The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,81
thought of her with anyone else gutted him. But still, he pressed on. “What I truly want is for you to leave. Can’t you get that through your foolish little head?”
They stared at each other in fraught, ugly silence, until his achingly beautiful wife squared her shoulders and swept from the room. Head high, she paused at the door, a queen addressing the most despicable of her subjects. “Go to hell, Roth.”
Chapter Nineteen
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I counter that with hell hath no fury like a woman with a purpose.
– Lady Darcy
“You look like a bag of shelled crabs,” Clarissa pronounced, barging into Isobel’s bedchamber, eyes narrowing at the discarded tea tray that was still full. “That got peed on by a bunch of drunken sailors. And then chewed up and spit out by sharks.”
Her best friend’s assessment was probably true. Though Winter’s cruel words had hurt at the shelter, they had opened Isobel’s eyes. Hours and hours of cursing his existence had led to hours and hours of thinking. And the only conclusion she could come to was that her husband was irreparably broken, and that somewhere along the way, he’d convinced himself that it was better to shut out the world than to open himself up to anyone.
Including her. Prue’s death had been the feather that had broken the horse’s back. And unless Winter wanted to change, no one—much less her—could force him to do so.
“Tell me how you truly feel.” Isobel rubbed her sore eyes, knowing they would be rimmed in crimson since she’d spent the past two days sobbing into the bedclothes. She was surprised they weren’t more of a tear-sodden mess. “How did I ever get so lucky to have you as my best friend?”
Clarissa propped her hands to her hips. “We promised never to lie to each other, didn’t we?”
“True, but a little tenderness never hurt anyone.”
“You don’t need me to be tender, Izzy. You like that I give the medicine to you straight. And right now, you’ve been in bed for two days.” Clarissa sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “You’re starting to smell.”
“I am not!” Isobel squeaked, but then lowered her head to give a discreet inhale. “Some of the milk spilled this morning.”
“And let me guess…you’re crying over it?” Giggling, she dodged the frilled cushion that Isobel threw at her head.
“That’s the spirit,” Clarissa said. “Fight back, though I’m not the enemy here. That prize goes to your sap skull of a husband.”
“I won’t disagree with you. Men stink. Especially ones who think they can tell you what to do and when to do it, just because the thought of being vulnerable for once in their lives scares the spit out of them.”
“Don’t they just!” Clarissa burst out with uncharacteristic venom. “They can be the most clod-brained dolts in creation. It’s a wonder God had to give them two heads just so they could function. Honestly, imagine how eternally lost they would be if they only had to make do with one.” She rolled her eyes, warming to her diatribe. “Then again, it might make life easier if they only used the one below stairs. No mind games or perpetual misunderstanding. Lady Darcy should do an exposé on the male brain.”
“God, no!” Isobel said. “The ton would never recover. Nor would Lady Darcy, I imagine. We exercise our minuscule freedoms within a male-dominated world view.”
“It’s such a double standard, isn’t it?” her friend groused. “They want to have their pie and eat it, while we must do the baking, the cleaning, and watch our figure. We women need some pie, too, damn it!”
Despite her tongue-in-cheek tone, Isobel picked up on some underlying bitterness and felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t noticed Clarissa was also in a funk. “Did something happen with Oliver?”
“Oliver who?”
“You very well know who. Your tea-making abettor.”
Huffing, Clarissa ducked her head to hide her blush, but injury glinted in her eyes. “Let’s just say that anything to do with tea is on hiatus.”
“What did he do?”
“The usual hot then cold, typical Oliver. Doesn’t know what he wants when it’s clear to everyone but him. Must run in the family.”
“You deserve better.”
“We both do,” Clarissa said. “Now get up. We’ll get the twins who are bored out of their minds from being stuck indoors all day, and we will take Oliver’s new barouche for a turn outside for some fresh air. Then we can all pick out future husbands.”