The Stranger I Married

Chapter 13

As the Grayson carriage pulled into the crowded drive of the Hammond residence, Isabel could not bite back her groan. One guest in particular filled her with dread.

Sitting across from her, Gray arched his brow in silent query.

Your mother, she mouthed, showing caution so as not to anger Lord Spencer, who shared a squab with her husband.

Gray pinched the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh.

Suddenly all the anticipation she’d had for the upcoming long weekend party fled. Stepping down from the carriage with Gray’s assistance, she managed a smile and took inventory of the assembled guests. She shuddered when the Dowager Lady Grayson gifted her with a conspiratorial wink. There was no avoiding the fact that Isabel had liked the woman better when they had been at odds.

“Bella.”

The relief she felt at the sound of the voice behind her was dizzying. Turning, she caught Rhys’ outstretched hands like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. His smile was brilliant, his rich mahogany hair capped by a dashing hat.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, well aware that tame country parties were not his preference.

He shrugged. “I feel the need for a little respectable company.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you ill?”

Laughing, he shook his head. “No, though I do believe I’ve caught a bit of melancholia. Something I’m certain a few days of fresh country air will do wonders to cure.”

“Melancholia?” Tugging off her glove, Isabel pressed her wrist to his forehead.

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Since when does a bad mood cause fevers?”

“You have never been in a bad mood in your life.”

“There is a first for everything.”

A firm grip at her waist drew her attention.

“Grayson,” her brother greeted, his gaze lifting above her head.

“Trenton,” Gray returned. “I would not have expected to find you here.”

“A temporary bout of insanity.”

“Ah.” Gray tugged her closer, a motion which had her gazing up at him with wide eyes. They’d had an unspoken accord to avoid touching each other in public, since it seemed to spark a flare of lust neither could control. “I appear to be suffering from the same ailment.”

“Grayson. Isabel. Lovely to see you both here,” the dowager said as she approached.

As Isabel opened her mouth to reply, Gray squeezed the upper swell of her buttock. She jumped, startling his mother. Reaching behind her, she swatted at his hand.

“Are you unwell?” the dowager asked, frowning in disapproval. “You should not have come if you are ill or out of sorts.”

“She is perfectly healthy,” Gray said smoothly. “As I can well attest.”

Isabel stomped on his booted foot, although doing so caused no damage at all. What was his intent? She could not collect. To tease her so openly…

“Crudity is common,” his mother reproved. “And beneath a man of your station.”

“But, Mother, it is so enjoyable.”

“Lord and Lady Grayson! How lovely of you to come.”

Turning her head, Isabel found Lady Hammond descending the stairs from her front door. “We are delighted to be invited, of course,” she replied.

“Now that you have arrived,” the viscountess continued, “we can set off. What a lovely day to make the trip, don’t you agree?”

“I do,” she murmured, eager to return to their carriage.

“I shall ride with you, Grayson,” the dowager said.

Isabel winced, suddenly finding the prospect of the daylong drive a torment.

Gray gave a soothing caress down the length of her spine, but the comfort it offered did not last. The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent in the tight confines of their traveling coach listening to his mother chastising them all for one transgression or another. She could only imagine the horror of living with a parent who found fault with everything, and she surreptitiously stroked Gray’s thigh with the back of her hand in sympathy. He sat deathly silent the entire ride, coming to life only when they stopped to change horses and take luncheon.

It was with great relief that they arrived at the Hammonds’ lovely country estate late in the day. As soon as the carriage rolled to a halt, Grayson leapt out and assisted her down. That was when she caught sight of Hargreaves, and realized why Grayson had been acting as possessive as he had. Even now, despite his outward appearance of boredom, she sensed his alertness in the proximity he kept to her and the slow sweep of his gaze across the drive.

“What a lovely estate,” the dowager cried, bringing the pleased smile of the viscountess her way. It was indeed a praiseworthy property with its lovely golden brick exterior and profusion of colorful flowers and climbing vines.

A week here under other circumstances would be a joy. Considering the personages in attendance, including Lady Stanhope who was presently ogling Gray in a manner that riled Isabel, she doubted that would be the case in this instance. “We should have remained in London,” she muttered.

