Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

“And I’ve no wish to provoke you, Gray, but I prefer women who prefer me.”

“Perhaps that would have been possible, had I been here to see to her.”

“True.” Tossing back his drink, Spencer set his glass down and crossed his arms. “Will you be bringing her into line now?”

“She was never out of line.”

“If you say so,” Spencer said skeptically.

“I do. Now, I expect you to stay with Lady Grayson for the duration of your evening. Stay out of the card rooms and rein in your libidinous inclinations until she is home safely.”

“What, exactly, do you expect to happen to her?”

“Nothing, because you will be there.”

Gerard rose as Pel’s lush form filled the doorway. She wore pale pink, a color that should have made her look sweetly innocent; instead it emphasized her worldliness and vibrant sensuality. Her full breasts were beautifully showcased in the loving embrace of her high-waisted gown. The overall effect, to him, was of a sugar-coated treat. One he wished to nibble and consume until he was gorged.

He blew out his breath; his response to the mere sight of her was both primitive and instinctual. He wished to toss her over his shoulder, run up the stairs, and fuck like rabbits. The image was so absurd, he could not help but chuckle through a tortured groan.

“Come now,” she murmured with a slight smile. “I cannot look as bad as all that.”

“Good God,” Spencer cried out, moving forward to capture her hand and lift it to his lips. “I shall need a small sword to hold them off. But never fear, my dearest sister-in-law, I shall serve you until the very end.”

Isabel’s soft, husky laughter drifted through the study and weakened Gerard’s already shaky resolution to allow her to go. He was not a jealous man by nature, but Isabel resisted the connection he sought and his tenuous position in her life caused him a rare level of anxiety.

“How gallant of you, Lord Spencer,” she rejoined with a blinding smile. “It has been some time since I’ve enjoyed the company of a brazen rake.”

The warm appreciation in his brother’s eyes made Gerard grit his teeth. “I take it as my personal duty to fill that lack.”

“And you shall do so admirably, I have no doubt.”

His throat tight, Gerard cleared it, drawing their attention to him. Somehow he managed a smile that sparked a hot flicker in Pel’s eyes. Words were caught and held on his tongue, squelched before they could be freed. He was desperate to say things that would make her stay-anything and everything, so he would not have to spend the evening alone. The night before had been hell while she was gone. The air in their rooms was scented of her skin, making it more obvious how cold and lonely the house was without her vibrant presence.

He sighed in resignation and held out his hand, every muscle hardening when her gloved fingertips pressed lightly into his palm. He escorted her to the door, draped her in her cloak, and returned to his study window to watch his carriage carry her away.

She belonged to him, as surely as his entailed estates. Nothing and no one could take her away. But he had no wish to keep her by force. He wished to earn her regard, just as he had earned the respect of his tenants. Pride in ownership worked both ways, and until he’d worked side by side with his tenants on his many holdings-until he’d worn their clothes, attended their celebrations, and eaten at their ta bles-they’d had none for him, an errant lord who paid them no mind and felt no loyalty.

His methods had been extreme by any measure, and every time he moved his attentions to a new estate, he had to begin the process of building trust and respect anew. But it had been healing for him. A chance for him to find a home, a place to belong, things he’d never had before.

Now he knew it had been training for this. This was his true home. And if he could find a way to share it with Isabel, in every way, if he could cool his ardor enough and rein in the base needs that clawed at him, perhaps contentment with her could be his.

It was a goal worth striving for.

“She has thrown you over, has she, Lord Hargreaves?” asked a girlish voice beside him.

John turned his head away from the sight of Isabel across the ballroom, and bowed to the lovely brunette who spoke to him. “Lady Stanhope, a pleasure.”

“Grayson has ruined your cozy little arrangement,” she purred, her eyes leaving his to find Pel. “Look how zealously Lord Spencer guards her side. You know as well as I that he would not be here if Grayson had not ordered him to be. Makes one wonder why he is not here to see to the matter himself.”

“I have no wish to discuss Lord Grayson,” he said tightly. Unable to help himself, he stared at his former mistress. He still could not collect how everything could change so drastically in so short a time. Yes, he had noted Pel’s increasing restlessness, but their friendship had been strong and the sex as satisfying as always.

“Even if discussing him could return Lady Grayson’s attentions to you?”

His head whipped toward her. Dressed in blood red satin, Stanhope’s widow was hard to miss, even amongst the crowd. He had noted her several times over the course of the evening, especially since she seemed to be spending a great deal of her time studying him. “What are you saying?”

Lady Stanhope’s rouged mouth curved in a portentous smile. “I want Grayson. You want his wife. It would be to both of our benefits to work together.”

“I’ve no notion of what you are talking about.” But he was intrigued. And it showed.

“That’s fine, darling,” she drawled. “You can leave all the notions to me.”

“Lady Stanhope-”

“We are allies. Call me Barbara.”

The determined tilt of her chin and eyes as hard as the jade they resembled told John she knew what she was about. He glanced at Pel again and caught her staring back at him with her full bottom lip worried between her teeth. His pride smarted.

Barbara’s hand slipped around his arm. “Let’s walk, and I shall tell you what I have planned…”

Sitting at her boudoir desk, Isabel addressed the last of her dinner invitations with a flourish that belied the apprehension she felt. Grayson had never been the type of man who would brush off such machinations. He was devious and lacked the morals that restrained most, and while he admired similar cunning in others, he did not feel as charitable to those who would try their trickery on him.

