Page 53 of The Rakehell of Roth
“It was a long time ago.”
Side by side, they trotted in silence through Hyde Park for a while. She risked a peek at him through the gap in her mask and cap, but his attention was on the path in front of them as they cantered along the winding Serpentine. The lake glittered from the rays of the afternoon sun, a bevy of swans landing gracefully in the distance. If she wasn’t so nervous about giving herself away, she would have stopped to stare. As it was, everything inside her was caught up in the man at her side.
“How did she die?” she asked.
“Opium,” he murmured. “I couldn’t save her. Oliver and I were too late.”
“Is that why you don’t get along?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, and she wanted to kick herself. Damn and blast, she was IznotIsobel. A groom, not his wife. She’d let her emotions overrun her. He would see through her for sure.
“We never have,” he finally said. “Not as children, nor as men. Prue was the glue that held us together, and Oliver is driven to be everything I am not.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “He should have been duke, not me.”
“No.” It was out before she could curb her tongue, and she felt his gaze flick to her. “I mean, you’re the firstborn. It’s your right and duty.”
“What do you know of duty, young Iz?”
She faltered, then tossed her chin. “I know that running away from it is never the answer.”
“And do you know that from experience?” He made a tutting noise. “Were your parents local gentry in some country parish? You’re educated, lad. A fool would know it. So why are you here apprenticing to be a groom? Running fromduty?”
God, he was sharp. Or perhaps she wasn’t as convincing as she should be. Isobel pinned her lips and urged Hellion into a quicker gait. Let him assume what he wanted. She risked exposing herself if she tried to explain. He caught up to her after a few minutes and, despite the earlier spike of tension, they fell back into silence.
“It’s complicated.” His low voice shivered through her. “With the duke and me. My father is a hard man. Autocratic andducalto a fault. I could never measure up as a boy, and as a man, I vowed not to.” He trailed off, but Isobel said nothing. This rare glimpse into her husband was more than she’d expected. He wanted to speak and he felt comfortable enough to do so. “My mother died of a broken heart. He could never love her as she loved him. And my sister…” He fought audibly for breath. “When she died, she took all the light with her. I blamed him for it. No one could measure up to his exacting standards, not my mother, not Prue, and not me. No one bar Oliver even cared to try.”
She bit back a suspicious sniff, and a heavy, solemn gaze slid to her. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s no burden for a stripling.”
“I’m older than I look.” Her voice emerged as a croak. “I’m sorry for your loss, too. But at least you have Lady Roth to shoulder your burdens. She cares for you.”
“Does she?” His voice was so soft, she barely caught it.
“I heard it from her own lips, milord.”
Once more they lapsed into silence as they took the last turn toward the eastern edge of the park to return to Mayfair. Within short order, they were riding back into the Vance House mews and dismounting, and for a moment, Isobel mourned the loss of privacy and the moments they’d shared.
“I must be off.” A large hand came down on her shoulder, the light touch making her want to flee and nestle into him at the same time.
“What will you do?” Isobel asked. She didn’t have to explain as his gaze went to the windows of his father’s study.
“Duty is a noose, one I wish to avoid at all cost.”
She shook her head, unsurprised by the return to normal, caustic Winter. “And when the title falls to you, what of your tenants? The people who depend on you.”
“Oliver is much better suited to the task than a gambler, a rake, and a wastrel.”
She stared at him from under her cap, careful to keep her face in shadow. His beautiful gray gaze glittered in the dappled sunlight, breaking down the walls of her heart. “You’re more than that, milord.”
“Who says?You?”
“Squire turned stable boy turned sage.” She thrust her hands into her pockets and gave an insolent whistle. “You’d do best to listen, your lordship.” Before he could answer, she peered at the house. “There’s Lady Roth and Miss Clarissa now. Looks like they’ve been out spending your money.”
In the moment he took to look over his shoulder, she slipped away.
Chapter Fourteen
Dearest Friend, they say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. I say the fine edge between them is passion. And besides, a little hate-fucking never hurt anyone.
– Lady Darcy
