Read The Stranger I Married Online
Authors: Sylvia Day
The Stranger I Married (4 page)
Gerard made it to the hallway that led to his rooms before pausing to rest against the damask covered wall. He closed his eyes and cursed himself. His plan to renew relations with his wife had gone horribly awry the moment he had opened the door.
He should have been prepared, he should have known how his body would react to the sight of Pel draped in black satin, one creamy shoulder bared as she lounged on a chaise. But how could he have known? He had never felt that way about her before. At least, not that he could recollect. But during those previous meetings in her boudoir, he had been so in love with Em. Perhaps that was what had granted him immunity from his wife’s abundant charms.
Banging the back of his head lightly against the wall, Gerard could only hope that it would knock some sense into him. To lust for one’s wife. He groaned. For most men, that would be so convenient. Not for him. Isabel had been frightened by his interest.
Though not uninterested , a voice whispered in his mind. Yes, his seduction skills were a bit dusty, but he hadn’t completely forgotten everything. He knew the signals a woman’s body gave when she lusted in return.
Isabel may be correct in saying they were not the type of people who found love ever after. Lord knows they had both stumbled badly in that pursuit before. But perhaps it did not have to be a grand love affair. Perhaps it could simply be an affair, of indefinite duration. A marriage of friendship, and a shared bed. As much as he liked Pel, they had the foundation. He loved the sound of her laugh—that rich, throaty purr that warmed a man from the inside. And her smile, with its teasing hint of wickedness. The sexual attraction was there in bushels. Besides, they were married, after all. Surely that gave him a leg up.
Gerard pushed away from the wall, and went to his rooms. Garments tomorrow, and the hiring of a valet. Then a slow reintroduction to Society, and a heated seduction of his wife.
Of course, there was her paramour to attend to.
He grimaced. That would be the most difficult part. Isabel did not love her amours, but she cared a great deal for them, and was fiercely loyal. Winning her would take cunning and time, the latter being something he was not accustomed to investing in the pursuit of women.
But this was Pel, and as many would attest, she was worth the wait.
Isabel sighed inwardly and offered a bright smile. “If you would like to leave, I have no objections.”
Hargreaves set his gloved hand at the small of her back and gave a soft caress. “I did not say I wanted to leave. I suggested it as a cure for your ennui.”
At the moment, she almost wished she were bored. To have her head filled with nothing of any importance would be infinitely better than having it filled with thoughts of Gray. Who in hell was the man who had moved into her home today? She truly had no notion. She knew only that he was very dark, shadowed with torments she could not understand, because he would not share. He was also very dangerous. As her husband, he could demand anything of her that he desired and she would be helpless to deny him.
Deep in her heart, Isabel could not help but long for the Marquess of Grayson she’d once known. The younger Gray with the ready wit and careless disdain. He had been so simple to manage.
“Well, Isabel?” Hargreaves pressed.
She hid her slight irritation. John was a kind man, and had been her paramour for over two years, but he never voiced an opinion, never gave a hint of what he would prefer. “I would like you to decide,” she said, turning to face him.
“Me?” He frowned, which did nothing to lessen his appeal.
Hargreaves was very handsome with his aquiline nose and dark eyes. His black hair was graying at the temples, a distinguishing feature that only served to increase his attractiveness. A renowned swordsman, his body displayed the lanky grace of one who was expert in the sport of fencing. The earl was well-liked, and well-respected. Women wanted him, and Isabel was no exception. A widower with two sons, he had no need for a wife, and he was good-natured. She usually enjoyed his company. In bed, and out.
“Yes, you,” she said. “What would you like to do?”
“Whatever you desire,” he said smoothly. “As always, I live for your happiness.”
“It would make me happy to know what you want,” she retorted.
Hargreaves’ smile faded. “Why are you so out of sorts this evening?”
“Asking for your opinion does not make me out of sorts.”
“Then why are you snapping at me?” he complained.
Isabel closed her eyes, and tamped down her frustration. Her irritation with John was Gray’s fault. She looked at Hargreaves, and caught up his hand in hers. “What would you like to do? If we could do anything at all, what would give you the most pleasure?”
