The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,36
about was hearing her moaning it, sobbing it, screaming it to the heavens. Anger twined with desire, and it was only by the most valiant of efforts that he held himself in place instead of bending her over that bench, fisting his fingers in the golden skeins of her hair, and giving in to his basest desires then and there.
He doubted his sweet, innocent wife would approve.
He’d only taken her once in the customary way that wouldn’t terrify a virgin. However, even thinking of her in such an erotic position—back arched, bodice down, and breasts filling his palms—was enough to inflame his blood anew. A small whimper escaped her lips as though she could sense his depraved thoughts…and his thinning control, held only by the smallest of tethers.
Winter’s gaze snapped up. Her nostrils flared, pupils dilating while her body tensed, preparing itself to flee as though cognizant of being hunted by something innately dangerous. But instead of bolting as he fully expected her to, she held her ground, chest rising with shortened huffs. He tore his gaze away from the rosy flesh of her bosom, drawn up to where the tip of her tongue slipped out to sweep those plump lips.
He wanted to do depraved things to that rosebud mouth. Kiss it. Fuck it. Own it.
Christ, what the hell was wrong with him?
“No,” he bit out. “No.”
“No to being a husband?” she asked, breathless. “I’m your wife. It isn’t unreasonable for me to want you in my life, or the next step that comes with any marriage…a family. A child. Or are you incapable of it?”
His head flew up at that, ice spearing through him.
She frowned. “Don’t you require an heir?”
His jaw clenched tight, the words a much-needed bucket of reason to his ruthless desires, bringing his sanity back like a sharp slap. “You are mistaken, Isobel. I do not want children. I am not in need of an heir, as I have Oliver, and Lord knows how much he craves the title.”
“Then why did you marry me?” she asked. “You don’t want a wife or child and wish to live the life of an eternal bachelor. You can’t stand being in my presence to even have a civil conversation. Clearly we are unsuited, so why did you even bother?”
Winter stilled. None of the answers that sprung to mind were appropriate: I wanted to bed you. I failed my sister. I wanted to be the hero, a better man.
He looked away. “You needed a husband.”
…
It hurt to hear it—the bald truth of why the man she’d been infatuated with had married her—but after a few pained heartbeats, Isobel pulled herself together. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart or to berate herself for being foolishly naive.
Because what he said was true. Her need of a husband had been the catalyst—a solution to escape betrothal to an unsuitable earl. What she had not expected was trading one form of the devil for another. In this case, someone who had no desire to be a husband, to be a partner, to be anything but an attention-seeking git.
Who did not want a wife nor children, apparently.
She’d come to terms with being ignored and cast aside as a wife, but the feeling of bitterness spreading in the pit of her stomach at his blatant refusal to build a family, damaged her more than she would have imagined. The picture of such a future seemed entirely too bleak…and devastatingly lonely.
Where on earth had she gone wrong?
Had she been so thoroughly mistaken in taking him for an honorable gentleman? She remembered his smiles and his devilish charm. He’d danced with her and flirted, and she’d fallen for it stock, lock, and barrel. What girl wouldn’t? But in hindsight, her own infatuation with his looks and personality might have blinded her to the truth of what lay beneath.
Because he was not that man.
Isobel pinned her lips, feeling his heated stare track the movement, and another burst of answering warmth bloomed within her. Winter might not desire her as a wife, but he keenly desired her as a woman. Then again, if all the tomfooleries printed by the gossip rags were true, he chased anything in a skirt.
Even her…his objectionable wife.
She ground her teeth together, the desire draining out of her limbs. She wasn’t naïve—she knew men like Winter had needs, and from what she’d seen at 15 Audley Street, she hoped he’d been smart and protected himself. Even the Prince Regent was rumored to have contracted syphilis.