“Shall we go?” Gray asked. “I have an estate not far from here.”

She turned wide eyes to him. “Are you mad?” But she could see in the intensity of his blue eyes that he was quite willing to leave. While it seemed sometimes that no trace of the Grayson she once knew remained, flashes of the one she recalled occasionally appeared. He was more polished, more somber, but no less ruthless than he always had been. “No.”

He sighed and offered his arm. “I knew you would say that. I hope you are amenable to spending a great deal of time in our rooms.”

“We could have spent time in our rooms at home. Here it will be rude.”

“You should have mentioned that earlier and saved us the trip.”

“Don’t foist the blame for this on me,” she whispered, shivering slightly at the feel of his powerful forearm flexing beneath her fingertips. “This was entirely your doing.”

“I wanted to travel away,” he said dryly, his sidelong glance revealing his knowledge of his affect on her, “and spend some time with you and Spencer. I had no notion this would turn into a gathering of all the people we most wished to avoid.”

“Isabel!”

Rhys’ cry caught their attention. Walking backward with his gaze directed elsewhere, her brother nearly ran her over. Grayson, however, stepped in as a formidable buffer and saved her.

“Beg your pardon,” her brother offered quickly, then he looked at her with a tangible excitement about him. “Do you know who that woman is over there?”

Looking around his tall frame, she saw a small group of women speaking with Lady Hammond. “Which one?”

“The brunette to the right of Lady Stanhope.”

“Oh…Yes, I know her, although at the moment, her name eludes me.”

“Abby?” he prompted. “Abigail?”

“Ah, yes! Abigail Stewart. Niece to Lord Hammond. His sister and her entrepreneurial American husband have passed on, leaving Miss Stewart orphaned, though quite wealthy I’ve been told.”

“An heiress,” Rhys said softly.

“Poor thing,” Isabel said with a commiserating shake of her head. “She was hounded to death last season by every scapegrace and destitute man in England. I spoke with her briefly once. She is very bright. A bit rough around the edges, but charming.”

“I never noticed her.”

“Why would you? She hides herself well and she is not your type of female at all. Too smart for you,” she teased.

“Yes…I’m certain that is true.” He walked away frowning.

“I think you were correct,” Gray said, his voice low and near enough to make her senses leap to attention. “I do believe he’s ill. Perhaps we can follow his lead. You and I can feign poor constitutions and lie abed for a week. Together. Unclothed.”

“You are incorrigible,” she said, laughing.

With quiet efficiency, they and the other guests were settled in their rooms to freshen up before the evening meal. Gerard made certain that Isabel was well established and tended by her abigail, before excusing himself to meet with the other gentlemen below.

Despite the unfortunate choice of guests, he found some slight convenience in it. The odd menagerie created by the presence of his mother and Hargreaves allowed him to dispense with whatever remaining illusions they had about his marriage to Pel. His affairs were not to be interfered with. Foolish of them, really, to forget how few qualms he had. However, it was no great burden to remind them.

Entering the lower parlor, he took in the design of the room, noting the large windows framed with dark red, tasseled drapes, and the proliferation of burgundy leather chairs. A man’s retreat. Just the type of setting he required to say what needed to be said.

He gave a curt nod to Spencer, refused the cheroot offered to him by Lord Hammond, and then strode across the Aubusson rug toward the window where Hargreaves stood studying the view outside. As he approached, Gerard examined the proud bearing and impeccable attire of the earl. This man had shared two private years with Pel and knew her far better than he himself did.

He remembered how she had been with Markham, lit like a candle with confidence and sparkling eyes. The contrast to the purely mercenary sexual regard with which she held him was striking and disturbing. The casual friendship they had once shared was now marred by tension. He missed the ease he’d once felt with her, and longed to bask in the kind of affectionate attentions she shared with others.

“Hargreaves,” he murmured.

“Lord Grayson.” The earl turned cool dark eyes on him. They were almost of a height, with Gerard having only a slight advantage. “Before you try to waylay attempts on my part to woo back Isabel, allow me to tell you I have no intentions in that regard.”