His scowl lifted as his lips curved in a sultry smile. He reached out, and stroked the tiny bit of skin that was visible between her short sleeve and long glove. Unlike Gray’s touch, it did not make her burn, but it did spread a gentle warmth that Hargreaves could stoke into a fire. “Your company gives me the most pleasure, Isabel. You know this.”
“Then I will see you at your home shortly,” she murmured.
He left immediately. Isabel waited a discreet amount of time, and then she made her egress as well. During the carriage ride to Hargreaves House, she brooded over her situation and considered what, if any, options she had. John noted her preoccupation the moment she entered his bedroom.
“Tell me what troubles you,” he murmured, as he removed her cloak.
She sighed and admitted, “Lord Grayson has returned.”
“Bloody hell.” Hargreaves circled her and faced her head on. “What does he want?”
“To live in his home, to regain his social life.”
John cupped her face with his hand. “What does he want with you?”
She noted his distress, and sought to soothe him. “Obviously I am here with you, and he is at home. You know how Grayson is.”
“I know how he was, but that was four years ago.” He moved away, pouring himself a drink. When he held the decanter up to her, she nodded gratefully. “I do not know how to feel about this, Isabel.”
“You should not feel anything. His return does not affect you.” Not like it affected her.
“I would be foolish not see how it could affect me in the future.”
“John.” She shook her head and kicked off her slippers. What could she say? Perhaps Gray’s advances toward her had not been an anomaly. It was possible her husband would still want her in the morning. Then again, perhaps the stress of returning had addled him in some way. She could only hope that the latter was true. A girl should only have to live with one man like Pelham in a lifetime. “No one knows what the future will bring.”
“God, Isabel. Do not spout phrases like that.” He tossed back his drink and poured another.
“What would like me to say?” she asked, hating that she could offer no words of comfort and still tell the truth.
He set his snifter down so hard the reddish liquid sloshed over the sides. Hargreaves ignored it, and came to her. “I want you to tell me that it does not matter that he has returned.”
“I cannot.”
She sighed, and lifted to her tiptoes to kiss the clenched line of his jaw. His arms came around her, and squeezed her tight. “You know I cannot. I wish I could.”
Taking the glass from her, Hargreaves set it on the end table, and pulled her toward the bed. She shook her head.
“You deny me?” he asked, clearly incredulous.
“I am confused, John, and distressed. Both of which rather dampens my ardor. It has nothing to do with you. I promise.”
“You have never turned me away. Why did you visit me? To torment me?”
Isabel pulled back, her lips pursed. “My apologies. I was unaware that I was only invited to fornicate.” She tugged her hand from his, and turned away.
“Pel, wait.” Hargreaves caught her about the waist, buried his face in the curve of her neck. “Forgive me. I feel a gulf between us that was not there before, and I can’t bear it.”
He turned her to face him. “Tell me truthfully. Does Grayson want you?”
“I don’t know.”
John released a frustrated breath. “How in hell can you not know, Isabel? You, out of all women, should know if a man desires to be in your bed or not.”
“You have not seen him. His garments are odd—coarse and overly simple. Wherever he has been, it has not been anywhere he would socialize. Yes, he lusts, John. I recognize that much. But is it me he lusts for? Or a woman in general? That is what I do not know.”
“Then we must find your husband his own paramour,” John said grimly. “So that he will leave mine alone.”
She gave a weary laugh. “What an odd conversation to have.”
“I know.” Hargreaves grinned, and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Shall we sit, and plan a dinner, then? We can make a list of all the women we think Grayson would enjoy, and invite them.”
“Oh, John.” Isabel smiled her first genuine smile since Gray had returned. “That is such an inspired enterprise. Why could I not have thought of it?”
“Because that’s what you have me for.”
Gerard read the morning’s newspaper over coffee, and tried to ignore his anxiousness. He would be seen today, Society would know that he had returned. Over the next few days, old acquaintances would come to call, and he would have to decide which friendships to renew, and which would remain in the past.
