The Stranger I Married (5 page)

Isabel stepped out the fitting room, and closed the curtain behind her. Her hands shook terribly, incited by the sight of Gray’s body as he dressed and undressed, teasing her with his male perfection.

He was in the prime of his life, retaining the power and strength of youth, while adding the maturity of tough times and a few years. He rippled with muscle everywhere, and she knew from being held against him yesterday that he wielded that power carefully.

Honestly, Gray. You are too young for me.
Why had she not stayed the straight course? Looking at him now, seeing all of his vigor and vitality, Isabel collected how wrong she had been to bind his life to hers.
He needed a lover to take up his time and attention. A man of his age was bursting with lust, and the primal desire to sow his oats. She was convenient and attractive, and so he wanted her. She was the only woman he knew, for the time being. But one does not have an affair with one’s spouse.
Isabel groaned inwardly. God, why had she married again? She had made the ultimate commitment to avoid commitment, and look where that foolishness had landed her.
Men who looked like Gray were not constant. She had learned that lesson with Pelham. The dashing earl had needed a wife, and he’d lusted for her. A perfect combination in his mind. But once his infatuation had faded, he had moved onto the next bed, completely disregarding how in love with him she was. Grayson would move on as well. Certainly, he was more somber now, more grounded than when they had wed, but his age was undeniable.
Isabel could bear the rumors of his sexual prowess, and the innuendoes that she was too old to satisfy him or provide him an heir, as long as she felt no claim to him. She was faithful to her lovers, and expected the same in return for the duration of the affair. And therein lay the rub. Affairs were meant to be ended, while marriages lasted until death.
Isabel walked away, determined to find something to distract her from her thoughts. Moving toward the main room, she was intent on looking at the latest renderings, but the sliver of open curtain caught her eye. She paused. Then took a step back.
Against her will, she peeped through that tiny gap, and was arrested by the sight of Gray’s fine derriere. Why had God given so much beauty to one man? And that ass! It was fiendish to have a man who looked as good from the back as he did from the front.
The firm cheeks were pale, especially in contrast to the deep tan of his torso. Where had he been, and what had he been occupied with to have developed those muscles and gained that skin color? He was glorious—his back, buttocks, and arms flexing with rhythmic power.
She released her held breath. It was then she noted why he was making those repetitive motions.
Gray was masturbating.
Christ! Isabel sagged against the wall as her knees went weak. She could not look away, even as her nipples tightened into aching points, and a slow trickle of arousal began deep inside her. Had she pushed him to this with a simple touch and a heated glance? The thought of holding so much power over such a gorgeous creature made her ache. Customers and employees scuttled behind her, and there she stood, obviously a voyeur. A woman of the world, she was nevertheless devastated by lust.
He was panting, his thighs straining, and she wished she could see the front of him. What did that beautiful face look like in the heat of passion? Was the lacing of muscle on his abdomen taut with tension? Was his cock as well-built as the rest of him? Her imaginings were worse than the watching.
His head fell back, his dark hair drifting across his shoulders, and then he shuddered with a low, pained moan. Isabel moaned with him, sweat misting her skin, and then she turned away before he saw her. Before she saw him, in all his glory.
