The Stranger I Married (17 page)

Gerard stared after his wife and tried to discern her disgruntlement. She was quite obviously put out by something he’d done, thought he had no notion of what it could be. However, he was not surprised. Aside from his afternoon of wondrously satisfying bedsport, the rest of his day had been hellish.

He heaved a sigh and turned away. “Yes, Bartley?” “It appears your brother was serious when he mentioned coming here. He arrived over an hour past and according to the footman stationed at the door, he has yet to depart.”
Looking back over the crush, Gerard failed to see Spencer anywhere, but he watched as Isabel stepped onto a crowded outer terrace with Hargreaves. He wished he could speak with her, but he’d learned it was best to tackle one problem at a time, and Spencer was the graver issue at the moment. He trusted Pel. He could not say the same for his hotheaded brother.
“I shall start with the card room,” he murmured, grateful to have run into Bartley as the man was exiting Nonnie’s Tavern. This ball was the last place he would have come to in search of Spencer.
“Is that not Hargreaves with Lady Grayson?” Bartley asked, scowling.
“Yes.” Gerard turned away.
“Shouldn’t you say something to him?”
“What would I say? He is a good man and Isabel a sensible woman. Nothing untoward will happen.”
“Well, even I know that,” Bartley said with a laugh. “And how like you not to pay any mind. But if you are serious about courting your wife, I would suggest at least pretending to be jealous.”
Gerard shook his head. “Ridiculous. And I am certain Pel would say the same.”
“Women are odd creatures, Gray. Perhaps there is something about the fairer sex I know that you do not,” Bartley chortled.
“I doubt that,” Gerard said dryly, moving away to find the card room. “You say my brother was only slightly out of sorts?”
“So it seemed to me. However, he is certainly aware of my friendship with you. That might have been a sufficient enough concern to keep his mouth shut on the matter.”
“One can only hope he showed such discretion all evening.”
Bartley followed fast on his heels. “What will you do when you find him?”
Gerard came to a halt, easily absorbing the impact of Bartley against his back.
“What the devil?” Bartley mumbled.
Turning, Gerard said, “The search will progress far more swiftly if we part ways.”
“Won’t be near as fun.”
“I am not here to have fun.”
“How will I find you, if I manage to find him?”
“You will manage, clever chap that you are.” Gerard continued on, leaving Bartley behind. The starch in his cravat was chafing, Pel was close and yet so far away, the upcoming confrontation with his brother weighed heavily... Altogether, his mood was not the most charitable.
And as his search lengthened, it only grew worse.

Isabel stepped onto the crowded balcony, and attempted to ignore how Grayson’s cut had wounded her. She thought it would be a difficult task, but as she spied a familiar head of graying hair, her thoughts were immediately directed elsewhere. She sighed. Releasing Hargreaves, she said, “We should part ways now.”

Following her gaze, he nodded and quickly retreated, leaving her to make her approach to the Dowager Countess of Grayson. The older woman met her halfway and linked arms, leading her away from the other guests.

