The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,80

doctor visits on occasion, should the need arise.” He drew a breath. “It’s simply a place for women and children to feel safe when they have nowhere else to go, or when they need help.”

A gasp left her lips. “There are children, here?”

“Sometimes. We try not to separate them from their mothers.”

Before she could form a reply, Winter guided her into what appeared to be a small salon. A maid curtsied and dashed out of the room, mumbling something about fetching a pot of tea. Isobel shook her head, but he didn’t stop the servant. He was usually the only visitor here, apart from the shelter’s constant trickle of residents.

“You fund all of this?” she asked.

He shrugged. “The auctions do for the most part. The money is put in a trust that’s managed by Matteo.”

“I thought Matteo was your man of affairs?”

Winter shook his head. “He also handles The Silver Scythe and other investments. He does what he wants when he wants basically.”

The maid returned with a tea tray, and though he knew Isobel wasn’t in the mind for tea, she thanked the girl sweetly. Her hands shook as she poured, though the minute she took a sip, she seemed to settle. She took several more before replacing the teacup on the tray and clearing her throat. “You built this for Prudence?”

Winter flinched, even knowing the question would be forthcoming. “She died from too much laudanum, and no one saw the warning signs. She was depressed, fearful, and had developed an unhealthy dependency. I was too late to help her. Westmore found her in a hovel covered in her own vomit and filth.”

Pain brimmed in her eyes. “I am so sorry.”

Winter exhaled. “Thank you. She got involved with a fucking opium eater who only wanted her money.” He swallowed his fury, though he noticed that Isobel didn’t so much as flinch at his oath. “I bought this place so that women like Prue can get help if they need it. To them, it could mean the difference between life and death.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“It’s atonement,” he said. “I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.”

Isobel held his gaze, those pale blue eyes softening. “Is that why you’re so closed off?” she asked. “Is that why you won’t make this marriage a true one? Or want a family? It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

This had nothing to do with his sister. It had to do with him. If he couldn’t protect his own sister, how the hell would he be able to protect anyone else? The only real motivation for this marriage was to protect his inheritance, he told himself firmly. “When Prue died, my heart died, too. There’s nothing left of it. Not for you, not for anyone.”

He watched her elegant throat swallow back what he could only assume was hurt at his cruel words, but she still reached for him. “Shutting everyone out isn’t the answer. Me, Kendrick—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “You don’t know him.”

She advanced on him, not quailing at his temper. “No, you don’t know him or what he’s been through, or what he feels because you don’t care to know. You’ve shut him out just as you’re trying to shut me out because it suits you.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Well, it doesn’t bloody suit me! What about what happened between us, Winter?”

“Your triumphant wager?”

She swore under her breath. “You know damn well it was more than that.”

God, he wanted to kiss those trembling lips, bury himself in her body, and forget for just one moment that his world wasn’t cobbled together from broken pieces. Even now, she was undaunted in her passion. One step. That was all it would take to gather her in his arms.

He stepped away instead. “That was a mistake. Go back to Chelmsford, Isobel. Take a lover, have the child you want, I don’t care.” A lie. Just the thought of it soured his stomach and made him want to break something with his bare hands.

“You wish to be cuckolded?” she whispered, eyes bright with tears.

He made his gaze hard, raking her with it, his voice little more than a sneer. “It should go both ways, shouldn’t it?” She recoiled as if he’d slapped her, agony and betrayal filling her expression. Christ, he felt sick to even suggest such a vile thing, the pain on her face mirrored by the savage ache in his chest. God knew he couldn’t so much as look at another woman, and the