Page 93 of The Rakehell of Roth
“What would Lady Darcy do?” she murmured.
Lady Darcy would prevail. She would love fiercely and wholly, even if there was a risk of loss or the promise of pain because love was always worth it.
Isobel watched the sun descend behind the hills, turning the landscape into a spectacular medley of oranges, golds, and reds. The natural beauty took her breath away. As much as she’d enjoyed the excitement of London, nothing could beat a perfect country sunset. She inhaled deeply, smelling the faint scent of wild roses and freshly turned soil on the light breeze.
Hellion wandered over and knickered softly, as if reminding her mistress that it was time to ride back before it got too dark. That, and she was probably hungry.
“I hear you, girl,” Isobel said, tucking her loose braid up into the confines of her cap. She patted the mare’s glossy neck as the horse gently nuzzled her. Isobel wondered if the mare sensed her sadness. She wouldn’t put it past Hellion—the horse was smarter than most. She stroked her velvety nose, staring into her intelligent brown eyes. “At least, I’ll always have you.”
A thundering of hooves in the distance reached her ears. Isobel squinted into the dying flares of the sunset. A groom on a black horse galloped up the hill from the stables. Randolph or Mrs. Butterfield must have gotten worried and sent someone out to find her.
She checked Hellion’s cinches, tightening the straps and making sure everything was in place before turning to reassure whichever groom they’d sent that she was fine and well.
But when she looked up, her breath stuck in her throat at the sight of one windblown and utterly gorgeous Marquess of Roth. A smile curved his generous lips, those gray eyes gleaming like pieces of silver as he dismounted. It was all Isobel could do to keep her legs locked in place.
She blinked, half expecting that she’d conjured him with her thoughts, but no, when she raised her lashes, he was still standing there. So tall and proud and astonishingly handsome that her anguished heart stuttered.
Her eyes tracked over his fading injuries. The wound at his temple was still a motley of colors, though it was fading. He looked fit and healthy. Why was he here? Why had he come? She opened her mouth to ask but he beat her to it.
“Why, Master Iz. You’re just the person I was looking for.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pleasure in the bedchamber isn’t the answer to a good marriage, but it is the answer to a mutually satisfying one.
– Lady Darcy
Christ, his wife had never looked more beautiful. Dressed in the finest of gowns or a pair of worn breeches or nothing at all, she was easily the most stunning thing Winter had ever seen. And right now, she glowed, limned in the fading light of the sunset, like the earthly angel she was. He wanted to drop to his knees and revere her as she deserved. Beg her forgiveness for being such a stubborn jackass. Lay himself bare before her and take whatever she chose to give.
“What are you doing here?” Isobel stammered, pulling the cap from her head, her cheeks going an endearing shade of pink.
“I told you,” he said with a pointed stare to her breeches. “Looking for Iz.”
Something like fire flickered in her pale eyes for a scant second, her chin lifting. “You found me. What do you want?”
“I’d like him to get an urgent message to his mistress. That I, Winter Ridley Valiant Vance, would like to—”
“Wait, Valiant is your middle name?” she interrupted.
He gave a shrug. “No, but I thought it would win me some points of partiality.”
“That’s not how middle names work,” she said in a prim voice, but he could see that she was fighting a smile.
“Nicknames, then?”
“We shall see, though vainglorious comes to mind as a more suitable choice,” she said and waved an arm. “Carry on, Lord Valiant. Iz has duties to attend to.”
Winter bit back his own smile. God, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but he knew that he had to make amends for the hurt he’d caused. Words had the power to build and demolish, and he needed to use his to fix what he’d so stupidly destroyed.
“I would like to beg Lady Roth’s forgiveness for being an utter ass, and since you are someone she trusts implicitly, what can I do to win back her love?”
Isobel blinked, her breath exhaling in a rush. “You wish to win herlove?”
“Yes.” He gave a wry smile. “Though I expect I look a fright at the moment with my unsightly injuries. She might find me too hideous to look upon.”
“That must have been quite a blow to your ego,” she replied. “And to your many toad-eaters.”
He shot her a wounded look. “There’s only one person’s opinion that matters to me, and that is my wife’s. Between you and me, she’s my favorite toadie. I’ve missed her terribly.”