“Do you truly expect me to reply?” Isabel retorted. Four years and she still had not learned to tolerate the woman.
“How a woman of your breeding can show so little concern for the title she bears is beyond my collection. Grayson has always done his best to irritate me, but marriage to you is beyond the pale.”
“Can you please find something new to harp about?” Shaking her head, Isabel pulled away. Now that they were no longer in sight of anyone, the pretense of familiarity could be dropped. The dowager’s fervent desire to maintain the esteem of the Grayson name and lineage was understandable, but the manner in which she sought to achieve her aim was not one Isabel could champion.
“I will see him rid of you before I take my last breath.”
“Good luck,” Isabel muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” The dowager drew herself up.
“I have spoken to Grayson many times since his return about separation. He refuses.”
“You don’t wish to be married to him?” The dowager’s complete astonishment would have amused Isabel if she weren’t so distressed over Gray’s behavior since leaving her bed. To be set aside so easily... To be ignored so directly... To have trusted a man who lied to her...
It hurt, and she had promised herself that no man would ever hurt her again.
“No, I do not.” She lifted her chin. “The reasons for our marriage seem foolish and ill-conceived now. I’m certain they always have been and we were both too obstinate to take note.”
“Isabel.” The dowager pursed her lips and fingered her weighty sapphire necklace with a narrowed, thoughtful glance. “You are serious?”
“Yes.”
“Grayson insists that a petition for divorce will meet with failure. In any case, the scandal will be dreadful for all.”
Tugging off one of her long gloves, Isabel reached out and fingered the petals of a nearby rose. So Gray had been considering severing their bind. She should have known.
How unfortunate for her that she was a woman who relished the companionship of others. She thrived on it. Perhaps if she did not, she would not feel such a need to be held and cared for, and she would not be in this position now. Many women abstained. She could not.
She sighed. The censure heaped on them for a divorce petition would be devastating, but how much more devastating would marriage to Grayson be? She’d nearly been destroyed by her last spouse and her attraction to the man Gray had become was just as powerful as what she had once felt for Pelham.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked bitterly. “That I am prepared and accepting of a future as a woman divorced for adultery? I am not.”
“But you are resolved, I can see it in the set of your shoulders. And I will help you.”
Isabel turned at that. “You will what?”
“You heard me.” A slight smile softened the dowager’s harshly drawn mouth. “I am not sure how I will help you. I only know that I will, in whatever manner I can. Perhaps I will even see you well-settled.”
Suddenly, the events of the day were too much for Isabel. “Excuse me.” She would find Rhys and ask to go home. Faulkner scratches wounded her on all sides, and she wished for her room and a decanter of Madeira more than she wished for her next breath.
“I shall be in touch, Isabel,” the dowager marchioness called after her.
“Lovely,” she muttered, speeding up her steps. “I cannot wait.”

Frustrated by his lack of success in finding Spencer, Gerard was about to do a violence to someone, when he turned a corner and came to an abrupt halt, his way blocked by a woman backing out of a dark room.

She turned and jumped. “Good heavens,” Lady Stanhope cried, her gloved hand sheltering her heart. “You frightened me, Grayson.”

He studied her with an arched brow. Flushed and slightly disheveled, she was obviously fresh from some assignation. When the door opened again and Spencer stepped out with crumpled cravat, Gerard’s other brow rose to match the first. “I have been looking for you for hours.”

His brother was clearly far more relaxed than he’d been earlier. Intimately familiar with Barbara’s sexual appetite, Gerard was not surprised. He smiled. This was exactly how he had hoped to find Spencer.

Barbara, who hovered. “Tomorrow perhaps?”
Studying him carefully, Gerard asked, “What are your plans for this evening?” He would not wait if his brother was still intent on some trouble.

Another pointed glance at Barbara settled Gerard’s worries. If Spencer was fucking, he wouldn’t be fighting. “Breakfast in my study, then.”

Lifting Barbara’s bare hand to his lips, Spencer sketched an elegant bow and moved away, most likely to arrange their transportation.

“I will be along in a moment, darling.” Barbara’s eyes remained locked on Gerard.
When they were alone, he said, “I am grateful for your association with Lord Spencer.”
“Oh?” She made a moue. “A tiny flare of jealousy would be welcome, Grayson.”
He snorted. “Ridiculous. There is nothing between us to warrant jealousy, and there never has been.”
Her hand came up to rest against his abdomen, her green eyes sparkling mischievously through her lashes. “There could be, if only you would warm my bed again. Although our liaison the other evening was lamentably short, it reminded me of how beautifully you and I suit each other.”
“Ah, Lady Stanhope,” Pel said tightly behind him. “Thank you for locating my husband for me.”
Gerard did not have to turn around to know that his evening had, impossibly, taken a turn for the worse.

As the obviously rumpled countess moved away, Isabel stood silently, her fists clenched. Grayson eyed her warily, his powerful frame tense with expectation while she considered what she wanted to do. She’d once fought hard for Pelham, and the effort had been draining and pointless. Husbands lied and strayed. Practical wives understood this.

