The Stranger I Married

Chapter 6

Gerard strode the length of the hallway that led to Lady Stanhope’s hotel room, and cursed his stubborn wife.

There were benefits to doing as Isabel urged. His desire for her was nigh unbearable, causing him to push her too quickly and frighten her. He understood this, and he appreciated that he was not giving her enough time to become accustomed both to his new interest and his return to her life. It was true that fucking Barbara would take the edge off his hunger, but damn it! He did not want to take the edge off. He wanted to experience the aching, burning, intoxicating passion with Isabel, not a substitute for her.

But the thought of his wife with Hargreaves was so infuriating, his blood boiled. He would be damned if she eased her needs while he suffered with his own. Gerard knocked on Barbara’s door, and walked right in.

“I knew you would come,” she purred, nude on the bed, wearing only a black ribbon around her throat. He hardened instantly, as any man would at the sight of her. Barbara was a beautiful woman with a ravenous sexual appetite, enough to incite his anger and frustration into adulterated lust.

Shrugging out of his jacket and unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat, he approached the bed with grim determination.

Barbara came up on her knees, and moved to help him. “Grayson,” she breathed in her girlish voice, her eager hands shoving his garments off his shoulders to pool on the floor. “You are so hot for it tonight.”

He crawled over her, pinning her to the bed, then rolled, bringing her over him.

“You know what to do,” he muttered, then lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind completely disconnected from the meaningless sex that would soon follow.

Tugging his shirt free, Barbara ran her hands across his rippled abdomen. “I think I could orgasm just looking at you.” She leaned over him, pressing her breasts against his thigh as she worked to open his trousers. “But, of course, I will do more than look.”

Gerard closed his eyes, and longed for Isabel.

Isabel stepped down from her carriage and entered the Hargreaves residence by way of the mews. It was a path she had taken hundreds of times, and one that used to fill her with warm anticipation. Tonight, however, was completely different. Her stomach was knotted, and her palms damp. Gray had left on horseback, and she knew he had gone to another woman.

And she was the one who had driven him there.

At this moment, he was most likely buried deep inside someone, his gorgeous ass tightening and flexing as he thrust his cock into a willing body. She told herself their marriage was best this way. Better he find someone else now, than after she had succumbed. But even knowing this, she did not feel any better. The pictures in her mind tormented her, and the feeling of possessiveness did not abate. As she walked silently along the upper floor hallway, she could not fight her feelings of guilt and betrayal.

She knocked softly on John’s bedroom door, then entered.

Hargreaves sat before the fire. Dressed in a multi-colored silk robe, and holding a snifter in his hand, he stared broodingly into the fire. “I did not think you would come,” he said without looking at her. His voice was slightly slurred, and she noted the near-empty decanter on the table next to him.

“I am sorry,” she murmured, sinking to the floor at his feet. “I know the gossip hurts you. It pains me deeply.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“No.”

“But you want to.”

“Yes.”

His eyes met hers, and he cupped her cheek in his hand. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“I sent him away tonight.” She nuzzled into his touch, relishing the peace and familiar comfort she found in his presence. “He went.”

“Will he stay away?”

Leaning her cheek against his knee, she stared into the fire. “I’m not certain. He seems quite determined.”

“Yes.” John’s fingers slipped into her hair. “I remember that age. The barest periphery of your mortality hits you, and the need to sire an heir becomes nearly overwhelming.”

Isabel stiffened. “He has two younger brothers. He does not need an heir.”

John’s laugh held no humor. “When did he tell you this? When you married? When he was two and twenty? Of course he was not interested in children at that time. Most men are not. Fucking is primary, and pregnancy does put a damper on that.”

She thought of Gray’s boyish excitement over Emily’s pregnancy, and her blood ran cold. He had shown a strong desire for children before.

“He is a marquess, Isabel,” Hargreaves said, his lips on the rim of his glass, his fingers in her hair. “He needs an heir, and while he may have brothers, a man does like to produce his own issue. What other reason did he give you for returning?”

