Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

“Yes,” the tailor said quickly, eager to sell as much as possible.

The jacket was whisked away, and Gerard pulled on the matching trousers. They stood behind him, the tailor and Isabel, and he was grateful. He was holding off a cockstand by dint of will alone. He could not help being aroused. Pel’s gaze was so hot, he felt it, and she continued to touch him and say admiring things about his body. A man could only take so much.

“Do not alter this,” she breathed, her breath hot against his bare back. Her hand cupped the curve of his ass. “Is it too tight back here, my lord?” she asked him softly, caressing him. “I hope not. It looks wonderful.”

“No. The back is fine.” Then he lowered his voice so only she could hear. “But you have made the front damned uncomfortable.”

The curtain moved to the side, and an assistant entered with the smalls. Gerard closed his eyes in misery. Everyone would see his condition now.

“Thank you,” Isabel murmured. “Lord Grayson will need a moment.”

He stood in surprise as she shooed the others out. Only when they were alone did he turn to face her. “Thank you, Isabel.”

Her eyes were riveted to the placket of his trousers. She swallowed hard, and hugged the smalls to her chest. “You should remove those before you burst the seams.”

“Will you help me?” he asked gruffly, hoping.

“No, Gray.” She handed him the smalls, and looked away. “I told you, I have someone.”

Gerard was tempted to remind her that she also had a husband, but that would not be fair, considering how he had coerced her into marriage. Selfishly, he had wanted her as his wife to irritate his mother, and save himself from overly ambitious mistresses. He had paid no regard to the censure she would face by taking lovers without first providing him an heir. This was his repayment for his narcissism-to desire what belonged to him, but was not his to take.

He nodded, swallowing the bitterness of his regret. “Give me some privacy. If you would, please.”

She did not look at him as she left.

Isabel stepped out of the fitting room, and closed the curtain behind her. Her hands shook terribly, incited by the sight of Gray’s body as he dressed and undressed, teasing her with his male perfection.

He was in the prime of his life, retaining the power and strength of youth, while adding the maturity of tough times and a few years. He rippled with muscle everywhere, and she knew from being held against him yesterday that he wielded that power carefully.

Honestly, Gray. You are too young for me.

Why had she not stayed the straight course? Looking at him now, seeing all of his vigor and vitality, Isabel collected how wrong she had been to bind his life to hers.

He needed a lover to take up his time and attention. A man of his age was bursting with lust, and the primal desire to sow his oats. She was convenient and attractive, and so he wanted her. She was the only woman he knew, for the time being. But one does not have an affair with one’s spouse.

Isabel groaned inwardly. God, why had she married again? She had made the ultimate commitment to avoid commitment, and look where that foolishness had landed her.

Men who looked like Gray were not constant. She had learned that lesson with Pelham. The dashing earl had needed a wife, and he’d lusted for her. A perfect combination in his mind. But once his infatuation had faded, he had moved on to the next bed, completely disregarding how in love with him she was. Grayson would move on as well. Certainly, he was more somber now, more grounded than when they had wed, but his age was undeniable.

Isabel could bear the rumors of his sexual prowess, and the innuendoes that she was too old to satisfy him or provide him an heir, as long as she felt no claim to him. She was faithful to her lovers, and expected the same in return for the duration of the affair. And therein lay the rub. Affairs were meant to be ended, while marriages lasted until death.

Isabel walked away, determined to find something to distract her from her thoughts. Moving toward the main room, she was intent on looking at the latest renderings, but the sliver of open curtain caught her eye. She paused. Then took a step back.

Against her will, she peeped through that tiny gap, and was arrested by the sight of Gray’s fine derriere. Why had God given so much beauty to one man? And that ass! It was fiendish to have a man who looked as good from the back as he did from the front.

The firm cheeks were pale, especially in contrast to the deep tan of his torso. Where had he been, and what had he been occupied with to have developed those muscles and gained that skin color? He was glorious-his back, buttocks, and arms flexing with rhythmic power.

She released her held breath. It was then she noted why he was making those repetitive motions.

Gray was masturbating.

Christ! Isabel sagged against the wall as her knees went weak. She could not look away, even as her nipples tightened into aching points, and a slow trickle of arousal began deep inside her. Had she pushed him to this with a simple touch and a heated glance? The thought of holding so much power over such a glorious creature made her ache. Customers and employees scuttled behind her, and there she stood, obviously a voyeur. A woman of the world, she was nevertheless devastated by lust.

He was panting, his thighs straining, and she wished she could see the front of him. What did that beautiful face look like in the heat of passion? Was the lacing of muscle on his abdomen taut with tension? Was his cock as well built as the rest of him? Her imaginings were worse than the watching.

His head fell back, his dark hair drifting across his shoulders, and then he shuddered with a low, pained moan. Isabel moaned with him, sweat misting her skin, and then she turned away before he saw her. Before she saw him, in all his glory.

What the devil was she to do now?

Yes, she was a sensual woman, and the sight of a man pleasuring himself would titillate her, regardless. But never to this extent. She could barely breathe, and the need to climax was near maddening. It would be foolish to tell herself otherwise.

She recognized the tendrils of heat that curled low in her belly. Some called it desire. She called it destruction.