What the devil was she to do now?
Yes, she was a sensual woman, and the sight of a man pleasuring himself would titillate her regardless. But never to this extent. She could barely breathe, and the need to come was near maddening. It would be foolish to tell herself otherwise.
She recognized the tendrils of heat that curled low in her belly. Some called it desire. She called it destruction.
“Lady Grayson?” he called, in that deep raspy voice.
She placed that tone now that she’d heard it enough. It was a bedroom voice, the sound of a man who had just cried out his pleasure. Why he should have that voice all the time, to torment women with the desire to give him reason to sound that way, was simply wrong.
“Y-yes?” She took a deep breath, and entered.
Gray faced her wearing the new smalls. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes knowing. She had not gone undetected.
“I hope one day you do more than watch,” he said softly.
She covered the lower half of her face with a gloved hand, mortified and anguished. Yet he was unashamed. He stared at her intensely, his gaze taking in the outline of her hardened nipples.
“Damn you,” she whispered, hating him for coming home and turning her life upside-down. She ached all over, her skin too hot and too tight, and she detested the feeling and the memories it brought with it.
“I am damned, Pel, if I must live with you and not have you.”
“We had a bargain.”
“This,” he gestured between them, “was not there then. What do you propose we do about it? Ignore it?”
“Spend it elsewhere. You are young and randy—” “And married.”
“Not truly!” she cried, ready to tear out her hair in frustration.
Gray snorted. “As truly as marriage can be without sex. I intend to correct that lack.”
“Is that why you came back? To fuck your wife?”
“I came back because you wrote to me. Every Friday the post would come and there would be a letter, written with soft pink parchment and scented of flowers.”
“You sent them back, every one of them. Unopened.”
“The contents were not important, Pel. I knew what you did and where you went without your recounts. It was the thought that mattered. I had hoped you would desist, and leave me to my misery—”
“Instead you brought the misery to me,” she snapped, pacing the length of the small room to ease the feeling of confinement. “It was my obligation to write to you.”
“Yes!” he cried, triumphant. “Your obligation as my wife, which in turn forced me to remember that I had a like obligation to you. So I returned to quell the rumors, to support you, to correct the wrong I did you by leaving.”
“That does not require sex!”
“Lower your voice,” he warned, grabbing her arm and tugging her closer. He cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding her erect nipple, and rolling it until she whimpered in helpless pleasure. “This requires sex. Look how aroused you are. Even in your fury and distress, I would wager you are wet between the thighs for me. Why should I take someone else, when it is you I want?”
“I have someone.”
“You persist with saying that, but he is not enough, obviously, or you would not want me.”
Guilt flooded her that her body should be so eager for him. She never entertained the idea of another man while attached to one. Months passed between her lovers, because she mourned the loss of each one, even though she was the party who said good-bye.
“You are wrong.” She yanked her arm from his grip, her breast burning where he had touched her. “I do not want you.”
“And I used to admire your honesty,” he jeered softly.
Isabel stared at Gray, and saw his determination. The slow, dull ache in her chest was so familiar, a ghost of the hell Pelham had left her in.
“What happened to you?” she asked sadly, lamenting the loss of the comfort she once felt with him.
“The blinders were torn from me, Pel. And I saw what I was missing.”

