Page 33 of The Rakehell of Roth
“Then why did you marry me?” she asked. “You don’t want a wife or child and wish to live the life of an eternal bachelor. You can’t stand being in my presence to even have a civil conversation. Clearly we are unsuited, so why did you even bother?”
Winter stilled. None of the answers that sprung to mind were appropriate:I wanted to bed you. I failed my sister. I wanted to be the hero, a better man.
He looked away. “You needed a husband.”
…
It hurt to hear it—the bald truth ofwhythe man she’d been infatuated with had married her—but after a few pained heartbeats, Isobel pulled herself together. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart or to berate herself for being foolishly naive.
Because what he saidwastrue. Her need of a husband had been the catalyst—a solution to escape betrothal to an unsuitable earl. What she had not expected was trading one form of the devil for another. In this case, someone who had no desire to be a husband, to be a partner, to be anything but an attention-seeking git.
Who did not want a wife nor children, apparently.
She’d come to terms with being ignored and cast aside as a wife, but the feeling of bitterness spreading in the pit of her stomach at his blatant refusal to build a family, damaged her more than she would have imagined. The picture of such a future seemed entirely too bleak…and devastatingly lonely.
Where on earth had she gone wrong?
Had she been so thoroughly mistaken in taking him for an honorable gentleman? She remembered his smiles and his devilish charm. He’d danced with her and flirted, and she’d fallen for it stock, lock, and barrel. What girl wouldn’t? But in hindsight, her own infatuation with his looks and personality might have blinded her to the truth of what lay beneath.
Because he was notthatman.
Isobel pinned her lips, feeling his heated stare track the movement, and another burst of answering warmth bloomed within her. Winter might not desire her as a wife, but he keenly desired her as a woman. Then again, if all the tomfooleries printed by the gossip rags were true, he chased anything in a skirt.
Even her…his objectionable wife.
She ground her teeth together, the desire draining out of her limbs. She wasn’t naïve—she knew men like Winter had needs, and from what she’d seen at 15 Audley Street, she hoped he’d been smart and protected himself. Even the Prince Regent was rumored to have contracted syphilis. The rogues of the whole Carlton House set were infamous womanizers. Lady Darcy had done an illuminating exposé on sexual health, including the use of French letters, English riding coats, sponges, and the like, that had been quite eye-opening. All thanks to Clarissa, her unsuspecting brothers, and an enormous amount of blush-inducing research.
A butterfly landed on her skirts and she studied it, wanting to touch its gossamer wings, but knowing the moment she tried, it would fly away. Eventually, the delicate thing took to the skies in search of sweeter pastures.
Isobel loosed a bitter breath. Winter wasn’t a butterfly, and neither was he delicate.
With a nod, she sent her husband an even stare. “I needed a spouse, but I did not expect to be held prisoner in the country.”
“A prisoner?” he scoffed. “In a sprawling manor worth a bloody fortune?”
“Yourfather’sestate,” she said softly.
His mouth tightened as he uncurled that broad body of his and rose easily to his feet to move past the well. “I don’t see you complaining. You seem to have gotten rather close to the duke, after all.”
“By necessity, I assure you.”
He huffed a laugh over his shoulder. “Hedging your bets, my lady?”
It took a moment for his meaning to register, and when it did, Isobel nearly screamed.Oh, that cockle-brained cur!
Was he honestly suggesting that she was angling for his father? How dare he be so crass? Isobel wound her fists into her skirts, thankful that he’d risen and couldn’t see the disbelief and fury on her face. Ofcoursehe would assume something so utterly wrong.
God, he made her want to kick him!
She couldn’t fathom what an ass he was in her presence and yet so gentle in the company of Iz. Then again, he had nothing to prove with a humble groom. No mask to wear. No games to play. No meddling wives to chase away. Her eyes narrowed. That seemed to be exactly what he wanted…for her to be angry. To quit London. Quithim.
Well, two could play at that game.
“No, I’m not after your father,” she said, standing, her eyes finding him where he now stood at the edge of the clearing near a cluster of blooming rosebushes. His hooded gaze rested on her, but he kept his distance, as though he didn’t trust himself. “But if I were, why would that bother you? You seem tohedge your betsat every opportunity here in London.”
A strange noise emitted from his chest, and after a beat, she registered it as laughter. Cold, hollow, unfeeling laughter. “That’s a husband’s prerogative, darling. And you shouldn’t have come to town if you did not wish your delicate senses to be offended.”
“I’m not blind,” Isobel snarled. “I can read, and the newssheets reach Chelmsford just as well.” She stalked toward him and stopped just short of her skirts brushing his boot-clad toes. “Trust me, I’m well aware of your reputation, and my senses are inured to anything you have done or can possibly do.”