With her heart encased in the icy shell she’d learned to rely on, she simply turned her back to him with the intent to leave—the ball, his house, him. In her mind she was already packing, her brain quickly sorting through her belongings.

That voice. She shivered. Why must he have that raspy bedroom voice that dripped lust and decadence?
Her steps did not falter, and when he caught her elbow to stay her egress, her thoughts shifted to her previous home and how all of her furniture would be sadly out of date.
Gray’s gloved hand cupped her cheek. Forced her gaze to meet his. She registered blue eyes of a striking color and thought of her parlor settee which was of a similar tone. She would have to throw it out.
“Christ,” he muttered harshly. “Don’t look at me at like that.”
Her gaze dropped to where his large hand gripped her forearm.
Before she realized it, he’d pulled her into a dark room that reeked of sex and closed the door behind them. Her stomach roiled, and feeling the overwhelming urge to flee, she hurried across the moonlit space toward a room on the other side. It was a library where windowed-doors led outside. There she paused and leaned her hands upon the back of a leather wingback chair, sucking in deep breaths of untainted air.
“Isabel.” Gray’s hand gripped her shoulders, moved down to tug her grip free of the chair back and then linked his fingers with hers. His body was feverishly hot against her back. She began to sweat.
Green, perhaps? No, that wouldn’t do. Gray’s study was green. Lavender, then? A lavender settee would be a change. Or pink. No man would want to visit a pink parlor. Wouldn’t that be lovely?
“Would you talk to me, please?” he coaxed. He was very good at coaxing. And wheedling and charming and fucking. A girl could lose her head over him if she wasn’t careful.
“Tassels.”
“What?”
He turned her to face him.
“Pink with gold tassels in the parlor,” she said.
“Fine. Pink flatters my coloring.”
“You won’t be invited to my parlor.”
His lips pursed, his frown deepened. “The hell I won’t. You are not leaving me, Pel. What you overheard does not mean what you think.”
“I don’t think anything, my lord,” she said evenly. “If you will excuse me...” She sidestepped.
He kissed her.
Like candle-warmed brandy the kiss hit her stomach first, then spread outward. Intoxicating. Making her thoughts and blood run sluggishly. Needing air, she took a deep breath through her nose and smelled Gray. Starched linen. Clean skin.
His embrace tightened, lifting her slightly until only the tips of her curled toes brushed against the Aubusson rug beneath them. Against her belly she felt his cock stir, but his mouth connected sweetly with hers, his tongue tasting and licking, not plunging. As the ice inside her melted under the heat of his ardor, she moaned. His lips were so beautiful, so soft against hers. The lips of an angel...with the skill and ability to deceive like the devil.
Clean skin.
Gray’s mouth traveled along her cheekbone until he nuzzled against her ear.
“As impossible as it is, I want you again.” He rounded the chair and sank into it, holding her in his lap as if she were a small child. “After this afternoon, my hunger should have settled down to a minor craving, yet at this moment it seems worse than before.”
“I know what I heard,” she whispered, refusing to believe what her nose suggested was the truth.
“My brother is brash,” he continued, ignoring her. “And I spent hours looking for him tonight. Still, despite the knowledge that he could be wounded or seriously wound someone else, it was the desire to be with you that created my unholy impatience.”
“You have been with that woman intimately. Recently.”
“I was relieved to learn he’d vented his earlier anger with a quick rut in the next room.”
Isabel stilled. “Lord Spencer?”
“I was even more pleased to see him departing with Lady Stanhope to continue their activities in a more appropriate venue. His doing so frees the rest of my evening to seduce you.”
“She wants you.”
“So do you,” he said smoothly. “I am an attractive man with an attractive purse and an attractive title.” He pushed her gently away so he could meet her gaze. “I also have an attractive wife.”
“Have you fucked her since you returned?”
“No.” His mouth brushed across hers. “And I know you find that hard to believe.”
Strangely, she didn’t.