Fully cognizant of the fact that she was, in effect, poking a sleeping lion with a stick, she hesitated a moment, staring at the tidy stack of cream-colored missives at her elbow.

“Would you like these sent out immediately?” her secretary asked, hovering nearby.

She hesitated a moment, and then shook her head. “Not just yet. You may go for now.”

Rising from her seat at the escritoire, Isabel knew she was only prolonging the inevitable by failing to set in motion her search for a mistress for Gray, but she needed a bit more inner strength to manage the task. The tension and heated awareness between them was anathema to her mental health.

She’d slept fitfully the night before. Her body, while sore, craved the feel of his. If only she knew what had caused their relationship to alter so drastically, perhaps she could find a way to change it back.

As Gray had requested earlier, she moved over to the adjoining door to speak with him, her stomach fluttering at the mere thought of seeing him. She had barely cracked the portal open when the sound of angry voices stilled her.

“What concerns me is the talk, Gray. Since I avoid those types of preening social events, I had no notion of how bad it is. It is truly dreadful.”

“What is said about me is no concern of yours,” Gray rejoined tightly.

“Damned if it isn’t!” Spencer cried. “I am a Faulkner, too. You chastise me for running wild, and yet Pel has a far worse reputation. They wonder if you have the wherewithal to bring her to heel. They whisper about why you left, that perhaps your recalcitrant wife is too much for you. That you are not man enough to-”

“I suggest you say no more.” Gray’s interjection was fraught with menace.

“Turning a deaf ear does nothing to correct the damage. She was in the retiring room for no more than a few minutes, and in that time I overheard things that made my blood run cold. Mother is right. You should petition Parliament to be rid of her. You quite easily have two witnesses to her adultery. Hundreds, in fact.”

“You tread on thin ice, brother.”

“I will not tolerate the disparagement of our name, and I am aghast that you would do so!”

“Spencer.” Gray’s voice dropped in warning. “Do not do anything idiotic.”

“I will do what is necessary. She is a mistress, Grayson. Not a wife.”

There was a loud grunt, and the wall beside her shook violently. Isabel covered her mouth to stifle a cry.

“Say another unkind word about Pel,” Gray bit out, “and I will not restrain myself. I will not tolerate any slander of my wife.”

“Bloody hell,” Spencer gasped. His surprised voice was so close to the gap in the door she was certain she would be discovered. “You attacked me! What has happened to you? You have changed.”

Stumbling footsteps told her that Gray had pushed his brother away.

“You say I have changed. Why? Because I choose to honor my promises and commitments? That is maturity.”

“She does not afford a like respect to you.”

The low growl from Grayson frightened Isabel. “Get out. I cannot be near you now.”

“We are well met, then, for I cannot bear to be near you either.”

Angry-sounding footfalls preceded the slamming of the hallway door.

Her heart racing madly, Isabel slumped against the wall and felt ill. She was well aware of the talk, which had started when they wed and grew worse as they lived separate lives. Gray’s title held enough power that no one would dare cut her, and she had considered the gossip the price she must pay for her decisions and the freedom she desired. Gray had seemed immune, and so she had assumed he did not care. Now she knew he did care. A great deal. To learn that she had hurt Gray was so painful she could barely catch her breath.

Unsure of what to do or what to say to minimize the damage she had caused, Isabel stood motionless until she heard Gray’s weary sigh. That soft sound touched her deeply, melting something that had long been frozen. She gripped the knob, pulled the door open…

…and was arrested by the sight that greeted her.

Gray was clad in only trousers, a new garment by the look of it, which reminded her of the tailor’s earlier call. He stood by the bed, his hand on the carved post, his back and beautifully curved buttocks hard with tension.

“Grayson,” she called quietly, her blood hot from the mere sight of him.

He straightened, but did not face her. “Yes, Pel?”

“You wished to speak with me?”

“I apologize. Now is not a good time.”

She took a deep breath, and stepped further into the room. “It is I who owes you an apology.”

He turned to face her then, causing her to reach for a nearby chair and grip the back of it. The sight of his bare torso stole her wits.

“You overheard,” he said flatly.

“It was not my intent.”

“We are not discussing this now.” His jaw tightened. “I am not fit company at the moment.”

Shaking her head, Isabel pushed away from her support and moved forward. “Tell me how I can help you.”

“You won’t like my answer, so I suggest you leave. Now.”

Heaving out her breath, she fought back the urge to cast up her accounts. “How could we have erred so greatly?” she asked, almost to herself.

Veering off course, she walked toward the other side of the room. “Ignorance, I suppose. And arrogance. To think that we could live as we pleased and expect Society to accept us.”

“Go away, Isabel.”

“I refuse to come between you and your family, Gray.”

“My family be damned!” he retorted. “As you will be, if you stay here any longer.”

“Don’t growl at me.” She shot him a narrowed glance. “You once shared your problems with me. Now that I am the problem, I think that habit is even more important. And cease looking at me like that…What are you doing?”

“I warned you,” he said grimly. Moving so quickly she had no time to evade him, Gray caught her about the waist with his hands and carried her to the bathing chamber. His skin was hot, his grip too tight. He set her down, shoved her inside, and slammed the door shut between them.

“Gray!” she shouted through the portal.

“I am feeling violent, and your scent is making me lustful. Persisting with your inane prattle will see you tossed on your back and your mouth put to much better uses.”