“No?”

“No, but if she comes to me I will not turn her away.”

“Despite the hazard such an action would place you in?” Gerard was a man of action, not empty threats. By the slight nod Hargreaves gave him, he could see the other man knew it.

“You cannot cage a woman like Isabel, Grayson. She values her freedom more than anything. I am certain it chafes her to realize she married you to be free, and yet finds herself trapped.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Besides, you will tire of her eventually or she of you, and this desire you have to claim her so primitively will fade.”

“My claim,” Gerard said dryly, “is not merely primitive. It is also legal and binding.”

Hargreaves shook his head. “You have always wanted women who belong to someone else.”

“In this case, the woman I want belongs to me.”

“Does she? Truly? Odd you should discover that after five years of marital oblivion. I have seen you together since your return, as has everyone else. In truth, it appears you barely tolerate one another.”

Gerard’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “We definitely more than tolerate one another.”

The earl’s face flushed. “I do not have time to school you on women, Grayson, but suffice it to say that orgasms are not all a woman requires to be content. Isabel will not grow an attachment to you, she is incapable of it, and even if she were open to elevated feelings, an inconstant man such as yourself will never appeal. You are much like Pelham, you know. He, too, failed to see the prize that was his. I cannot count the number of times Isabel would tell me some humorous tale of your exploits and finish with, ‘Just like Pelham used to do.’”

A blow to his gut could not have struck Gerard harder. Outwardly impassive, his insides knotted with apprehension. Markham had said the same. There could be no worse mark against him than to remind his wife of her late husband. If he could not, at the very least, prove himself better than Pelham, he would never win Isabel’s affections.

But she had written him faithfully every week, and held on to that tenuous tie. Surely, there was some hope to be found in that?

Damn it! Why had he disregarded those letters?

“You say she is incapable of deep affections, and yet you think she may return to you, when she has never been known to revisit a paramour once finished with him?”

“Because we are friends. I know how she likes her tea, what her favorite books are…” Hargreaves straightened. “She was happy with me before you returned-”

“No. She was not. You know this as well as I.” Isabel would not have been tempted away if Hargreaves had been what she wanted. She was not a fickle woman. But she was a woman who bore wounds, and Gerard was determined to heal them.

The earl’s jaw tightened. “I think we understand each other. There is nothing left to be said. You are aware of my position. I am aware of yours.”

Gerard tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Are you aware? Be certain, Hargreaves. I am easily irritated and frankly, I will not have this conversation again. Next time I feel the urge to remind you of my marriage, I shall demonstrate the finer points of this discourse with the tip of my blade.”

“Gentlemen, can I regale you with my tales of India?” Lord Hammond intruded, his gaze shifting nervously between them. “A fascinating country, I must say.”

“Thank you, Hammond,” Gerard said. “Perhaps over port this evening.”

He withdrew and crossed the room to Spencer, who raised both brows as he approached.

“Only you, Gray, would be so brazen.”

“Time is precious I’ve learned. I see no point in squandering it when directness works so well.”

Spencer laughed. “I must admit, I was resigned to a week of lassitude. I am pleased to see there won’t be a dull moment.”

“Certainly not. I intend to keep you busy.”

“Do you?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up bright enough to compete with his grin. Gerard realized again how much influence he had on his younger brother. He only hoped he made full and positive use of it.

“Yes. There is a Grayson property only an hour’s ride from here. We will go there tomorrow.”

“Smashing!”

Gerard smiled. “Now, if you will excuse me…”

“Can’t stay away from her for long, can you?” Spencer shook his head. “You are more randy than I will ever be, I think. Much as it pains me to admit that.”

“You assume when we are alone we only stay abed.”

Spencer snorted. “Are you saying that is not the case?”

“I refuse to say anything at all.”

Sinking deeper into her cooling bathwater, Isabel knew she should finish, but could not seem to manage the strength to do so. Despite how often she serviced him, Grayson’s sexual appetite for her had not abated at all. Sleep was a luxury she snatched when she could.

