The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,40
a pair of fully functional eyes. Without a doubt, he was very handsome.
“What is your name?”
He bowed. “I am Matteo, Lady Roth.”
“And what purpose do you serve to my husband?”
“I am his man of affairs, business partner, sometimes valet, and friend, among other things,” he replied. “Lord Roth wishes to have your reply, my lady.”
She let out a breath. “What exactly is The Silver Scythe? A social club?”
His mouth bowed into a smile. “I will let Roth educate you on its many mysteries.”
Something in the way he said the last two words made a frisson of nerves wind down her spine. Clarissa had mentioned The Silver Scythe before. It’d been the place that Oliver had met with the unnamed earl that Clarissa had visited when following him in secret.
Isobel felt the beginnings of interest blooming. She was certain the sudden invitation had something to do with her parting challenge in the maze. It was a feint, and one intended to make her lose.
She glanced down at the elegant cardstock. “It’s a masquerade? I’m afraid I don’t have anything to—”
Lifting an arm, Matteo nodded and signaled to the coachman waiting at the entry with several large boxes in his arms. “With Lord Roth’s compliments.”
Isobel frowned, recognizing the inscription of Madame Pinot’s shop. “He’s thought of everything, hasn’t he? I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.
“Say yes, my lady,” Matteo said, dismissing the man once the boxes were in place on the low table.
She had no other choice. Saying no was tantamount to admitting defeat. She might as well run back to Chelmsford exactly as he’d said, with her tail tucked meekly between her legs. Isobel drew a breath and straightened her spine. She would do what she must.
“Have you known his lordship long, Matteo?” she asked, slipping the cover off one of the boxes and inhaling sharply at the first peek of shimmering amethyst satin shot through with silver thread. It was the most magnificent color she’d ever seen. The nerves in the pit of her stomach coalesced into warmth.
Focus, she commanded herself. This was all a game, nothing more.
“I’ve known Lord Roth for eight years.”
So five years before they’d been married. She’d been right in guessing they’d met during his travels. “He’s been a good friend to you?”
A fierce intelligence gleamed in the depths of the man’s eyes as they burned through her, past her whispered question to the unvoiced fears fluttering within. “Roth is a decent man, my lady. Complicated, but steadfast at the heart of it.”
“He says he doesn’t have a heart.”
To her surprise, Matteo chuckled, a pleasant sound that made her own lips curl in return. “That sounds like something he would say. I suppose you will have to find out for yourself whether he does or not.”
“You won’t tell me?”
“Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”
“Shakespeare?” Disbelieving laughter burst from her. “I’m quite sure that neither love nor Cupid are words in my husband’s vocabulary.” She shook her head, her voice low as she replaced the cover on the box. “The only trap I fear is going to this club and making a complete fool of myself.”
“That will never happen. I look forward to seeing you, my lady.”
“You’ll be there?”
“Yes.” He bowed. “It was my honor, Lady Roth.”
After Matteo left, she mulled over what he’d said. He had to be addled if he believed a man like Winter would ever become prey to a cherub’s arrows. If he did indeed have a heart, it was walled up behind layers upon layers of iron and stone, and fortified by sheer mulishness.
Isobel signaled for the waiting footman to ferry the boxes up to her chamber, where she knew her very curious friends would be waiting, having no doubt attempted to eavesdrop on the conversation. Sure enough, they fell upon her in a frenzy the moment she reached the top of the landing.
“I’m surprised you three did not tumble down the staircase,” Isobel teased. “In a sweaty, drooling pile.”
“Dear Lord, stop stalling, woman, who was he?” Molly fairly squealed, which was rather unlike the dour twin who usually scoffed at their frivolity.
Clarissa fanned herself. “Good gracious, he was so beautiful that I almost clubbed him over the head and dragged him to my lair to have my wicked way with him.”
“You’d have to fight me.” Violet sighed.
Isobel twisted her lips in amusement at the girls’ calf-eyed expressions. “He’s Roth’s man of affairs.”
“What did Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious want?” Molly asked, breathless, wide eyes tracking the footmen