The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,11
though some would say it was more exclusive in its offerings than any other gentlemen’s club in London—he’d had to uphold a certain public image for the sake of his devoted patrons.
Even if it was a lie.
His reputation as a rogue was a definite draw for membership, and he perpetuated the pretense for one reason only—to make money. He didn’t want to touch a penny of his father’s fortune, not if he could help it, not for this. His plans had nothing to do with the duke; they were for Prue.
Most of his old set, including Prinny and the Duke of Rutland, had expected him to be the same upon his return to London after his sudden nuptials—generous with his coin and always up to show his friends a good time. And he had been, but he’d never touched another woman.
He hadn’t wanted to.
After barely a quarter of an hour with his sweetly responsive wife, every cell in his body had suddenly become partial to ice-blue eyes, creamy skin, and hair the color of sun-kissed wheat. And when she’d turned those shining eyes on him, he’d felt like he was the sun that rose in the morning and set at night.
No woman had ever looked at him as she had.
Like he was worth so much more. The way she’d lain beneath him, her gaze so trusting and ardent, and then, her words—you’re perfect—had blindsided him. Shaken him to the core. God, she had been so sweet and giving in his arms, staring at him with such hope, he’d felt it to his bones.
The weight of her faith in him had been too great. Despite the primal and unexpectedly ferocious attraction to his wife, Winter understood that he had to end it before it began. Before he started to believe in the possibility of impossible things. Before she expected things from him that he was unable to give.
With a twinge of regret, Winter shook his head. It had to be done. His marriage to her had to remain one of impartiality.
No affections. No fondness. No weakness.
“The lady has departed, my lord,” a musical baritone said from behind him.
Winter turned and looked over his shoulder as he tore off his coat and unwound his cravat. “No luck in convincing her to stay, Matteo?”
“Miss Montburn desired the main attraction, not the understudy, even if I am much better looking.” He smirked. “Her loss.”
“Indeed.” Winter grinned at his friend. With his dark good looks, athletic build, and charismatic personality, most women who came to the residence didn’t mind when Matteo turned on the charm. “Did you tell her you have more money than the king and your phallus is revered on three continents?”
A dark brow arched in amusement. “There are more important things than money, Roth.” He left the second declaration uncontested with a wink.
Winter chuckled as Matteo retreated from the room. The man had his quirks, but Winter appreciated his dry humor, his deep intelligence, and his utter genius with numbers. They’d met during Winter’s grand tour in Italy and got on so well that Winter ended up offering him a position as his man of business with an enormous salary just to get him to leave his beloved Venice.
He’d accepted both the position and Winter’s friendship, and hadn’t looked back. Over the years, he’d invested in several of Winter’s projects and oversaw most of them. Matteo seemed to have the Midas touch, but to Winter’s surprise, he gave most of his earnings away, claiming that he had no need for all of it. Even his villa in Venice had become a lodging house for people in need.
Winter had once asked him why.
Matteo had shrugged. “My mother was from a modest family. My grandparents threw her out with nothing when she was with child and she lived in poverty, making choices that no woman should have to make. It’s no hardship for me to help when I have more than enough. Everyone needs a hand sometime.”
That had given Winter the seeds for his own idea, for a fund in Prue’s memory.
It had exceeded his every expectation.
Striding down the staircase, Winter met the butler’s irritated stare. Ludlow didn’t bother to hide his feelings that Winter’s place was at his wife’s side. But Winter had known him since he was a boy, and though he wouldn’t tolerate outright insolence, he had a soft spot for the man who had smuggled him biscuits as a child when he’d been naughty, which had been often.