The Stranger I Married

Page 9

“I didn’t believe you would want me.” The double entendre was clear. He stepped into her room, and she could not help but breathe in his scent as he walked by. The size of her satin-draped boudoir shrank to embrace him, and enclosed them together. “Supper, however, was guaranteed.”
“Are your only pursuits those that are guaranteed?”
“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be here.” Gray sat on the floor by the low table, and opened the basket. “You shan’t chase me away with your ill-humor, Isabel. I waited all day for this meal, and I intend to enjoy it. If you’ve nothing charming to say to me, put one of these pheasant sandwiches in your mouth, and just let me look at you.”
She stared at him, and then he lifted his gaze and winked one of those blue eyes at her. Her descent to the floor was only partially due to courtesy. The rest was due to suddenly weak knees.
He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of wine. “You look lovely in pink satin.”
“I thought you reconsidered.” She lifted her chin. “So I changed.”
“No need to worry,” he said dryly. “I had no illusions that you dressed to entice me.”
“Rogue. Where have you been?”
“You never used to ask me that.”
Isabel had never cared before, but she would not say that aloud. “You used to volunteer information, now you share nothing.”
“Remington’s,” he said around a bite.
“All evening?”
He nodded, and reached for his glass.
“Oh.” She knew of the courtesans there. Remington’s was a bastion of male iniquity. “D-did you enjoy yourself?”
“You aren’t hungry?” he asked, ignoring the question.
Lifting her wine, she took a large swallow.
Gray laughed, the sound pouring over her like warm liquid. “That’s not food.”
She shrugged. “Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked again.
His look was pure exasperation. “I would not have stayed as long as I did if I were miserable.”
“Yes, of course.” He’d bathed, and changed his clothes. Isabel supposed she should be grateful that he did not come to her reeking of sex and perfume, as Pelham had done on several occasions. Her stomach roiled at the thought, though the image in her mind was of Grayson and not Pelham, and she moved up to the chaise, lying on her back to stare at the tented ceiling. “No. I am not hungry.”
A moment later she was inundated with the smell of Gray—that of starched linen and sandalwood soap. He sat on the floor beside her, and caught up her hand in his own.
“What can I do?” he asked softly, his callused fingertips drifting over her palm, sending heated frissons across her skin. “It pains me that my presence distresses you so, but I cannot stay away, Pel. Do not ask me to.”
“And if I did?”
“I could not oblige you.”
“Even after tonight’s amusements?”
His fingers stilled, and then he gave a low chuckle. “I should be a good husband, and set your mind at ease, but I have just enough of the rapscallion left in me to want you to suffer a bit, just as I will be suffering.”
“Men who look like you never suffer, Gray,” she retorted with a snort, turning her head to meet his gaze.
“There are men who look like me? How disheartening.”
“See how our relationship alters when you change your role from friend to husband?” she complained. “Lies, evasions, things left unsaid. Why do you want us to live in that manner?”
Gray ran a hand through his hair, and groaned.
“Can you answer me that, Gray? Please help me to understand why you wish to ruin our friendship.”
His eyes met hers, filled with the bleakness she had felt around him yesterday. Her heart swelled with emotion at the sight. “God, Pel.” He set his cheek against her thigh, his dark hair dampening the satin. “I don’t know how to discuss this, and not sound maudlin.”
“Try.”
He stared at her for a long time, his long eyelashes shielding his thoughts and casting shadows upon his cheekbones. The fingers that stroked her palm stopped, and entwined with hers. The simple intimacy was like a physical blow. For a moment, she found it difficult to breathe.
“After Emily died, I despised myself, Isabel. You’ve no notion of how I wronged her—so many ways, so many times. What a waste it was for a woman like her to perish due to a man like me. It took me a long while to accept the self-loathing, and realize that while I could not change the past, I could honor her by changing who I was in the future.”