“He said he felt guilt for leaving me to face the rumors alone.”

“I would not have thought Grayson was capable of such altruism,” Hargreaves said dryly, setting his empty glass aside. “He would have to be a completely different man than the one I knew of only four years ago.”

Staring into the fire, Isabel suddenly felt very foolish and very hurt. She sat there for a long time watching the flames dance.

Later, John’s hand drifted, weighing heavily on her shoulder. She turned her head, and found him sleeping. Torn, and terribly confused, she rose and fetched a blanket. Once she knew he was comfortable, she left.

Gerard turned his head away when Barbara attempted to kiss him. Her perfume was cloying, a musky scent he had once found attractive and now found sadly lacking. His cock was rock hard and aching in her hand, his body responding to her expert ministrations despite his emotional and mental disconnections. She whispered shocking, depraved things in his ear, and then she straddled him, preparing to mount him.

“I am so glad you came home, Grayson,” she breathed.

Home.

The word swirled through his head, and made his stomach clench tight. He had never had a home. As a child, his mother’s bitterness had poisoned everything around him. The only time he had felt relaxed and accepted was with Pel. That had changed with their new attraction, but he would do whatever was necessary to have that accord again.

And his present encounter was not the way to go about it.

This was not home. This was a hotel, and the woman preparing to fuck him was not his wife. Gripping her waist, Gerard turned quickly, tossing her to the bed next to him.

Barbara squealed in delight. “Yes!” she cried. “I wondered when you would enter into the spirit of things.”

Gerard thrust his hand between her legs, and stroked her to orgasm. He knew just what she liked, and where she liked it. Within moments Barbara was coming, and he was free to depart this sordid encounter.

Releasing a frustrated breath, he rolled from the bed, refastened his trousers, and moved to the washstand in the corner.

“What are you doing?” she purred, stretching like a cat.

“Washing. Then leaving.”

“No, you are not!” She sat up. With her flushed cheeks and pouty red mouth, she was lovely. But not at all what he wanted.

“Sorry, sweet,” he said gruffly, scrubbing his hands in the basin. “I am not in the mood this evening.”

“You lie. Your cock is hard as a poker.”

Gerard turned, and collected his coat and waistcoat.

Barbara’s shoulders slumped. “She’s old, Grayson.”

“She is my wife.”

“That never bothered you before. Besides, she has Hargreaves.”

He stiffened, his jaw clenching.

“Ah. A direct hit.” Her smile was as wicked as always. “Is she with him now? Is that why you came to me?” Spreading her legs, she leaned against the pillows and ran her hands between her thighs. “Why should she have all the fun? I can offer the same entertainments.”

Buttoning the last button, Gerard moved to make his egress. “Good night, Barbara.”

He was only a few feet down the hall when he heard something fragile shatter against the door. Shaking his head, he descended the stairs quickly, eager to go home.

Comfortably ensconced in her own bedroom, Isabel dismissed Mary as soon as she had undressed. “But bring me some Madeira,” she murmured as the abigail curtsied.

When she was alone, she sank into the wingback in front of the fire and thought of Hargreaves. This situation was so unfair to him. He had been good to her, she adored him, and she hated herself for being so confused. Her mother would say there was no monopoly on desire, and life had proved that to be true. The duchess would find nothing at all wrong with desiring two men at one time. Isabel, however, would always believe that a person should be strong enough to resist baser demands, if they cared enough.

Several minutes later, a knock drew her attention to the open door, and she gestured the maid in. The servant balanced the bottle of Madeira and a glass on a tray in one hand. The other was loaded with towels.

“What are those for?” Isabel asked.

“Forgive me, my lady, Edward requested them for His Lordship’s bath.”

Edward was Gray’s valet. It was nearly dawn. Her husband was bathing away the scents of his carnal exertions and she sat here, morose and guilty. Suddenly furious at the unfairness, she stood and collected the towels. “I will see to this.”

