The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,76

and shirt. He watched in silence as she found her boots and fastened buttons, her face revealing nothing. “Isobel?”

That ice-blue gaze lifted to his. “I believe we had a wager, my lord, and I must say you beg so prettily.” She grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Much more gratifying than me running back to Chelmsford with my tail between my legs, I assure you. I win, Lord Roth.”

He could only gape as his wife winked and sauntered from the room.

Chapter Eighteen

Take your pleasure by the horns, any which way you can get it.

– Lady Darcy

“Isobel Helena Vance, you slept with him?” Clarissa whisper-shrieked.

Isobel’s eyes widened as she glanced around the lush gardens with its rows of brightly colored roses and verdant, neatly trimmed shrubs, but thankfully, there were no gardeners in sight to hear their salacious conversation. Which was why Isobel had suggested a walk after luncheon. Less risk of being overheard. And thankfully, the twins were still indoors—they would be unable to keep something this monumental a secret.

“Yes. Keep your voice down.”

“As in goodnight sleep or tup-you-until-you-can’t-walk sleep?”

Isobel bit her lip and blushed. “The second.”

Clarissa screamed and launched across the garden bench, almost crushing her in the process. “Squeeze me sideways, Lady Darcy would be so proud.”

Her blush deepened. “Trust me, this is all Lady Darcy’s fault.”

Isobel had nearly combusted recounting the events of the evening when she’d been awoken by a hurricane in skirts at the crack of dawn. Well, more around midday—later than usual for her—but she’d had an exhausting evening.

Even now, her body was still deliciously achy. Isobel’s cheeks heated as she recalled how brazen she’d been. The power that had come with the interaction had been heady, though she was certain that Winter had let her do those things. He could have taken control quite easily at any point. In point of fact, he had during the act itself.

And the blindfold, dear God, the blindfold! What had she been thinking? Winter had loved it, obviously, and she had as well. However, though he’d been caught up in his pleasure, he’d still had the presence of mind to pull from her body at the last minute. In hindsight, Isobel had never intended to trick Winter in such a manner, but the perfunctory act had still stung.

She wasn’t some doxy. She was his wife.

But if he didn’t want children, withdrawal was necessary.

Isobel hadn’t told Clarissa about that part. Or about the blindfold.

Thankfully, Clarissa had been too fascinated by the whole charity auction and the outrageously darker side of The Silver Scythe to push for the finer details. Isobel wasn’t fooled, however. Clarissa would hound her for those later when she’d processed the rest. Perhaps Isobel would be able to fend her off with a convincing enough story, if she ever stopped blushing.

“So, the proceeds from this filthy man mart from a club that your husband owns do go to a charity?” Clarissa asked.

“A shelter house as I understand it,” Isobel replied, biting back a grin. “In Seven Dials.”

“That’s generous. I suppose it doesn’t matter where the funds come from.” She frowned. “Wait, Seven Dials? That’s…a coincidence.”

“What is?”

Clarissa shook her head, wrinkling her nose. “No, it’s nothing. Never mind, I’m grasping for connections that don’t exist.” She grinned. “Tell me more about Vittorina the Vainglorious. Did she look like she swallowed a toad when you outbid her?”

“An entire bucket of toads,” Isobel said. “And then she tried to imply that Winter wasn’t into women.”

Her grin widened. “Joke’s on her because Winter is definitely into petticoat lane, also known as the temple of Venus, the fancy article, and nature’s tufted treasure.”

“Clarissa!” Isobel hissed, once more glancing around, and then decided to give her friend a solid dose of her own medicine in retaliation. “Enough about me. How was teatime last night?”

She was rewarded when Clarissa went a brilliant shade of red. “Fine,” she mumbled.

It was Isobel’s turn to grin. “Funny, I thought you were such a tea enthusiast. Don’t want to kiss-and-tell, Clarissa dear?” When her skin color deepened to plum, Isobel pounced. “Good heavens, wench, what did you do?”

“He was asleep, so I had a peek,” she rushed out.

Isobel gave a choked laugh. “And?”

“Suffice it to say that, ahem, it’s true that curiosity silenced the cat. He’s…not small.”

“Must run in the family,” Isobel said, and they both burst into uncontrollable giggles, drawing the attention of the gardener who had returned and was busy pruning a nearby tree. They watched him in silence, enjoying the warm