She tightened her grip on his hand, and he squeezed back. It was then she felt the unrelenting curve of a ring on his finger. Grayson had never worn his wedding band before. That he wore it now gave her a jolt that made her shiver violently.
He nuzzled his face against her, making her gasp at the resulting flare of longing. Misunderstanding her distress, he said, “This is dreadful. I apologize.”
“No…Continue. Please. I want to know everything.”
“It is a miserable task attempting to change one’s character,” he said finally. “I think whole years passed without finding anything worth smiling about. Until you walked into the study yesterday. Then, in that one moment, I saw you and felt a spark.” He lifted their joined hands, and kissed her knuckles. “Then later, in this room, I smiled. And it felt good, Pel. That spark turned into something else, something I have not felt in years.”
“Hunger,” she breathed, her eyes riveted to his impassioned face. She knew the feeling, because it gnawed at her now.
“And desire, and life, Isabel. And that is from the outside. I can only dream about what it would be like from the inside.” Gray’s voice deepened, and turned husky with want, his eyes now free of the abject torment she had witnessed in them when he’d first arrived. “Deep inside you, as far as I can go.”
“Gray…”
His head turned, his hot, open mouth pressing against her upper thigh, burning through the pink satin of her robe and night rail. She tensed all over, her spine arching gently in a silent plea for more.
Tormented, Isabel pushed his head away. “After you have slaked that hunger, what happens to us then? We could not go back to what we had before.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you never found that you can no longer eat a food you used to crave? Once hunger is appeased, the dish you gorged on becomes unappetizing.” She sat up, and slipped past him. Rising to her feet, she began to pace, as was her wont when agitated. “We would be truly estranged then. I would most likely choose a different property in which to reside. Social events where we meet would become uncomfortable.”
He rose to his feet, and followed her with his gaze. A gaze that was tactile in its intensity. “You see your former lovers every day. They are sociable with you, and you with them. What makes me different?”
“I do not look at them over coffee in the morning. I do not rely on them to settle my accounts, and see to my welfare. They do not wear my ring!” She paused, and closed her eyes, shaking her head at the foolishness of her errant mouth.
“Isabel,” he began softly.
She held up her hand, and stared at the portrait on the wall. A golden god stared back at her, forever arrested in his prime. “We will find you a paramour. Sex is sex, and another woman would be far less messy.”
Her husband moved with such grace, she failed to hear him approach. Gray’s encircling arms came as a surprise—one banding her waist, the other crossing her torso so a large hand could cup her breast possessively. She cried out as her feet left the floor, and he buried his face in her neck. The feel of his body was so hot and hard behind her, filled with strength, yet tender in its clasp.
“I do not require your assistance to find sex. I require you.” He licked and nipped at the tender skin of her throat, and then he breathed her in, his arms tightening around her with a low groan. “I want messy. And sweaty and dirty. God give me strength, for I have been cursed with wanting that from my wife.”
Isabel burned at the feel of his erection, and then melted in his embrace when he ground it against her in near desperation. “No.”
“But I can be gentle, Pel. I can love you well.” His grip lightened, his fingertips softly teasing her nipple. She writhed in his arms, the ache between her legs nearly unbearable.
“No…” she moaned, wanting him with every breath in her body.
“See your ring on my finger,” he growled, obviously frustrated. “Know that I am yours. That I am different from the others.” Gray licked the shell of her ear, and then bit the lobe. “Want me, damn you. The way I want you.”
Grayson set her aside with a curse, and left the room, leaving Isabel to the warring halves within her—the part of her that knew an affair with Gray could not last, and the part of her that did not care if it didn’t.
Chapter 5
Gerard stood in his parlor, and silently cursed the crowd that gathered there. The daylight hours were his time to spend with Pel and work on building their rapport. Tonight, he knew she would venture out and dazzle the peerage with her charm and beauty. Isabel was a social creature who enjoyed time spent in the company of others, and until he had acceptable garments he could not escort her. So he had determined to make the most of the time he was afforded, perhaps take her on a picnic. But then the callers had begun to arrive. Now their home swarmed with curious visitors who wanted to see both him, and the state of his scandalous marriage.