She almost wished she could complain, but she was too sated to make the effort. It was difficult to muster true irritation when the man ensured she had a few orgasms for every one of his. And he had quite a lot.

He had begun to use French letters, no longer capable of withdrawing before he came. The lessening of sensation for him meant that he could fuck longer, a circumstance she had appreciated previously with the lovers she saw only once or twice a week. With her amorous husband it was very nearly too much. He enjoyed her writhing and begging for mercy beneath him, continuing the sensual torment until she could do nothing but whimper in pleasure and take what he gave her.

The man was an animal, nipping with his teeth, bruising with his hands, and she loved every moment of it. Grayson’s passion was real, not practiced like Pelham’s had been.

Isabel sighed. Against her will, memories of the last house party she’d attended with her late husband filled her mind, bringing with them the all too familiar roiling in her stomach. He had been in top philandering form then, dallying with other women in alcoves and slipping from his room at night. The entire fortnight had been hell, the time spent wondering which of the women drinking tea with her had serviced her husband the night before. By the time they left, she was fairly certain all the attractive ones had.

From that occasion onward, she’d denied Pelham her bed, which he had the temerity to protest until he realized she would cause him bodily injury if he insisted. Eventually, they had ceased to travel together at all.

The adjoining door opened and Gray’s delicious voice dismissed her abigail. His footfalls as he approached were as sure and confident as always. There was a rhythm to them, a cadence, the sound of dominance. Grayson took for granted that every time he entered a room he owned it.

“You’re chilled,” he noted, his voice coming so close to her ear she knew he must be crouching beside her. “Let me assist you out.”

Opening her eyes, she saw his outstretched hand, saw his face so close to hers, so intent on her. The way he examined her always took her off guard. Of course, she often found herself staring at him in the same manner.

As was happening more often, the sudden flare of possessiveness the sight of him aroused was painful and piercing. He was a man any woman would beg to claim as her own private property, but she, the only woman who had the right to do so, could not. Would not.

He had removed his clothes and now wore only a thick silk robe. Before she could stop herself, Isabel touched his shoulder and watched the blue of his eyes turn to icy fire. A touch, a smile, a lick of her lips-all could stoke his ardor in the space of one breath.

“I’m weary,” she warned.

“You start it, Pel. Every damn time.” As he stood, he pulled her up with him and then held a towel out for her.

“I do not!”

As he wrapped her, he kissed the tender spot where her shoulder met her throat-a gentle press of his lips to her flesh, not the heated open-mouthed kisses she had grown used to. “Yes, you do. On purpose. You want me panting for you.”

“Your ‘panting’ is inconvenient.”

“I have come to realize you like it inconvenient. You like me hard and aching for you in public, and in private. You like me mindless with lust until I would fuck you anywhere, in front of anyone, at any time.”

She snorted, but shivered at his tone and the feel of his breath gusting across her damp skin.

Was it true? Was her aim to provoke him?

“You are always mindless with lust, Gray. You always have been.”

“No. Lustful, yes. Mindless with it, never. Sometimes, I actually think I could take you in public, Isabel, the craving is so provoking. Deny me now, and I may bend you over the dinner table and provide the evening’s entertainment.” He nibbled her earlobe.

She laughed. “There is no hope for you. You are a beast.”

He growled playfully and nuzzled against her. “You know how to tame me.”

“Do I?” Turning in his arms, she faced him with a smile and brushed one fingertip across the bare skin revealed by the part in his dressing robe.

“Yes. You do.” Gray caught her hand and thrust it lower, between the parting of his robe at his thighs so that she felt how hard he was.

“It is nearly ridiculous how quickly you rouse,” she chastised with a shake of her head.

And he was so base about it, so blatant. Yes, she was seduced by him, but he was not a seducer. Perhaps his outrageous handsomeness had made the need for coaxing unnecessary. Or perhaps it was the size of the cock that throbbed against her palm. That would accomplish the task for him nicely.

He flexed inside her clasp and smiled with wicked arrogance.

She smiled back, admitting to herself that she quite liked primitive. No games, no insincerity, no guessing.

