too, if not for the baton in his trousers. He adjusted himself, watching as Isobel hid her grin behind a gloved hand. Minx. Two could play at this game.
“You’ll pay for this, you know,” he promised softly.
Her brilliant eyes met his. “I’m aware.”
“First, I’ll rip that dress to shreds,” he said in a low voice. “Next, I’ll remove those silk stockings, warmed from the heat of your body, lash them around your wrists, and bind you to the bedposts for my pleasure.” Her sudden inhalation made him grin, her cheeks flushing with hot, delicious color. “Then when I’m good and ready, I’ll peel your chemise and drawers off with my teeth.”
“That all sounds wonderful, Roth,” his wife purred. “If I were wearing any drawers to speak of.”
Point, set, and match to one Lady Roth.
Winter threw himself back against the squabs and bit back a groan at the thought of his sultry wife wearing nothing beneath her skirts. He almost fell to his knees like a philistine on the floor of the carriage and groveled, begging for anything—a glimpse, a touch, a taste.
“Be patient, my love,” she whispered, staring at him demurely from beneath her lashes. “Remember that good things come to those who wait.”
He knew because he’d promised her the same while driving her mindless with pleasure.
One thing was for sure, this ball was going to be bloody torture.
Epilogue
Two years later
Clarissa and Oliver’s wedding breakfast had already broken all manner of wagers for number of quarrels, number of oaths whispered, which of Clarissa’s brothers would get into a brawl—the winner said all of them—and whether Clarissa would make herself a widow before the day was done. The wager for the length of engagement had been won by none other than her husband, and considering that the date kept getting pushed out for one ludicrous reason or another, it had been anyone’s guess when it would happen.
The wedding itself at St. George’s, however, had gone off without a hitch, mostly because of the stern-faced presence of the Duke of Kendrick, whom no one wanted to aggravate or provoke. Even Winter had been on his best behavior, though he’d pulled Isobel into a deserted alcove early on.
“What are you doing?” she had whispered.
“Matteo has brought us presents from his recent trip home to Venice.” His voice lowered, his lips caressing her lobe and making her knees shake beneath her gown. “A few silk scarves and feather switches. I can’t wait to use them on you.”
She’d been properly scandalized. “Winter, we’re in achurch!”
“I know,” he’d said. “Marry me, love?”
“We’re already married.”
He’d stared into her eyes, the moment made profound by the quiet of the beautiful church. “But if we weren’t, would you have me, Isobel?”
“With all my heart.”
Eyes aglow with love, he’d kissed her so soundly that she’d been bemused for half of the ceremony. In hindsight, Isobel knew why he’d asked the question. It was the same question he asked on occasion, as if to prove to her that he would always choose her as his wife, if ever given the choice again. And her response was always the same:with all my heart. Because she would always choose him. He was her wicked knight. Her imperfect prince.Hers.
A familiar broad-shouldered figure made her veer toward the balcony doors.
“Hiding out?” Isobel whispered in her father-in-law’s ear where he stood just inside the terrace, hands clasped behind his back.
The duke turned, glancing fondly down at the sleeping baby in Isobel’s arms. “Just for a minute. How’s my lovely girl?”
“She’s worn out,” Isobel said softly, brushing a kiss to the girl’s temple. To everyone’s surprise, Juliet had been born with a shock of auburn hair. Winter had shared that Prudence’s had been that same color as a child. Her eyes, however, were the exact same shade as Isobel’s.
“You were quite terrifying this morning,” Isobel said, mentioning his no-nonsense brusqueness at the church.
A slight smile curved the corner of his mouth. “All part of the plan, Izzy dear. Otherwise, my son would have lost sight of the important things.”
“Which was?”