Resigned, he watched his wife pour tea for the women around her. Isabel sat in the middle of the settee, surrounded by blondes and brunettes who paled in comparison, her auburn hair striking and distinguishing. She wore a high-waisted gown of cream-colored silk, a shade uniquely suited to her pale skin and radiant tresses. In his parlor, which was decorated in striped blue damask, she was in her element, and he knew that despite the reasons why they had married, Pel had been an excellent choice as a bride. She was charming and gracious. He could find her easily, simply by following the sounds of laughter. People were happy in her presence.
As if she felt the weight of his regard, Isabel lifted her gaze and caught his eye. A soft pink flush swept up her chest to color her cheeks. He winked at her and smiled, just to watch her blush deepen.
How had it ever escaped his notice how she stood apart from all other women?
He could not help but note it now. Simply being in the same room with her made his blood thrum in his veins, a feeling he had once thought to never feel again. Isabel had attempted to keep her distance by moving from room to room, but he followed her, needing the flare of awareness he felt only in proximity to her.
“She is lovely, is she not?”
Gerard turned to the woman at his side. “Indeed, Your Grace.” A smile curved his mouth at the sight of Pel’s mother, a woman of renowned beauty. It was obvious his wife would age just as well. “She takes after her mother.”
“Charming, and dashing,” Lady Sandforth murmured, returning his smile. “How long will you be staying this time?”
“As long as my wife is here.”
“Interesting.” She arched a brow. “May I be so bold as to ask why you have had a change of heart?”
“The fact that she is my wife is not enough?”
“Men desire their wives in the beginning, my lord. Not four years later.”
He laughed. “I am a little slow, but I’m catching up.”
A movement caught his eye, and Gerard turned his head to discover Bartley at the door. He took a moment to think, trying to decide how he should proceed. They had once been friends, but only in the most mercenary sense of the word. He made his excuses, and moved to meet the baron, offering a genuine smile of welcome.
“Bartley, you look well.” And indeed he did, having lost a good portion of the weight that had thickened his waistline.
“Not as well as you, Gray,” Bartley returned. “Although I admit, you appear to have the chest of a laborer. Have you been working your own fields?” He laughed.
“Occasionally.” Gerard gestured down the short hallway by the stairs. “Come. Have a cigar with me, and tell me what trouble you’ve occupied yourself with in my absence.”
“First, I have brought you a present.”
Gerard’s eyebrows rose. “A gift?”
Bartley’s florid complexion was mitigated by a broad grin. “Yes. Since you’ve just returned, and have yet to truly socialize, I knew you would be a tad…shall we say, lonely?” He gestured toward the front door with a jerk of his head.
Curious, Gerard’s gaze followed the prodding, and he saw the dark-haired beauty by the front door—Barbara, Lady Stanhope. Her mouth curved in a smile so carnal, it could only be called wicked. He remembered that smile, remembered how it had incited his lust and a torrid nine-month affair. Barbara liked her fucking sweaty and messy, too.
He moved to greet her, lifting her proffered hand to kiss the back. Her long nails raked his palm with sensual deliberation.
“Grayson,” she said, in a girlish voice that did not suit her disposition. That had turned him on, too, hearing that innocent angel’s voice while he used her lush body. “You look divine, at least from what I can see of you with your clothes on.”
“You also look well, Barbara, but then you knew that.”
“When I heard you had returned, I came quickly, before another woman snatched you up.”
“You should not have come to my home,” he admonished.
“I know, darling, and I’m leaving. I just knew I would have a better chance at you if you saw me in person. A note is so impersonal, and not nearly as fun as touching you.” Her eyes, clear as jade and just as beautifully colored, sparkled with amusement. “I would like us to be friends again, Gray.”