The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,38
were so hell-bent on living your most glorious life then I would get on with mine. If you do not require me to beget an heir, then this discussion is moot. I’ll find another way.”
Winter’s stormy eyes narrowed to pinpricks, as if memorizing every dip, every curve in her mouth. Her lips tingled, and she licked them, catching the tip of his thumb in the process. His fingers firmed on her jaw, eyes flaring, when he leaned down as though he intended to replace his fingertip with his mouth. For an agonizing second, Isobel thought he might kiss her, but then he yanked away with a growl, his hand falling to his side.
“What did you mean by that?”
She frowned at his emphatic words. “By what?”
“That you’ll find another way?”
She tossed her head and stared at him, her chin jutting in challenge. “I’ve made no secret that I want to start a family, Winter, and I will do that with or without you. There are many children in need of care. I always wanted children of my own, but I know better than to expect this from you. You’ve made it perfectly clear that this isn’t what you want.”
Air hit her flushed cheeks when he whirled toward the maze’s exit. Winter glanced over his shoulder, jaw working, an ugly chuckle breaking from him. He turned to face her, and the awful look on his face made her entire body brace for the impact of his reply. “You’re right, Isobel, it’s not. I would make the worst sort of father, worse even than my own.”
Isobel took a step toward him and halted at the ice in his stare. “He’s not the same man you knew, Winter.”
“And you think three years makes you an expert? I’ve dealt with him my entire life, been a living pawn on his chessboard—one to be moved and discarded at will, so trust me when I say without a shadow of a doubt that you are mistaken.”
“So that’s it, then?” she bit out. “You’ll walk away from me?”
Her cheeks heated at her boldness, but he only shrugged. “By law, I already have, dearest. Wedded and bedded as they say. Go back to Chelmsford where you belong. Or stay in London if you prefer. But there’s no way in hell either of us will ever share the same bed again.”
Her temper pricked at his stony dismissal, and she gave in to it heedlessly. “And why, pray tell, is that?”
“One and done, love.”
Stung, Isobel glared at him, fingers knotting into her skirts as she fought the urge to rail and scream. It wasn’t her fault she was inexperienced. It was sodding well his! And yet, he was blaming her for it. Her eyes narrowed as something Clarissa had shared came back to her—a suspicion that Winter didn’t engage with women at his own assemblies, and hadn’t for the better part of five years. She loosed a breath. Could such a rumor be true?
“Care to make a wager on that?”
Winter’s eyes glinted with amusement. “I don’t make wagers for sport, but if I were a betting man, it wouldn’t take much to have you running back to Chelmsford with your tail between your legs within the month, wife.”
The gauntlet fell between them, striking nerves in her body she didn’t know she possessed. Making her temper boil with indignation. He expected she would flee his very presence like the mouse he accused her of being? Well, she was no mouse. Not anymore.
“I’ll wager that the only thing between my legs, darling, will be you,” she countered saucily, her chin hiking with resolve as she stalked toward him. “And you’ll beg me for that honor.”
His eyes smoldered beneath his brows. “Is that so?”
“Count on it.”
Then Isobel did the one thing she knew he would not expect. She shoved herself up to her tiptoes, grabbed his lapels, and planted a hard kiss on his stunned mouth before slipping between the hedges.
Chapter Nine
Don’t be afraid to be selective. Explore the menu. Be adventurous. No one wants to be stuck eating spotted dick for the rest of their lives.
– Lady Darcy
Three days later and Winter could still feel the warm press of his wife’s lips, taste the tart sweetness of her mouth. The kiss had been chaste, the arousal it had spawned had not been. He’d been in a coil for some time following, forced to cool his ardor on that bloody bench in the maze until he was in an appropriate state to return to