The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,33
not loved her in the same way. Unable to endure marriage to a man who did not return her affection, she’d died from a broken heart. Winter had vowed to never let anyone have that kind of power over him.
His brother had assumed that Winter would sooner die before marrying, and that had been true…until a girl with ice-blue eyes had needed rescuing. For some bone-deep reason, he’d wanted to be the hero. The worthy knight who saved the princess.
Maybe because he hadn’t been able to save Prue.
Despite his claims to the contrary, it hadn’t at all been about the codicil when he’d set eyes on Isobel and heard about her need for a husband. However, the marriage that had started as a means to an end for both of them was shifting.
Dangerously.
To let her in would be to lose who he was. And he couldn’t risk that.
With a sigh, he set down the cheroot case, raking a hand through his hair as he walked closer to the wall of windows at the far end of the study. Movement caught his attention when a sliver of yellow flashed in the maze at the foot of the landscaped gardens. He cracked open the window and caught the musical trill of female laughter and another glimpse of golden skirts.
He heard the lilting voice of his wife on the air. “Don’t be such homebodies, Violet and Molly! The fresh air is good for your constitution.”
“Cozy libraries suit my constitution,” one of the twins groaned out, Winter didn’t know which. His distant fourth cousins, Violet and Molly, were Kendrick’s wards since their father passed, which struck him as faintly ironic. The man could barely parent his own children, but had welcomed two more into his home.
“First to the center wins the prize,” Isobel trilled. “Hurry, Clarissa!”
“This maze is the devil’s armpit! And that sodding prize you promised better be worth it!”
Winter grinned at Clarissa’s colorful reply. He remembered thinking similar thoughts about the hedged maze as a lad when he and Oliver would play hide-and-seek during their rare childhood visits to London. His amusement faded as he thought of the well at its center and the time he’d been shoved in, though no one had been around.
Ludlow had been the one to hear his frantic cries. The ten-year-old Winter had told his father that he’d tripped and fallen in, but he had not imagined the shove of child-sized fists against his back while he’d tossed a farthing into the well’s depths. Oliver couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. It had been a step up from the toads in his bed or the angry wasp nest in his boot, but Winter had always put it down to sibling jealousy.
Though, after he’d broken his leg from a loose cinch on a saddle at twelve and was set upon by thugs at Eton a few years later, Winter could no longer discount his brother’s hostility. After Oxford, the antagonism had gone in a different direction…more in the vein of smearing his character and booting him from the duke’s favor.
Another giddy peal of laughter distracted him, and suddenly he was of the mind to head down to the maze. He strode from the study, taking the stairs to the garden two at a time. With sure steps, he cut through the hedgerows in a matter of minutes, slipping through secret gaps in the borders at precise intervals until he was at the center.
He approached the ornately bricked well and stared at the bucket hanging at the top of it. How many wishes had he and Prue made in that old thing? He’d give his fortune to the well to have one more day with her, but his sister was gone, and no amount of wishes could bring her back.
Winter sucked in a shallow breath and banished the swell of memory. The rustling of skirts and the pant of breaths as someone drew nearer made some of his tension fade.
“I can spot the gable of the well over this hedge,” he heard his wife sing out.
A frustrated female shriek echoed farther away through the thick hedgerows. “That’s it! Come on, Molly, I’m done. I’m much too hot.”
“I give up, too, because I think I’m back at the start,” Clarissa yelled. “You win. I’ll be drowning my sweaty self in a vat of lemonade in the kitchen. Or whiskey. I’m sure the duke has some hidden somewhere with sons like his.”