The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,28
time they had located a sullen Clarissa, retrieved their cloaks, and called for their carriage, both Isobel’s temper and her desire had cooled considerably. And as soon as they were en route to Vance House, the pressure in her lungs finally eased and she felt like she could breathe again. All it took was to be out of view of her husband.
Winter had met her eyes across the ballroom as she’d been saying her goodbyes and winked. It had made her even more determined to beat him. Perhaps Clarissa would have some more ideas. If her friend ever spoke to her again, that was. Clarissa had not uttered a single word since her dance with Oliver, and the coach was fraught with uncomfortable silence. Thank goodness Winter’s brother had chosen to stay. His presence would have made the journey intolerable.
It wasn’t until Isobel had bid the duke goodnight and she’d changed into her night rail that she was able to corner Clarissa in her bedchamber, already huddled under a mound of covers.
“Will you never speak to me again?” she asked the lump.
“I am sleeping, Isobel.”
Isobel sighed at the curt use of her full name. “I’m sorry you had to dance with him, but it could not be helped.”
A head popped up, green eyes blazing with fury. “You know how I feel about that man. Dancing with him was worse than purgatory. Worse than being dragged behind wild horses over a bed of nails without a stitch of clothing. Worse than…than…”
“I get it.”
“No.” She shook her head and gave a shudder. “No, you don’t.”
“It was one waltz, Clarissa,” Isobel said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, but too many people were hanging on, ready to make a scene. If you want to blame someone, you can blame me, but we both know who was truly at fault. Winter instigated the whole thing. If Oliver had left you high and dry with that rancid look on his face, people in the ballroom would have wondered what was wrong with you.” She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “And you do wish to secure a husband out of all this, don’t you?”
“Men stink,” Clarissa muttered, but she shoved the covers back in silent invitation.
With a grateful smile, Isobel scooted up and tucked in beside her best friend. “They do, don’t they?”
Clarissa turned to face her, a small grin overtaking her morose expression. “Speaking of waltzing, I thought Winter was going to deflower you then and there in the middle of the ballroom floor.”
“He already deflowered me, remember?” she said dryly.
“Pollinate, then.” She sighed. “Honestly, watching the two of you was the only way I could endure dancing with that dreary prude, Oliver. You should have heard him raging on and on about Winter’s proclivities. I almost told him that he would benefit from letting loose a little and taking a page from his brother’s book, but that man was truly born to be a vicar, not anything else. Those two could not be more polar opposites—the pervert and the prude.”
“Was it that bad?”
Clarissa rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Think of the worst possible thing you’ve ever endured and multiply it by a thousand. That still won’t cover it.”
“What happened between the two of you?” Isobel asked, curious. “Surely you used to be friends growing up. You were friends with Winter, weren’t you?
“Yes. We all were.” Clarissa’s eyes grew distant. “Unfortunately, Oliver never outgrew his childhood rivalry with Winter. It got more serious the older they became, and when Oliver got Winter injured when they were fifteen, I decided enough was enough and confronted him about it. He accused me of being nothing but a naive little girl, in love with a boy who could never love her back, and then told the duke awful lies about me.” She pursed her lips. “I was never in love with Winter. He was like another brother to me. But Oliver could never get past his own biases. The man’s a bird-witted cod’s head who can’t see past his own nose to what is right in front of him.”
Reading between the lines, Isobel gasped in disbelief. She couldn’t even focus on Clarissa’s creative name calling, though she would agree that Oliver was the worst kind of fool. “Good heavens, Clarissa, did you fancy Oliver?”
“Hush, you’ll wake the twins.”
“Stop evading and answer the question or maybe I will wake them and let them in on the juicy secret.”