The Stranger I Married (Historical #2)

The Stranger I Married (Historical #2) Page 17

“I am not a sex-obsessed female, Grayson, which is what your question implies.”

“You can be as sex-obsessed as you like. With me.”

“I cannot keep up with you,” she scoffed, backing away. “Eventually, you will fill the lack elsewhere.”

“Why worry about ‘eventually’ now?” His gaze penetrated as he stalked her. “Forget the past and the future. If there is one thing I learned over the last four years, it is that this moment is the one that matters.”

“How is that any different than how you lived before?” Sidestepping quickly, Isabel nearly ran to the door that led to her boudoir. She gasped as Gray caught her about the waist. The feel of him behind her—hard, aroused—flooded her with memories.

“Before,” he said harshly in her ear, “everything in my life could wait until another day. Visiting my estates, meeting with my stewards, seeing Lady Sinclair. Sometimes that other day never comes, Pel. Sometimes today is all there is.”

“See how different we are? I will always think of the future and how my actions today will come back to haunt me.”

With one arm banded around her waist, he used his free hand to knead her breast. Against her will, she moaned.

“I will haunt you.” Gray surrounded her, dominated her, teased her with his seductive touch. “I am not fool enough to cage you in, Isabel, not when we are already leg-shackled together.” With a curse, he released her. “I will remind you of that as often as is necessary.”

She spun to face him, her skin missing the touch of his. “I will not be guarded like a prisoner.”

“I’ve no wish to lessen your freedom.”

“Then why?”

“Soon others will know you have dismissed Hargreaves. They will sniff after you, and for the moment, I am unable to do aught about it.”

“Staking your claim?” she asked coldly.

“Protecting you.” Linking both arms behind his neck, he stretched and suddenly looked weary. “I returned for the express purpose of being a husband to you, I have said that from the first.”

“Please. We have run this into the ground.”

“Indulge me, vixen,” he said softly. “One day at a time, that is all I ask. Surely you can spare that much?”

“I have already—”

“How else can we live together? Answer me that.” His voice roughened as his arms fell to his sides. “Each craving the other…hungry…I am famished for you. Starving.”

“I know,” she whispered, feeling the great distance between them, even though they stood so close. Shivering with lust, her nipples hardened. She grew moist for him despite her soreness. “And I cannot sate you.”

“I did not sate you either. We spent mere hours together. Not nearly enough time.” Gray moved toward the door to make his egress.

“We have not finished discussing your three o’clock rule, Grayson.”

He stilled, but did not face her. In the candlelight, his hair gleamed with the vitality that defined him. “You stand there clad only in chemise and stockings, your body creamy and begging for a fucking. If I stay here a moment longer, that is what you will get, Pel.”

She hesitated, her arm lifting toward his tense back, a momentary sign of weakness before she could control it.

How else can we live together?

They couldn’t. Not for much longer.

Her hand dropped. “I shall be home by three.”

Gray nodded and left without looking back.

Gerard looked across his desk at Spencer and released a weary breath. There was too much turmoil in his life at the moment. The only time he felt remotely at peace with his return to London was when he was talking with Pel.

Not arguing. Talking.

He wished to God he understood her. Why was she so focused on the unraveling of a relationship that had yet to truly begin? To him that made as much sense as wearing a fur-lined coat in warm weather just because it would one day rain.

“This is not what I anticipated when I agreed to come here,” Spencer grumbled, shaking his head. His hair was overlong, and a thick lock fell over his forehead in a way Gerard knew would urge women to touch it. He knew because it was a style he once sported for that very reason. “I thought you and I would be going about town together.”

“And we shall, once I am suitably attired. In the meantime, I envy you an evening spent in Lady Grayson’s company. You will enjoy yourself, I can assure you.”

“Yes, but I was hoping to spend my evening with a woman I can fuck.”

“You will escort my wife home no later than three, and after that you are free to do as you please.” Gerard almost advised him to enjoy himself, since it was the last such late night Spencer would have in a while. But he held his tongue.

“Mother hates her, you know,” Spencer said, pausing briefly in front of the desk. “Truly detests her.”

“And you?”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Do you truly wish to hear my opinion?”

“Certainly.” Gerard leaned back in his very uncomfortable chair and reminded himself to toss it out when the study was overhauled. “I’m curious to learn how you feel about my wife. You will be sharing a residence with her. Your thoughts, therefore, concern me.”

Spencer shrugged. “I cannot decide if I envy you or pity you. I’ve no notion how a peeress came to have a body like that. Pel’s beauty is not genteel in any fashion. That hair. Her skin. Her breasts. And for God’s sake, where in hell did she get those lips? Yes, I would give up a fortune for a woman like that in my bed. But to take one to wife?” He shook his head. “And yet both you and Pelham sought your pleasures outside the marriage bed. Can you tell me why?”

“Idiocy.”

“Ha!” Spencer laughed and strolled to the array of decanters. After pouring himself a drink, he turned and rested his hip against the mahogany table. His body was lean with youth, and Gerard studied him, trying to see how Pel must have seen him when they’d wed. Perhaps the contrast between himself and Spencer would facilitate his cause with his wife. Surely she could not fail to note how different he was now.

“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…”

Chapter 10

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.