The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,97

grasped his shoulders for purchase, and then brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. He fell back like a sack of shit, cupping his privates and howling.

“Iz, did he get you?” Winter said from behind, and Isobel braced herself.

She drew a breath, not knowing how he was going to respond. Likely, it would not be pleasant, given the danger she’d placed herself in. Not that it was any different for Iz, but the male sex tended to view defending female helplessness as a measure of their own masculinity. It didn’t matter that she could fight or shoot as well as any man. She was a woman and by default, delicate. Hogwash, if you asked her, but such was the way of their world.

But before she could quite drum up the courage to turn around and face him, her eyes met Vittorina’s, who was standing off to the side in Creighton’s grasp. The woman goggled, her mouth falling open in disbelief and then reforming into a hateful sneer. She screamed like a banshee, tearing out of the porter’s hold and sprinting toward Isobel, fury in her gaze.

“You’ve ruined everything!” she shrieked. “You stupid bitch!”

Isobel sucked in a breath, planted her feet, and waited until Vittorina was in range before drawing her arm back and letting a full-on punch fly. It connected right in the woman’s jaw. For a moment, they stared at each other in silence and then Vittorina’s eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled. Isobel moved to stand over her, the pain in her fingers unbearable, but damned if she would let an inkling of it show.

“I’m not spineless,” she said. “And I’m not stupid.”

“Fucking hell…Isobel?”

She swallowed hard and rotated in slow motion, meeting the incredulous eyes of her husband. Fury was quick to light their silver depths as recognition and understanding hit, but she bit her lip and stood her ground. “There’s a good explanation, Winter, I promise.”

“There better be,” he said, “because there’s a good chance I’m going to put you over my sodding knee.”

Even covered in blood and filth and God knew what else, the sound of his husky voice made every nerve-ending in her body come alive. Isobel gave him a cheeky grin. “Promise?”

As his eyes darkened from silver to slate and a growl broke from his chest, it occurred to Isobel that it might not be the right time to provoke the beast.

Too late.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Avoid coitus on a staircase. Notwithstanding the ludicrous speculation of having a child born of such a union with a crooked back, the bodily injuries are not worth the trouble. Do the deed outside instead.

– Lady Darcy

Winter’s entire body shook. Nodding to a watchful Creighton, who would see to the fallen Cain and an unconscious Vittorina, he throttled his anger. Too many pent-up emotions rioted through him, brought on by a combination of the fight and how much danger the brazen little minx had put herself through…pretending to be a groom, fighting men four times her size, so very nearly being killed. He was torn between fury, relief, fear, and desire.

His blood heated to dangerous levels.

Even as he seized his groom-turned-wife—the little hoyden had truly pulled one over on him—he was busily contemplating pleasurable ways to exact punishment. Putting her over his knee was only the start of it. Tying her up so that she could never leave the bedchamber was a close second. And having her on her knees was a distinct third.

The narrow alleyway he took them to was empty and clear of debris, but Winter would not have cared if it was covered in fifty layers of grime. It was private…and that was what he needed for what he intended to do. The moment they were safely out of sight, he tore off his ruined gloves and filthy coat, and wiped the blood from his face with the clean lining before tossing them to the side. Then he filled his palms with his wife, sliding over her shoulders, down her arms, and up again to cup her jaw before slamming his lips to hers.

She kissed him back with the same ferocity, twining her arms around his neck to tangle in his hair. His tongue dominated her mouth, punishing, punishing, punishing, and Isobel moaned her approval. Winter ground his hips against her body, hands dropping to her delectable arse and squeezing, before hauling her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. One step and he lifted her easily around a