“You don’t feel tamed.” She moved in a way that caused the towel about her to puddle on the floor. Stroking the heated length of his shaft, she licked her lips.

“Witch.” He stepped forward, pushing her back, catching her hips when she stumbled in surprise. “You enslave me with sex.”

“Not true.” He rarely allowed her the lead, preferring to remain in control.

“I came in here with the express purpose of taking a nap. You instigated everything I must now do to you to slake my craving enough to catch some sleep.”

The backs of her thighs hit the high bed, and he lifted and tossed her upon the turned-down mattress. Then he shed his robe and crawled over her.

Staring up at him, she found herself smitten with his smile, with the gleam in his eyes, with the dark silky hair that fell over his brow. How different he was from the brooding, gloomy man who had stood in her drawing room so recently. Had she wrought this change? Did she hold that much sway over him?

Her eyes drifted lower.

“That look,” he said dryly, “is the reason we spend so much time in this position.”

“What look?” Isabel batted her lashes mischievously, enjoying the renewed teasing banter she’d missed. There always seemed to be so much tension between them. Its absence was a pleasure.

Gray dipped his head and licked the tip of her nose, then pressed his mouth to hers. “It says, Fuck me, Gerard. Spread my thighs, mount me, make me hoarse and limp from pleasure.”

“Good heavens,” she purred. “It’s a wonder I manage a word in edgewise with such chatty eyes.”

“Hmmm…” His voice lowered to the tone she recognized as the immediate herald to troublemaking. “I certainly cannot manage speech when you look at me like that. Drives me insane.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t look at me, then,” she suggested, her hands coming up to stroke his lean hips.

“You would never allow me to ignore you, Pel. You foster my infatuation at every turn.”

Infatuation. She shivered. Could he care for her? Did she want him to? “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you don’t want my attention to wander.” He kissed her before she could digest what he said.

Isabel lay still, her mouth ravished by a kiss that curled her toes, Gray’s tongue licking across hers, gliding under it, drinking from her as if she were some delicacy. All the while in her mind, she considered what he had said. Was she attempting to bind him to her with sexual extortion?

When Gray lifted his head, his breathing was as disturbed as hers. “You do not afford me even half a moment to think of another woman.” His eyelids lowered, shuttering his thoughts. “You take me to your bed at every opportunity. You exhaust me-”

“Ha. Your appetite is inexhaustible.” But the rejoinder that was meant to be dismissing, was instead shaky and inflected with a question. Had she gone from wanting him to stray, to wanting to keep him all to herself?

In one graceful, fluid movement, he rolled and brought her over him. “I require as much sleep as any other human.” He pressed his fingers over her mouth to silence a coming protest. “I am not so young as to forgo sleep altogether, so discard any attempt to use that excuse again. You are not too old for me. I am not too young for you.”

Catching his wrist, she tugged his hand away. “You could always sleep apart from me.”

“Don’t be daft. You mistake my observation for a complaint, which it is not.” Gray stroked the curve of her spine, applying pressure so that her breasts connected more fully to his chest. “Perhaps once or twice it has crossed my mind that I should manage my cock, instead of allowing it to lead me. But then I remember the feel of your cunt in orgasm, the way it clutches me, the way you arch up and cry out my name. And I tell my brain to cease prattling and leave me alone.”

Dropping her forehead to his chest, Isabel laughed.

He tucked her into his side. “If you require a physical display of my affections at this moment, I am more than prepared to oblige you. We can’t have you worried about waning interest and all that. Whatever you need, Pel, to make it possible to believe in me, I will do it. I suppose I should have stated that bluntly earlier so there would be no doubt. I am not Pelham.”

The look in his eyes was fond, with banked lust-the look of a man who was just as content to hold her as he was to ride her.

Her throat tightened, her eyes stung.

“Where did you find these sudden insights into my behavior?” she asked softly. The Grayson she’d married had never looked far enough beyond himself to see such things.

