Page 98 of The Rakehell of Roth
Winter felt his sated body stir as he watched his sultry wife saunter across the room to the breakfast tray that had been delivered earlier. Breakfast being a stretch since it was already late afternoon. It had been a long, and undeniably pleasurable, night…one that he intended to repeat as often as possible.
Even in a silk robe, Isobel exuded sensuality. The golden coils of her hair were piled into a loose top knot, and she wore the look of a thoroughly satisfied woman.
He didn’t miss her slight wince as she sat in a chair near the window.
“Sore, love?” he asked.
The smile she gave him radiant, her cheeks going pink. “A bit.”
“I can rub it better.”
“If I come near you, we both know what’s going to happen,” she said wryly. “And my body needs food, Lord Insatiable.”
He threw a hand to his chest. “It’s not my fault my wife is a ruthless temptress.”
“Ruthless, am I?” she shot back. “If I recall, I wasn’t the one who was ruthless.”
Her blush intensified as she no doubt recalled being restrained while he’d pleasured her until they were both mad with lust. The coupling that had followed had been frantic, swift, and hard. Other times, they’d made love slowly, but for some reason, the passionate ferocity of the previous night stuck like thickened honey in his mind.
His sweet, innocent, demure wife was not as sheltered as she seemed.
And that pleased him immensely.
He rose, dragging on a robe, and met her at the small breakfast table near the window. It looked out upon Rothingham Gable’s lush gardens that even boasted an ornamental pond. A few white swans dotted its glassy surface, the late afternoon sun shimmering on the water.
Isobel had fallen in love with it the moment they’d arrived, and Winter felt a stroke of guilt that he’d been remiss in not welcoming her here before. Rothingham Gable had been his sanctuary, and despite the vulgar rumors that surrounded the estate and a few parties that his friends enjoyed, it was his home.
His beautiful marchioness poured him a cup of tea and refreshed her own, her movements both economical and elegant. Every move she made was full of grace…poetry in motion. He could watch her for hours. She sipped her tea and then bit into flaky bit of pastry. He stared, the sight of those lips and the glimpse of her even, white teeth mesmerizing. God, even the innocent act of her eating aroused him.
“You’re staring, Lord Roth,” she said over the croissant.
“Can you blame me? I’ve been ensorcelled by my nymph of a wife.” He accepted the proffered cup and sipped his tea. “So, about Lady Darcy.”
She glanced at him over the gold-edged rim of her cup. “What about her?”
“You’ve mentioned that you learned quite a bit from her.”
She smiled. “I have.”
“And I approve.” He smirked. “Heartily as it were.”
Isobel set her cup down, an odd expression of discomfort crossing her face. She rolled her lips between her teeth and cleared her throat. “I have something to confess.”
“You’re keeping secrets from your husband, Lady Roth?”
“A few,” she muttered.
His eyebrows rose at that, but he waved a hand for her to continue, despite the pinch of worry in his gut. Whatever secrets she had, she was entitled to them, given his part in leaving her alone for so long.
“I’mLady Darcy,” she said.
He blinked and nearly spit out his mouthful of tea.Thatwas not what he’d been expecting. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, half of her. Clarissa is the other half.”
Winter shook his head. What in the ever-loving hell? “Are you pulling my leg, minx?”
“I wish I was.”
