The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,52

her lips, Winter couldn’t look down at her. He didn’t want her to see the murder in his eyes or have her think it was directed at her.

No, his fury had its own deserving target.

“Stay with Westmore,” he said, stepping out of her grasp. “You can trust him. He’ll get you to safety after you’ve spoken to the constable and he’ll summon a doctor to see about Clarissa.”

Without looking back, he strode from the exhibition hall. The crowd cleared for him as if the deadly look on his face was enough to make people flee. Within moments, he was in his coach and on his way to Vance House.

He wasted no time storming into the foyer of his father’s residence and throwing his cloak and hat to the butler. For once, it wasn’t the duke who set him on edge. “Oliver, I know you’re here!”

Servants scattered and scurried out of his way, eyes wide as if he were an unwanted intruder. For some reason, it made him angrier. He was a stranger here, yes, but it wasn’t as though they didn’t know he was the duke’s bloody heir. Slamming the door to the study open, he found it empty, and then proceeded to stalk to the library, whereupon he found his prey, waiting as cool as a cucumber with a brandy in hand.

“To what do I owe the honor, dear brother?” Oliver drawled, lounging back in his chair. “I assume it must be quite dire to have dragged you here.”

Winter pounded a fist into the mahogany desk. “Isobel was attacked at the exhibit. The exhibit you sent her to.”

The fact that his brother goggled at him did not register until his response emerged. “What? How?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you don’t know?”

“No, I don’t. What are you talking about?”

“Isobel and Clarissa were attacked at the Royal Academy today by a pickpocketing ruffian, and the attacker told Isobel she would pay.” His anger surged to new levels. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it. Tell me and I won’t beat you to a sodding pulp.”

His brother stood, ashen-faced and mouth thinning. “I did not.”

“Where did you get the invitation?”

Oliver’s nostrils flared, but the hesitation that passed through his eyes was enough for Winter’s wrath to flare. “An earl. A business acquaintance.”

“You’re hiding something. I see it written all over you.”

“I would not hurt a woman.”

Winter’s fists clenched, itching to pummel his brother’s pursed face. “Well, too fucking bad because Clarissa was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” he whispered. “How badly? Where?”

Oliver’s reaction was almost comical, and if Winter was in a more rational state of mind, it would have struck him sooner that his brother’s distress hadn’t been for Isobel…it was for Clarissa. It was obvious that he harbored feelings for her. Deep feelings, if his horrified reaction was any indication. Given his response to the news, he would not have deliberately put either of them in danger.

It was the sole thing saving him from Winter.

“In the arm,” he said. “She’ll be fine if infection doesn’t set in.” Oliver went white, the blood draining from his face. Winter took brief satisfaction in seeing his coldhearted brother actually feeling some emotion for once, but then took pity on him. “Westmore is seeing to her and we’ve summoned Kendrick’s physician. They should be here shortly.”

The breath of relief Oliver exhaled was real. “Oh, thank God.”

Winter turned to stalk from the room, but then stopped at the door. “You might not have had a hand in this, Oliver, but Kendrick won’t be able to save your sorry arse if I find out you were in any way involved, mark my words.”

Chapter Twelve

Don’t carry a torch for a man who does not want you. It makes you look desperate and gauche. Have some pride and set your sights elsewhere.

– Lady Darcy

After the exhibition, the following days went from bad to worse in the form of one buxom Italian heiress, Lady Vittorina Carpalo. An utterly unwelcome blast from Winter’s past. He hadn’t seen Vittorina in years, not since his time in Italy. She was spoiled and vain, and didn’t care whom she had to ruin to get what she wanted. A handful of years ago, that had almost been Winter, and he’d only managed to escape her clutches by the skin of his teeth.

But now, here she was…on his brother’s arm, crossing Vauxhall Bridge, heading into the gardens for the latest grand gala, with Isobel strolling a few feet away in deep conversation with Kendrick. The whole