The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,4

a tray for an early supper. I’ve also rung for a lady’s maid to prepare you a bath.” He paused at the threshold, his gaze unfathomable. “In the meantime, I must find my brother and take him to task for not being there to receive us properly. I’ll return shortly.”

Isobel gave him a soft smile, grateful for his thoughtfulness and equally glad he did not insist she accompany him. She was a bundle of nerves as it was, knowing their wedding night was forthcoming. A bath and a meal would help.

Hours later, she’d finished both, and despite eating the delicious fare alone—Winter had yet to return—Isobel couldn’t relax. It was her first time in a strange place and finding herself eased was impossible. After changing into her night rail, she’d climbed into the huge bed. Would Winter prefer her under the blankets? Above them? In bed at all? In an attempt to distract herself, she tried to read from a book she’d packed in her things but couldn’t concentrate. Her nerves were much too frayed.

Where was her husband? Would he come to her?

Stretching restlessly, she inched out of the bed and went to the window, where the full moon cast its silvery light over the gardens visible from her room. She and Astrid used to pretend to be fairies dancing under the moon when they were little girls. Like then, she had the urge to run outside barefooted, feel the grass beneath her toes, and spin around in circles until she collapsed with dizziness. The whimsical recollection made her smile.

The skin on her nape prickled and she whirled around, throttling a scream in her throat.

The Marquess of Roth stood at the connecting door, watching her.

Isobel blushed, realizing that the moonlight through the windowpanes rendered her filmy night clothes nearly invisible. She crossed her arms over herself, only to be stalled by Winter’s rasped, “Don’t.”

Obediently, Isobel dropped her arms. Her nerves returned in full force when he approached, only stopping when he was an arm’s length away, dark, tall, and foreboding. The moonlight caught his face, too, casting his angular features in silver shadows. He was dressed only in shirtsleeves, she realized breathlessly, and her eyes traced the strong neck disappearing into the opened collar. His shirt was untucked from his trousers, his feet scandalously bare.

“I was waiting,” she murmured when he didn’t say anything.

“I trust everything was to your satisfaction?”

Isobel nodded, suddenly shy. “It was. Thank you, my lord.”

“Winter.”

She bit her lip, unable to say his given name in so intimate a setting. He stared at her for what seemed like forever before closing the gap between them, and she gasped when his hands closed over her waist. One large palm slipped down to caress her hip. Sensations flooded her untried body, pebbling her nipples beneath the lacy night rail. She clenched her jaw hard. It was that, or give way to the vulgar moans clambering up her throat.

“Do you know what to expect?” he asked. “Did your sister or mother advise you of the wedding night?”

“Yes, my aunt explained,” Isobel whispered. She would not admit the guidance she’d received from her Aunt Mildred was thin at best, though she had a general idea of the act and what it entailed. He would undress her. Impale her. Fill her with his seed. Even in her head, the process sounded awful. She swallowed hard, her muscles locking.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her.

With that, he untied the ribbons at her throat and wrists, and the flimsy garment pooled to the floor. Isobel held her breath, fighting her blush, as he took her nude body in, his face hard as if hewn from granite. A muscle jumped in that rigid jaw.

“This first time might hurt,” he said. “But I will try to make it as painless as possible.”

In a show of effortless strength, the marquess scooped her up and carried her to the bed, and she scrambled backward before he shucked off his own clothing and climbed on top of her. There wasn’t enough room to get a good view of anything, but good gracious, she could feel the hot brand of him on her thigh. Instead of making her frightened, it made her ache.

Was her breathing supposed to be this shallow? Her heartbeat so fast? The sharpness of all the combined feelings was making her light-headed. Her muscles tightened again, though this time it wasn’t because of dread but excitement. Isobel had no time to process any of it before he bent