The girl’s eyes widened, but she curtsied, and set down the bottle and glass before departing.

Isabel crossed her boudoir to the dressing room and then, without any warning, opened the door to the bathing room. Gray lay in steaming water, his head resting against the lip of the tub with his eyes closed. He did not move at all when she entered, and she took a brief moment to absorb the sight of his dark chest and long, powerful legs. All of his beauty was visible through the clear water, including the impressive cock she had felt only briefly. She was instantly aroused, which further incited her temper. A narrow-eyed glance at Edward sent the valet fleeing from the room.

Gray took a deep breath, and then stiffened all over. “Isabel,” he breathed, his eyes drifting open. He stared at her with impossibly blue eyes framed with wet lashes, and made no effort to cover himself.

“Did you enjoy your evening?” she bit out.

His lips pursed at her tone. “Did you?”

“No, I did not, and I blame you entirely.”

“Of course you would.” The silence stretched out, the air between them thick with things left unsaid and a desire that went unappeased. “Did you fuck him, Pel?” he asked finally, his voice gruff.

Her gaze roamed over the length of his body.

“Did you?” he repeated when she said nothing.

“Hargreaves was deep in his cups, and miserable.” While Gray spent a pleasurable evening in some woman’s bed. The thought so enraged her, she threw the towels in his face, and spun on her heel. “I hope you fucked enough for all of us.”

“Bloody hell. Isabel!”

Hearing a splash, she began to run. Her bedroom was near, she could make it…

Gray caught her by the waist, and lifted her feet from the floor. She flailed, kicking and elbowing, slipping in his wet grasp and her satin night rail.

“Cease,” he growled.

“Release me!”

She reached back, and yanked on his wet hair.

“Ow, damn it!”

He stumbled, then dropped to his knees, pressing her facedown upon the floor and covering her body with his own. Her gown was soaked in the back, her breasts flattened into the rug. “I hate you!”

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, stretching her arms over her head.

She squirmed as much as she was able with his weight atop her. “I cannot breathe,” she gasped. He slid to the side, keeping one heavy leg across hers and her arms pinned. “Desist, Gray. You have no right to accost me like this.”

“I have every right. Did you fuck him?”

“Yes.” She turned her head to glare at him. “I fucked him all night. In every way imaginable. I sucked his-”

Gray’s mouth took hers so hard she tasted blood. His tongue slid into her mouth, thrusting in a brutal rhythm, his lips slanting across hers. He held both of her wrists in one hand, while the other reached for the hem of her gown and yanked it upward.

Her blood raced through her veins, her heart pounded furiously against her rib cage. Incited beyond bearing, she bit down on his bottom lip. His head jerked backward with a curse.

“Unhand me!”

Her night rail was trapped beneath her, halting its upward progress, and Gray moved his weight to finish the job. The slight ease in pressure gave her room to buck, and she did, knocking him off guard. She scrambled on her hands and knees.

“Isabel,” he snarled, lunging toward her.

He caught the trailing end of her gown and held it tight, causing the thin ribbon ties at her shoulders to rip away. She crawled right out of the ruined garment, intent on reaching her room. Hope flared the moment before her ankle was caught in a vicelike grip. Kicking out with her free leg, she fought desperately, but Gray was too powerful. He climbed over her, subduing her arms, and shoving his thigh between her legs.

Tears of frustration coursed down her cheeks. “You cannot do this,” she cried, writhing, fighting against the craving within her more than she fought against him. As she struggled, the heavy heat of his erection was an unmistakable weight against her buttocks.

He once again pinned her arms over her head with one hand. The other brushed gently down her side, and then between her legs. He parted the folds of her sex, slipping two fingers deep inside.

“You’re wet,” he groaned, his fingers drifting through the evidence of her excitement. She twisted her hips in an attempt to escape his probing. “Calm down.” Gray buried his face in the back of her neck. “I fucked no one, Isabel.”