“If I were you, Pel, I am not certain I would believe a scoundrel like me either, especially with your past.”
Her spine straightened. “My past does not signify.” She’d had enough pity to last a lifetime, she did not require any more. Certainly she did not want any from Gray.
“Ah, but it does, as I am beginning to see.” His face was stark in its perfection, his eyes narrowed and considering. The hard edges to his lips and mouth he’d shown when he first returned were back. Signs of a deep sadness.
“I am not a good man for you, Pel. I am not good at all. All men have faults, but I’m afraid I am nothing but faults. Still, I am yours and you must learn to bear with me, because I am selfish and refuse to let you go.”
“Why?”
She held her breath, but it was his next words that made her dizzy.
“You heal me.”
His eyes closed and he pressed his cheek to hers, the tender gesture startling her to the very marrow of her bones. The Marquess of Grayson was known for a great many things, but tenderness was not one of them. The fact that these displays were becoming more frequent in number terrified her. She could not be the salve that mended him for another woman.
“Perhaps I can heal you, too,” he whispered against her mouth, “If you allow me to.”
For a brief moment, she pressed her lips to his. Exhausted by the stresses of the day, she longed to curl into his chest and sleep for days. Instead, she wiggled off his lap and stood. “If healing means forgetting, I don’t want any part of it.”
He heaved out a breath as weary in sound as she felt.
“I have learned from my past mistakes, Gray, and I am glad to have learned.” Her fingers twisted together restlessly. “Forgetting is not my aim. I never want to forget.”
“Then teach me how to live with my mistakes, Pel.” He stood.
She looked at him. Studied him.
“Let’s leave London,” he said urgently. Coming to her, he caught up her hands.
“What?” Her eyes widened and she shivered. Alone with Gray.
“We cannot function together as a couple here.”
“A couple?” Her head shook violently.
The door opened, startling them both. Gray pulled her to him with lightning speed, protecting her in an allencompassing embrace.
Lord Hammond, the owner of the library in with they stood, blinked in the doorway. “I beg your pardon.” He began to back out, and then stopped. “Lord Grayson? Is that you?”
“Yes,” Gray drawled softly.
“With Lady Grayson?”
“Who else would I be consorting with in a darkened room?”
“Well... Ah...” Hammond cleared his throat. “No one else, of course.”
The door began to swing closed again, and Gray took the opportunity to cup her breast. His mouth lowered toward hers, taking ruthless advantage of her inability to pull away.
“Er, Lord Grayson?” Hammond called out.
Gray sighed and raised his head. “Yes?”
“Lady Hammond has arranged a house party this weekend at our country estate near Brighton. She would be beyond pleased if you and Lady Grayson would attend. And I would relish the opportunity to reacquaint myself with you.”
Isabel gasped as Gray’s grip flexed rhythmically around her breast. Without the aid of candlelight or a fire, they could not be seen clearly. Still, the fact that another individual stood inches away from where she was being fondled so intimately made her heart race.
“How large is the party?”
“Not large I’m afraid. A dozen at last count, but Lady Hammond—”
“Sounds lovely,” Gray interjected, his fingers tugging at her hardened nipple. “We accept your invitation.”
“Truly?” Hammond’s portly frame drew up to the limits of its inconsiderable height.
“Truly.” Clutching her hand, Gray dragged her from the room, squeezing past the viscount who was too surprised to move quickly enough.
Her emotions a morass, Isabel followed with only a slight drag.
Hammond followed quickly behind them. “Friday morning we’ll be setting off. Is that acceptable?”
“It’s your party, Hammond.”
“Oh, yes... That’s true. Friday, then.”
With a deliberate flick of his wrist, Gray signaled a nearby footman to fetch cloak and carriage, and turned to another servant who hovered nearby. “Tell Lord Trenton I said his obligation has been met.”
It was not lost on Isabel how easily her husband had managed to achieve his aim to spirit her away. She almost wished she could be angry about it, but she was too stunned.
Her husband had not lied or strayed.
But whether that was a blessing or a curse, she couldn’t yet say.