The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,114

do, hearts to break, and all that.”

“You’re leaving?” Winter asked.

Westmore winked. “I’ll see you when I see you, my friend. Business doesn’t run itself in London, you know. Not all of us have wives to keep us abed every day of the week.”

“You know, you could have a wife, if you wanted,” Winter said.

“You can’t chain this kind of charm down.” He grinned and nodded briskly to Kendrick. “Your Grace.”

There was laughter as Westmore left the room, before Winter leaped to his feet and followed his friend out.

“Everything all right?” Isobel asked him when he returned a few moments later.

He kissed her brow. “Yes, that’s Westmore for you, unpredictable at the best of times.”

Dinner culminated soon after that, and she and Winter decided to take a walk through the fragrant gardens. They bade the others goodnight, the duke pulling them both into a remarkably affectionate embrace, and once more saying how delighted he was.

By the time she and Winter had made it into the gardens, they were both in need of a walk. Lamps were lit at frequent intervals along the path. The evening air was fresh, with the barest hint of rain on the light breeze.

“Kendrick is happy with the news,” Isobel said, squealing as Winter turned and spun her up into his arms.

“Not as happy as I am, my love.”

Her husband carried her over to a bench beneath a wide elm tree and sat down beside her. “Soon I will be too big to carry,” she said, smoothing a hand over her middle.

“You’ll never be too much for me. You and any children we have.”

She smiled. “Children?”

“I want at least eight.”

Isobel giggled and pulled a face. “For a man who didn’t want children, you’ve certainly changed your tune. Two.”

“Six, if I must.”

“Three, then,” she said.

“Four and we can call it even.”

Isobel opened her mouth to protest and then he kissed her, his skill and sweetness making her forget her entire train of thought. In fact, when he pulled away, she was hard pressed to remember where she was and how she’d come to be there.

“You are devious, sir!”

Her cheeky husband grinned. “All’s fair in love and war, my beauty.”

…

Winter hadn’t wanted to return to town, instead enjoying the idyllic peace—and pleasures—of his country estate, but duty was an unforgiving master, if left untended for too long. Happily, Isobel had agreed to return with him, and as such, it hadn’t been as dreary as he’d expected. London was teeming with the end of the season almost upon them, and the Marquess and Marchioness of Roth were invited everywhere.

Besides that, to his immense surprise, Isobel had insisted on learning about the inner workings of the shelter house in the past weeks. She hoped to take over some of the duties from Matteo, specifically overseeing general management duties and fund allocation. It overwhelmed Winter how much it affected him that Isobel wanted to be involved. No other society lady of his acquaintance volunteered to work with the poor and downtrodden or get their hands dirty. Then again, his wife wasn’t like any other woman. She continued to astound him—in every conceivable way—from the bedroom to business to the ballroom.

He’d just finished meeting with Bow Street that had run quite late. The head of the Runners had wanted to follow up with him to close out the open investigation into his attack. Edmund Cain was sentenced to prison for the attempted murder of a peer, and Lady Vittorina Carpalo had been returned to the care of her father, and rumor had it, he’d sent her to an Italian convent the next day. Winter had no doubt she’d find some way to convince her father that she’d repented at some point, but that was for Lord Carpalo to worry about.

When the coach arrived at Vance House—he’d instructed Matteo to put 15 Audley Street on the market—he hurried up the stairs, handing his cloak off to a frowning Ludlow. “I know I’m late. Glowering at me doesn’t make time go any quicker.”

“But I enjoy it so,” the butler said in the driest possible tone.

“You’re lucky my wife likes you or I’d sack you.”

Ludlow gave him an unperturbed look. “You’re lucky she tolerates you or you’d be sleeping in the guest chamber.”

“Touché.”

Winter took the stairs two at a time, only to stop at the door to their bedchamber, watching as his wife sat at her dresser, fastening a pair of earbobs. Dressed in a midnight-colored gown, her hair twisted up into an intricate updo, she