The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,53

thing stank, and it wasn’t a question of how, it was a question of why.

Why was she with Oliver?

Irritation hummed beneath the surface as he followed them past the pavilions and lush lawns with their marble statues and pillars, heading toward the supper boxes. Most of the lamps that made the gardens so special had not yet been lit—they would be following a whistle during supper when night fell—but the orchestra was already playing in the nearby rotunda.

Normally, Winter enjoyed visits to Vauxhall, considering the less than starchy atmosphere and the mix of social classes, but tonight he felt on edge. Not only because of Vittorina’s unwelcome presence, but because of Isobel. When Ludlow had informed him that Lady Roth was accompanying the duke and Lord Oliver to the gardens, Winter had been torn.

He did not want to be anywhere near his father or his brother.

But he also wanted to keep an eye on his wife.

He had meant to stay away from Isobel, after ensuring that both she and Clarissa were healthy and well. The physician had pronounced Clarissa extremely lucky that the knife hadn’t been a few inches lower or deeper. As it was, the cut hadn’t needed stitching and had already closed on its own. Clarissa being Clarissa wore her wound proudly, loving the attention and the fact that she’d been in a knife fight. When Winter had drily remarked that being in a knife fight required actual fighting, she’d rolled her eyes and told him to mind his own business.

Isobel, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. She’d refused to leave Clarissa’s side, and Winter knew that it was only because of Clarissa’s insistence that she would be fine with the twins that Isobel had even ventured out at all. As far as he knew from servant gossip, it was the first time she’d been out in days.

Only to be pitted against a viper among women.

Christ! What had Oliver been thinking bringing Vittorina here? The question was, did his brother actually know who Vittorina was? It could be an unfortunate coincidence, but the truth was, he wouldn’t put anything past his brother, despite believing his innocence in the attack at the gallery. This could still be a ploy to discredit him in the eyes of their father…or worse, Isobel.

There was only one way to find out.

“Roth, darling, how lovely to see you!” Vittorina squealed when he joined them.

Winter had to hand it to her. One would think they’d held each other in great esteem or knew each other intimately with such a greeting, when their parting had been one of threats and physical violence. The only thing he wanted to do was shudder with revulsion as her cloying perfume filled his nostrils.

His gaze flicked to Isobel, who watched the scene unfold with wary curiosity. His father’s face remained inscrutable, though a brief emotion that Winter couldn’t discern flickered in his eyes. Winter had long given up trying to read the man—or trying to please him—so he simply ignored the duke and faced the raven-haired jezebel prowling toward him.

“Lady Vittorina,” he said, grasping her hand to keep her at arm’s length. “What a surprise to see you here in London.”

“Why so formal, Winter?” Calculating dark blue eyes met his when he bowed instead of kissing her knuckles. “And by the by, soon it will be Countess,” she said with a tinkling laugh that grated on his every nerve. “I’m betrothed, you see. To a British earl.”

Winter bit back the retort that she was finally in reach of getting what she wanted—an English title—and before he could ask who the sorry victim of an earl was, the supper whistle was blown. It made him feel marginally better that she was engaged, though the ravenous way that she was looking at him suggested otherwise.

From the pleat between Isobel’s brows, she’d noticed, too. For the narrowest of seconds, Winter debated playing up the flirtation but changed his mind in the same breath. Nothing short of the devil could force him to cozy up to a woman like Vittorina. It would be like courting a spider, and he knew all too well the sly hazard of her webs.

“You must sit next to me,” she chirped, latching on to his arm. “It’s been so long, and I must know what you have been doing all this time. Years ago, I heard a laughable rumor that you had wed, though I could not countenance the most stalwart of bachelors ever settling down. However,