“Lady Grayson?” he called, in that deep raspy voice.

She placed that tone now that she had heard it enough. It was a bedroom voice, the sound of a man who had just cried out his pleasure. Why he should have that voice all the time, to torment women with the desire to give him reason to sound that way, was simply wrong.

“Y-yes?” She took a deep breath, and entered.

Gray faced her wearing the new smalls. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes knowing. She had not gone undetected.

“I hope one day you do more than watch,” he said softly.

She covered the lower half of her face with a gloved hand, mortified and anguished. Yet he was unashamed. He stared at her intensely, his gaze taking in the outline of her hardened nipples.

“Damn you,” she whispered, hating him for coming home and turning her life upside-down. She ached all over, her skin too hot and too tight, and she detested the feeling and the memories it brought with it.

“I am damned, Pel, if I must live with you and not have you.”

“We had a bargain.”

“This,” he gestured between them, “was not there then. What do you propose we do about it? Ignore it?”

“Spend it elsewhere. You are young and randy-”

“And married.”

“Not truly!” she cried, ready to tear out her hair in frustration.

Gray snorted. “As truly as marriage can be without sex. I intend to correct that lack.”

“Is that why you came back? To fuck your wife?”

“I came back because you wrote to me. Every Friday the post would come and there would be a letter, written with soft pink parchment and scented of flowers.”

“You sent them back, every one of them. Unopened.”

“The contents were not important, Pel. I knew what you did and where you went without your recounts. It was the thought that mattered. I had hoped you would desist, and leave me to my misery-”

“Instead you brought the misery to me,” she snapped, pacing the length of the small room to ease the feeling of confinement. “It was my obligation to write to you.”

“Yes!” he cried, triumphant. “Your obligation as my wife, which in turn forced me to remember that I had a like obligation to you. So I returned to quell the rumors, to support you, to correct the wrong I did you by leaving.”

“That does not require sex!”

“Lower your voice,” he warned, grabbing her arm and tugging her closer. He cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding her erect nipple, and rolling it until she whimpered in helpless pleasure. “This requires sex. Look how aroused you are. Even in your fury and distress, I would wager you are wet between the thighs for me. Why should I take someone else, when it is you I want?”

“I have someone.”

“You persist in saying that, but he is not enough, obviously, or you would not want me.”

Guilt flooded her that her body should be so eager for him. She never entertained the idea of another man while attached to one. Months passed between her lovers, because she mourned the loss of each one, even though she was the party who said good-bye.

“You are wrong.” She yanked her arm from his grip, her breast burning where he had touched her. “I do not want you.”

“And I used to admire your honesty,” he jeered softly.

Isabel stared at Gray, and saw his determination. The slow, dull ache in her chest was so familiar, a ghost of the hell Pelham had left her in.

“What happened to you?” she asked sadly, lamenting the loss of the comfort she once felt with him.

“The blinders were torn from me, Pel. And I saw what I was missing.”

Once appropriately attired, Gerard moved aside the curtain and stepped out into the short hall. He caught sight of Isabel immediately. Standing by the window, her auburn hair caught stray rays of sunshine and turned to fire. The contrast of those silken threads of flame against the ice blue of her gown was stunning, and very apropos. The heat of her desire had scorched him, even as she chilled him with her words. In fact, he was surprised she had remained the two hours it had taken to alter the pilfered garments. Gerard had half-expected her to leave. But Pel was not one to hide from things unpleasant. She may avoid discussing them, but she would not actually run from them. It was one of the quirky traits he rather liked in her.

He sighed, damning himself for pushing too hard, but he could do nothing differently. He did not understand her, and he could not make amends without comprehension. Why was she so determined to have nothing of importance between them? Why desire him, know he craved her in return, and refuse to act upon it? It was not like Isabel to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh. Did she perhaps love her present amour? His hands clenched into fists at the thought. Gerard was well aware that it was possible to love one person, and yet physically require the attentions of another.

At that thought, he cursed inwardly. He had obviously not changed all that much to have pawed and groped at his wife. What in hell was the matter with him? A gentleman did not treat his spouse in that fashion. He should be wooing her, not salivating to rut in her.

He called out as he approached so as not to startle her. “Lady Grayson.”

Pel turned to face him with a winsome smile. “My lord. You look very dashing.”

So it was that way, was it? Pretend as if nothing had happened.

He smiled with all the charm he possessed, and lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “A husband must, to escort a wife as fair as you, my lovely Isabel.”

Her hand shook a little in his, and her voice when she spoke had a slight catch. “You flatter me.”

He wished to do a great deal more to her, but that would have to wait. He tucked her hand around his arm, and led her to the door.

“Even I cannot do you justice,” she said, as he retrieved her flowered straw hat from the clerk and set it on her head, pinning it in place with the ease of familiarity. The door chimes rang, and he stepped closer, his back to the street, to allow the new customer to pass. The air sweltered between him and Pel, flushing her skin and tensing his frame.

“You need a lover,” she breathed, those sherry eyes wide and held by his gaze.

“I have no need of one. I have a wife who desires me.”

“Good afternoon, my lord,” the clerk called out, rounding the counter.