O
nce appropriately attired, Gerard moved aside the curtain and stepped out into the short hall. He caught sight of Isabel immediately. Standing by the window, her auburn hair caught stray rays of sunshine and turned to fire. The contrast of those silken threads of flame against the ice blue of her gown was stunning, and very apropos. The heat of her desire had scorched him, even as she chilled him with her words. In fact, he was surprised she had remained the two hours it had taken to alter the pilfered garments. Gerard had half expected her to leave. But Pel was not one to hide from things unpleasant. She may avoid discussing them, but she would not actually run from them. It was one of the quirky traits he rather liked in her.

He sighed, damning himself for pushing too hard, but he could do nothing differently. He did not understand her, and he could not make amends without comprehension. Why was she so determined to have nothing of importance between them? Why desire him, know he craved her in return, and refuse to act upon it? It was not like Isabel to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh. Did she perhaps love her present amour? His hands clenched into fists at the thought. Gerard was well aware that it was possible to love one person, and yet physically require the attentions of another.

At that thought, he cursed inwardly. He had obviously not changed all that much to have pawed and groped at his wife. What in hell was the matter with him? A gentleman did not treat his spouse in that fashion. He should be wooing her, not salivating to rut in her.

He called out as he approached so as not to startle her. “Lady Grayson.”
Pel turned to face him with a winsome smile. “My lord. You look very dashing.”
So it was that way, was it? Pretend as if nothing had happened.
He smiled with all the charm he possessed, and lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “A husband must, to escort a wife as fair as you, my lovely Isabel.”
Her hand shook a little in his, and her voice when she spoke had a slight catch. “You flatter me.”
He wished to do a great deal more to her, but that would have to wait. He tucked her hand around his arm, and led her to the door.
“Even I cannot do you justice,” she said, as he grabbed her flowered straw hat from the clerk and set it on her head, pinning it in place with the ease of familiarity. The door chimes rang, and he stepped closer, his back to the street, to allow the new customer to pass. The air sweltered between him and Pel, flushing her skin and tensing his frame.
“You need a lover,” she breathed, those sherry eyes wide and held by his gaze.
“I have no need of one. I have a wife who desires me.”
“Good afternoon, my lord,” the clerk called out, rounding the counter.
Gerard moved to her side, and offered his arm again. Now facing the doorway, he saw the distinguished looking gentleman who wore an expression of such horror it did not take but a moment to register who it must be. And what he must have heard.
“Good afternoon, Lord Hargreaves.” His fingers closed over Pel’s on his arm, staking an irrefutable claim. Never having been a possessive man, he frowned and tried to examine why he should feel this way all of a sudden.
“Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Grayson,” the earl said tightly.
Isabel straightened. “Lord Hargreaves, a pleasure.”
But it was not, not for any of them. The tension was palpable. “Excuse us,” Gerard said when Hargreaves continued to block the doorway. “We were just on our way out.”
“It was lovely to see you again, my lord,” Isabel murmured, her voice unusually somber.
“Yes,” Hargreaves muttered, stepping aside. “Quite.”
Opening the door, Gerard gave one last studious look at his rival, and then led his wife out with a hand at the small of her back. They walked slowly down the street, both lost in their thoughts. Several people attempted to approach, but a narrowed glance was effective at keeping them away.
“That was awkward,” he muttered finally.
“You noted that, did you?” she said, refusing to look at him.
In a way, he missed the over-confidence of his youth. Four years ago, he would have brushed off the encounter as amusing. In fact, he had done that very thing a several occasions, as social engagements had brought him face to face with Pel’s lovers, and she with his. Now, he was all too aware of his flaws and shortcomings, and to his knowledge, the popular and respected Hargreaves had none.
“I’ve no notion of how I will explain your comment to him,” she said, obviously upset.
“He knew the risks when he chose to dally with another man’s wife.”
“There were no risks! No one could predict that you would come home daft.”
“It is not daft to desire your spouse. Pretending you don’t, however, is ridiculous.”
He stopped abruptly as a merchant door swung inward, and a customer ran out directly before them.
“My apologies, my lady!” the man cried to Pel, tipping his hat before he strode away quickly.
Gerard looked at the establishment, curious about the reason for the man’s excitability. His mouth curved as he reached for the door.
“A jeweler’s?” Isabel asked with a frown.
“Yes, vixen. There is something I should have attended to years ago.”
He led her inside, and the clerk lifted his head from the sales record book with a smile. “Good afternoon, my lord. My lady.”
“That was a happy man who just departed,” Gerard noted.
“Ah yes,” the clerk agreed. “A bachelor embarking on an offer of marriage, which is strengthened by the lovely ring he purchased today.”