He looked up at the sound of Isabel’s voice, and took a sharp, quick inhale as he stood. She was dressed in pale blue, her bodice low and displaying the generous curves of her breasts, while the waist was high and banded with darker blue ribbon. Her gaze would not meet his directly until he returned her greeting, then she looked at him, and managed a smile.
Pel was obviously nervous, and it was the first time that he had ever seen her less than utterly confident. She stared at him a moment. Then her chin lifted, and she approached him. She pulled out the chair next to him before he could unlock his muscles and do it for her. He cursed inwardly. He had not been a monk for four years, but it had been a good while since his last liaison. Too long.
“Gray,” she began.
“Yes?” he prodded when she hesitated.
“You need a mistress,” she blurted.
He blinked, and then dropped back into his chair,
She nodded, and bit her luscious bottom lip. “I doubt you will have any difficulty acquiring one.”
“No,” he said slowly. Good God. “With the proper attire, and a reintroduction to Society, I could manage the task, I’m sure.” Gerard stood again. He could not talk about this with her. “Shall we go, then?”
“In a hurry?” She laughed, and he grit his teeth at the lusty sound. The wariness that had stiffened her frame when she first entered was gone, leaving behind the Pel of old. A Pel who expected him to contract a mistress, and leave her alone.
“You ate upstairs, did you not?” He backed up a step, and breathed through his mouth. How in hell would he make it through the afternoon? Or the next week, or month? Or— bloody hell—years, as she often invested in her affairs.
“Yes.” She stood. “Let’s be off then, Lothario. Far be it for me to delay the discovery of your next amour.”
Gerard followed at a safe distance, but doing so was not effective in quelling his lust due to the lamentable fact that he now had an excellent view of Isabel’s gently swaying hips and lush derriere.
The landau ride was a bit better, as the open top helped to dissipate the scent of exotic flowers. And the walk on Bond Street was better than that, since he could no longer think about his errant cock while being gaped and pointed at. Pel walked beside him, chatting merrily, her lovely face shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You would think I had risen from the dead.”
“In a way, you have. You left without a word, and kept in touch with no one. But I think they are just as interested in the changes to your appearance.”
“My skin is sun-darkened.”
“Yes, it is. I quite like it. Other women will like it, too.”
He glanced down at her in the course of his reply, and realized that from his vantage he had a prime view of her breasts.
“Where is the damned tailor’s?” he growled, frustrated beyond measure.
“You do need a woman,” she said, shaking her head. “Here we are. This is the establishment you listed in your old schedule, is it not?”
The door opened inward with a soft ring of bells, and within moments they were in a private fitting room. He was divested of his clothing, which Pel ordered away with a toss of her hand and a wrinkling of her nose. Gerard stood there in his smalls, and laughed. Until she turned to face him. Then the way she looked at him tightened his throat and choked off his merriment.
“Good heavens,” she breathed, while circling him. Her fingertips brushed lightly across the ridges of his abdomen. He bit back a groan. The entire room smelled like her. Now she was touching him intimately.
The tailor entered, and gaped a moment in surprise. “I believe I will have to take new measurements, my lord.”
Isabel stepped back quickly at the intrusion, her cheeks flushed. The tailor began to work, and she recovered quickly, directing her attention to talking the tradesman into parting with finished garments ordered by another customer.
“Surely, you would not wish His Lordship to leave your establishment in any manner other than suitably attired?” she asked.
“Of course not, Lady Grayson,” came the ready reply. “But these are the closest to finished that I have, and they will not fit His Lordship. But perhaps I could add some extra material here.”
“Yes, and let it out a little more there,” she said, when the tailor pinned the material at his shoulder. “Look how broad he is. You can remove the padding. First and foremost, he must be comfortable.”
Her hand drifted down his back, and Gerard clenched his fists to fight off a shudder. He was anything but comfortable.
“Do you have smalls that will fit him?” she asked, her voice lower and huskier than usual. “This material is too coarse.”
“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 couldn’t 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 overlyambitious 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.