The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,22

statuesque woman dressed in an ice-blue gown that was almost white in the middle of the bright ballroom. The lace-overlaid silk rippled around her as if it were alive with each elegant turn of the dance, and set off her blond hair and sun-kissed complexion to perfection.

Every fluid movement of her body suggested grace and an underlying litheness. From what he’d gathered from her groom earlier, she obviously now enjoyed horseback riding. Winter had the sudden image of her straddling him with those long limbs, her head thrown back in complete abandon. Once more, his cock decided to make its presence known, but his arousal slaked considerably as his gaze settled on her dancing partner…his father.

“The Marquess of Roth,” the majordomo intoned.

Conversation came to a screeching halt, heads swiveling in his direction, and then resumed at a fever pitch. Winter arched a sardonic brow at the rampant attention suddenly directed his way before heading down the stairs. By the shocked whispers rising toward him, he was clearly preceded by reputation. A chuckle rumbled through his chest. There was only one person who could one-up his notoriety. If only Lady Darcy were real, they would have made quite the entrance.

Winter knew the instant Isobel’s eyes landed on him, a visceral throb roaring through his body as if she’d somehow slid a palm over his skin. But before he could lock eyes with her, she twirled away, severing the raw connection.

He stopped to pay his respects to Beddingford and his new marchioness. “Good to see you, Roth,” the marquess said. “I admit, I was surprised to hear your name.”

“Don’t worry, my good man,” Winter said in an amused drawl. “I promise to behave. Now, introduce me to your better half.”

Beddingford’s besotted expression nearly made Winter’s stomach turn. “Allow me to present my beautiful wife, Lady Beddingford.”

“A pleasure, my lord,” the lovely brunette said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Twinkling brown eyes without the usual judgment he’d come to expect met his, as the marchioness offered him a regal nod. She was a beauty, one he did not recognize though she looked vaguely familiar.

“Have we met?” he asked.

Beddingford let out a laugh. “No, and thank God for it. We all know of your repute with the fairer sex. I would not have stood a chance.”

Lady Beddingford patted her husband’s arm, her warm brown eyes shining with affection, and joined in his laughter. “Of course you would have.” She shot Winter a mischievous glance. “And while the devastating Lord Roth may set all the ladies’ hearts afire, mine only flutters for one particular marquess. Besides, Lord Roth is married, is he not?”

“Ah, yes, Roth, what a colossal secret you’ve kept from everyone,” Beddingford said. “If Lady Roth hadn’t arrived in London with the elusive Duke of Kendrick on her arm as her very vocal advocate, no one would have believed her claims.”

Winter’s mouth flattened. He curbed the violence of his words for the sake of the lady present. “If I recall, my marriage was announced quite publicly three years ago at Lady Hammerton’s yule ball. It wasn’t a secret. You were there, too, Beds.”

The man colored at the old nickname with an apologetic glance to his wife. “Yes, well, but then you returned to town without the new Lady Roth. So everyone assumed that you had cried off the thing, or annulled it, or whatever.”

“No.”

To Winter’s surprise, Lady Beddingford cleared her throat and grinned up at her doting husband. “Now that that misunderstanding has been cleared up, I must hear about this nickname, darling. Beds, is it? It sounds too intriguing for words.”

“My dear—”

“Don’t make me ask Lord Roth,” she teased with a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be only too happy to share some of your wild stories as young bucks.”

The man’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “He most certainly will not.”

Winter laughed as Beddingford abruptly steered his wife toward the ballroom floor with a panicked look on his face. He couldn’t recall seeing his old friend ever looking so infatuated with a woman. Then again, Beddingford had never kept pace with the rest of their set. He’d attended all the requisite balls and maintained a decent reputation, whereas Winter had done the opposite. Anything to destroy his father’s perfect illusion of the Vance family. The man had sent his wife to her death and his only daughter into addiction. The cold devil deserved everything that Winter had given him.

His gaze wandered to where his father was escorting Isobel toward the refreshments