In search of equal pleasure, Gerard perused the offerings in the glass cases.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, bending over beside him. Her scent appealed to him so deeply, he wished he could lay amongst satin sheets infused with it. With her graceful limbs entwined with his, it would be heaven.
“Have you always smelled so wonderful, Pel?” He turned his head to look at her, and found her almost nose to nose.
She pulled back with a blink. “Gray, really. Can we put off a discussion on perfumery, and find what you want?”
Smiling, he caught her hand, and glanced up at the hovering clerk. “That one, if you would please.” He pointed to the largest ring in the case—a massive ruby surrounded by diamonds, and supported by a filigreed band of gold.
“Heavens,” Pel breathed, as it came out from behind its glass shield and sparkled in the light.
Gerard lifted her hand, and sized the ring on her finger, pleased to see it fit snugly, but not too tightly, over her glove. Now, she looked like a married woman. “We’ll take it.” “No.”
He arched a brow, and caught his wife’s distress. “It’s perfect.”
“It...It’s too large,” she protested.
“It suits you.” He lounged against the case, and smiled, keeping her hand trapped firmly within his own. “While I was in Lincolnshire—”
“You were?” she asked quickly.
“Amongst other places,” he said, stroking her palm. “I would watch the sunset, and think of you. There were times when a ribbon of red clouds in the sky would exactly match the highlights in your hair. When the light catches that ruby, it’s almost the same color.”
She stared at him as he lifted her hand to his mouth. He kissed first the stone, and then the middle of her gloved palm, relishing the opportunity to be close to someone again.
The sunrises, with all their warm golden beauty, had brought memories of Em. He’d dreaded them at first. Each morning reminded him that another day had come, and Emily would not be living it. Later, the warmth the sun brought had been a benediction, a reminder that he had another opportunity to become a better man.
The sunsets, however, had always belonged to Pel. The darkening sky and the welcoming blanket of night that disregarded his imperfections—that was Isabel, who never pried. The sensuality of a bed, and the moments when he could release the stress of the day—that was Isabel, too, lying on her chaise in her boudoir. How odd that her lighthearted companionship had come to mean so much to him, and yet he’d never noticed it when it had been his to enjoy. Would not have noticed it now, if not for his return.
“You should save your silver tongue for a woman less jaded than I.”
“Dear Pel,” he murmured, smiling. “I adore that you are jaded. You hold no illusions about my less-than-sterling character.”
“I have no idea what your character is anymore.” She pulled away, and he released her. Straightening her spine, Isabel looked around the small store. When she saw the clerk busy recording their transaction, she said, “I don’t understand why you would say such things to me, Gray. You never had any romantic notions, nor sexual ones, to my knowledge.”
“What color are the flowers in front of our house?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The flowers. Do you know what color they are?”
“Certainly, they’re red.”
He arched a brow. “Are you sure?”
She crossed her arms, and arched her own brow. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“How about the ones in the planters by the street?”
“What?”
“The planters by the street have flowers in them. Do you know what color those blooms are?”
Isabel chewed her bottom lip.
Gerard tugged off his glove, and then tugged that lush bottom lip out of her teeth. “Do you?”
“They are pink.”
“They’re blue.”
He moved his hand to her shoulder, and stroked the creamy expanse of skin with his thumb. The heat of her flesh burned through his fingertips, and spread up his arm, igniting a hunger such as he had not felt in years. For so long he had been numb and frozen inside. To feel this heat, to desire to burn with her touch, to want so desperately to be scorched inside her... He relished all of it.
“Blue flowers, Pel.” His voice was huskier than he’d like. “I’ve found people tend to take for granted the things they see everyday. But just because one fails to see something, does not mean it isn’t there.”
Goosebumps prickled her skin. He felt them, even through the calluses on his fingertips.
“Don’t.” She brushed his hand away. “Don’t lie, and say pretty things, and attempt to make the past into what you wish it to be in the present. We were nothing to each other, nothing. And I wanted it that way. I liked it that way.” She tugged off the ring, and set it on the counter.
“Why?”
“Why?” she parroted.
“Yes, my lovely wife, why? Why did you like our marriage as a sham?”
Her eyes shot daggers at him. “You liked it as a sham, too.”
Gerard smiled. “I know the reasons why I liked it, but we are talking about you.”
“Here you are, Lord Grayson,” the clerk said with a wide smile.
Cursing inwardly at the interruption, Gerard dipped the proffered quill in ink and signed the bill. He waited until the ring was boxed, tucked it into his inner coat pocket, and then glanced at Isabel. As she had in the tailor’s, she stood staring out the window with a ramrod straight spine, every inch of her voluptuous form betraying her anger. He shook his head, and couldn’t help but think that all the restrained passion in her was untapped. What the devil was Hargreaves doing, or more likely not doing, that left her so volatile? Another man might see the rigidness of her spine, and be discouraged. Gerard took it as a sign of hope.
He walked to her, drawn to the vibrancy that attracted everyone. Coming to a stop directly behind her, he breathed her in, and then whispered, “Can I take you home with me?”