“I told you, you have my undivided attention.” His fingers plunged into her hair, loosening and then pulling out the pins that held it up, before tossing them to the floor. “There is no other person I would wish to be with more than you, female or otherwise. You make me laugh, you always have. You never allow me to become too full of myself. You see all of my faults and find most of them charming. I’ve no need of any other companions. In fact, you and I will remain in our rooms this evening.”

“Now who’s daft? Everyone will think we are up here having sex if we skip dinner.”

“And they will not be wrong,” he murmured, his lips to her forehead. “We are honeymooners, they should expect nothing less from us.”

Honeymoon. Just that one word brought back the dreams she’d once had of a passionate, monogamous marriage. How hopeful she had been then. How naïve. She should be too old to experience that kind of eager anticipation for the future.

Should be. But was finding the opposite was true.

“But we shall also take our meal together up here,” he continued, “and play chess. I will tell you of my-”

“You hate chess,” she reminded, pulling back to look at him.

“Actually, I have learned to enjoy it. And I am quite good. Be prepared to suffer defeat.”

Isabel stared up at him. So many times, she felt as if a stranger had returned to her. A man who looked very much like the man she married, but wasn’t. How much had he changed? He was so mercurial. Even now he seemed different from the man who had left her room just an hour before.

“Who are you?” she breathed, her hand reaching up to touch his face, to trace the arch of his brow. So much the same. So very different.

His smile faded. “I am your husband, Isabel.”

“No, you are not.” She pressed him back, sliding over him again. The texture of his hard body was so wonderful to her-the hard ridges and planes, the dusting of hair over his sun-darkened skin.

“How can you say that?” he asked, his voice turning husky as she moved upon him. “You stood next to me at the altar. You said the vows, and heard mine.”

Lowering her head, she took his mouth in a lush kiss, suddenly wanting him. Not because she was physically unable to resist the temptation he presented, but because she saw something in him she had failed to see before-commitment. He was committed to her, to learning about her and understanding her. The knowledge made her shiver, made her sink into his embrace, made her relish the feel of his strong arms encircling her back.

He turned his head, evading her questing mouth. Panting, he said, “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” She caressed the length of his torso, cupped his hip, shifted so she could reach between his legs.

“Don’t tell me I am not your husband and then silence me with sex. We will have this out, Pel. No more of this nonsense about mistresses and the like.”

She stroked his cock with a firm, sure hand. If anything proved that Gray had changed it was his resistance to lovemaking while seeking a deeper connection. Despite every bit of her brain that said her life experiences were correct in their dismissal of lasting marital affection, some tiny voice inside her urged her to believe otherwise.

He caught her wrist and bucked with a curse, taking the advantage. Looming over her, he pinned her arms to the bed. His face above her was hard as stone, his eyes glittering with the determination that was mirrored by his tense jaw.

“You’ve no wish to fuck me?” she asked innocently.

Growling, he said, “There is a heart and mind attached to the cock you enjoy so well. Altogether they form a man-your spouse. You cannot fragment the whole and take only the pieces you want.”

His declaration shook her, then decided her. Pelham…the Grayson she once knew…Neither would ever say such a thing. Whoever this man was above her, she desired to know him. To discover him, and the woman she felt like when she was with him.

“You are not the husband I said my vows to.” She saw him prepared to protest, and rushed ahead. “I did not want him, Gerard. You know that.”

The sound of his name sent a visible ripple through the length of his frame. His gaze narrowed. “What are you saying?”

She arched beneath him, stretching, enticing. Spreading her thighs, she welcomed him. Opened to him. “I want you.”

“Isabel…?” He pressed his damp forehead to hers, his hips settled against hers, his heavy cock finding her slick for him through no physical manipulation on his part. “Christ, you will be the death of me.”

Her head fell to the side as he entered her slowly. So slowly. Bare skin to bare skin. She had missed the feel of him this way, without a barrier between them.

The difference between this and their usual coupling was marked. When he’d first returned, he had been gentle, but the strain of that control had been obvious. Now, as he rocked deeper and deeper into her eager body, she knew he moved leisurely because this moment was one he wished to lengthen.

His mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Who do you want?”

Her voice came slurred with pleasure. “You…”