Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

“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 lowered her guard.

“Tassels.”

“What?”

He turned her to face him.

“Pink with gold tassels in the parlor,” she said.

“Fine. Pink flatters my coloring.”

“You will not 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 do not 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 wasted hours looking for him tonight. Still, despite the knowledge that he could be wounded, or could 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 want no 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.

“We should 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 all-encompassing embrace.

Lord Hammond, the owner of the library in which 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 perfect,” 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 set 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 could not yet say.

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.”