“You lie.”

“That is not to say that I failed to make the attempt. In the end, however, I only wanted you.”

She shook her head, crying silently. “No. I do not believe you.”

“Yes, you do. You know a man’s body well enough. I could not be this hard if I had been coming all night.”

His fingertips, slick with her cream, found her clitoris and circled over it. Her spine arched helplessly, her blood slowing and becoming sluggish with her desire. He was everywhere, completely surrounding her, his hard body caging hers to the floor. A finger dipped inside her until it was buried. She shivered all over, and drenched his hand.

“Hush,” he soothed, his voice low and thick by her ear. “Let me ease you. We are both overwrought.”

“No, Gray.”

“You want this as much as I do.”

“I don’t.”

“Who is lying now?” His finger left her, his damp hand clutching her thigh and lifting it out of the way. His arm slipped under her head, his biceps pillowing her cheek, his palm cupping her left breast. “I need you.”

She attempted to close her legs, but then the tip of his cock was there, just at the slick rim of her sex. He stroked it against her, and pinched her nipple. She whimpered as lust misted her skin with sweat.

“You are hot and creamy for my cock.” The edge of his teeth grazed her shoulder. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“I don’t want you.”

His chuckle rumbled against her back. The thick head of his shaft entered her, stretched her, the pressure just what she needed, but still not enough. Her hips moved without volition, straining to take more, but he pulled back enough to keep just that tiny bit of him inside her.

“No,” he admonished, suddenly much more in control, as if the carnal connection soothed him in some way. “You don’t want me.”

“Damn you.” She ground her face against his arm, wiping away her tears.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I do not.” But a moan escaped her, and her hips swiveled restlessly, massaging him inside her.

“Isabel…” His teeth sank gently into her shoulder, his hips shifting to slide his cock deeper. “Stop that, before I blow without you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she gasped, the thought of being left in this agony was horrifying.

“Continue, and I will be unable to help myself.”

She moaned her misery, and buried her face in his arm. “You want to breed me.”

“What?” He stilled. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Confess,” she said hoarsely, her chest tight. “You have returned for an heir.”

To her surprise, he shuddered against her. “Ridiculous. But I know you will not believe me, so I promise not to come in you. Not until you want me to.”

“You are corrrect. I don’t believe you.”

“You shall drive me mad, stubborn wench. Cease making excuses, and simply admit you want me. Then I will give you this.” He gave her a shallow thrust. “And not my seed.”

“You are horrid, Grayson.” She wiggled, desperate to stroke herself to orgasm.

“Actually, I am very good.” His tongue entered her ear. “Allow me to prove it.”

“Do I have a choice?” She shivered, her skin sticking to his with their sweat. “You will not let me go.”

Gray sighed, and hugged her to his chest. “I cannot let you go, Isabel.” He nuzzled against her throat, and swelled inside her. “Christ, I love the way you smell.”

And she loved the way he felt, thick and hard, his cock as large and virile as the rest of him. Pelham had trapped her with this-this heated, drugging pleasure that made a woman want to languish in her bed and be fucked endlessly. A slave to desire.

She was too weak with craving to protest as his fingers found her clitoris and massaged the surrounding skin stretched wide to accommodate him.

“I am thicker at the root,” he murmured wickedly. “Imagine how that will feel while I pump it into you.”

Her eyes closed, her legs spreading in silent invitation. “Do it, then.”

“Is that what you want?” His surprise was patent.

“Yes!” She thrust her elbow into his ribs, and heard him grunt. “You hateful, arrogant cretin.”

Reaching up to lace his fingers with hers, Gray gave a low growl and began to thrust in shallow digs. He forced her to feel every inch, made her stretch to his width, acknowledging his power and possession. She cried out her pleasure and relief, the feel of him so devastating to her heightened senses.

It was a claiming, one she could say she fought until the very end.

Clenching her hands with his, Isabel surrendered to her new addiction with a sob of despair.