Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

“Certainly,” Gray said smoothly. “After my extended absence, I intend to never be away from her side for even a moment.”

“Wonderful! I now look forward to the event with even greater anticipation.”

“You are too kind.”

Saying her farewells, Lady Hamilton retreated quickly.

“Gray,” Isabel began with a sigh. “Why stir up gossip in this way?”

“If you think there is any possibility that we will not be gossiped about, you are delusional.” He continued down the street toward their waiting landau.

“Why add fuel to the fire?”

“Do they teach women how to speak in riddles in finishing school? I vow, you all do it so well.”

“Damn you, I agreed to be your escort until you find your footing, but that will not take long, and once you go your own way-”

“We are going the same way, Pel,” he drawled. “We’re married.”

“We can separate. After the last four years it would merely be a formality.”

Gray took a deep breath, and looked down at her. “Why would I want to do that? Better yet, why would you?”

Isabel kept her eyes ahead. How could she explain, when she wasn’t certain she knew the answer? She shrugged helplessly.

His hand over hers, he gave a soft squeeze. “A great deal has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Give both of us some time to adjust to one another. I admit, things between us have not progressed the way I anticipated.”

He assisted her into the landau, and then directed the driver home.

“What did you anticipate, Gray?” Perhaps if she knew his aim, she could find some understanding. Or at the very least ease some of her worry.

“I thought I would return, you and I would sit down with a few bottles of excellent vintage, and become reacquainted. I imagined slowly finding my way in this world, and settling into the comfort you and I once knew together.”

“I would like that,” she said softly. “But I doubt the possibility unless we can find a way to be like we were.”

“Is that truly what you desire?” He twisted in the seat to face her, and her gaze dropped, noting how muscular and powerful his thighs were. She could not seem to cease taking note of such things now. “Do you love Hargreaves?”

Isabel’s brows shot up. “Love him? No.”

“Then there is hope for us.” He smiled, but the determination in his voice was unmistakable.

“Not that I don’t care quite a bit for him, because I do. We have many interests in common. He is of a like age. We-”

“Does my age bother you, Isabel?” He studied her from beneath the brim of his hat, his blues eyes narrowed and considering.

“Well, you are younger, and-”

Gray caught her about the neck, and pulled her close, tilting his head to duck under her hat. His mouth-that sculpted mouth that could dazzle or sneer with equal effectiveness-brushed across hers.

“Oh!”

“I will not accept a sham anymore, Pel.” He licked across her lips, and groaned softly. “God, the way you smell drives me insane.”

“Gray,” she gasped, pushing at his shoulders and discovering just how hard he was. Her lips trembled and burned. “People can see us.”

“I don’t care.” He swiped his tongue quickly into her mouth, and she shivered at the taste of him. “You belong to me. I can seduce you if I want to.” As his hand at her nape stroked softly, his voice lowered. “And I definitely want to.”

He sealed his lips over hers, a brief tease, and then he pulled away, whispering, “Shall I demonstrate what a younger man can do for you?”

Her eyes drifted shut. “Please…”

“Please what?” His free hand rested next to her thigh, and kneaded her, sending waves of yearning through her body. “Please show you?”

She shook her head. “Please don’t make me want you, Gray.”

“Why not?” He tugged off his hat, and set his mouth to her throat, licking across her racing pulse.

“Because I will hate you forever if you do.”

He pulled back quickly in surprise, and she took the opportunity to shove hard, which effectively knocked him over. He fell to his back, his arms flailing outward in an attempt to halt his descent. She flinched as his shoulders hit the side with a loud thump, leaving him nearly prone.

“What the devil?” Gray stared at her, wide-eyed.

She scrambled over to the rear-facing squab.

“Yes, you can have your way, Gray,” she said grimly. “Much to my shame. But while my body may be all too willing to indulge, I happen to have morals, and a care for Hargreaves, who does not deserve to be set aside after nearly two years of companionship just for a rut.”

“A rut, madam?” he growled, cursing as he nearly fell off the seat in his attempt to sit up. “One does not ‘rut’ with their spouse.”

Once he’d managed to resume his perch, the full extent of his arousal was revealed by the stretching of material between his legs. Isabel swallowed hard, and looked away quickly. Good God.

“What else could it be?” she said crossly. “We know nothing of one another!”

“I know you, Pel.”

“Do you?” She snorted. “What is my favorite flower? Favorite color? Favorite tea?”

“Tulips. Blue. Peppermint.” Gray snatched his hat off the floorboards, shoved it on his head, and crossed his arms.

She blinked.

“Thought I wasn’t paying attention?”

Isabel bit her lower lip, and rifled through her memories. What were his favorite flowers, color, and tea? She was ashamed to realize she did not know.

“Ha!” he said triumphantly. “All well and good, Isabel. I shall give you the time you require to come around, and during that time you can learn all about me, and I about you.”

The landau rolled to a halt outside their home. She glanced at the planters by the street, and saw the blue flowers. Gray leapt down, and then assisted her. He walked her up the steps, bowed, and then turned about.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, her skin still tingling from his touch, her stomach clenched at the determined set of his shoulders.

He paused, and looked back at her. “If I go in the house with you, I will take you, whether you will it or no.” When she said nothing, his mouth curved mockingly. Within moments, he was gone.

Where would he go? He was obviously aroused, and virile enough that his release in the tailor’s shop would not affect his ability to perform again. The thought of him occupied in carnal pursuits prodded her in a horribly familiar way. She knew what he looked like unclothed, and she knew that any other woman who saw him similarly would be putty in his hands. An ache she had thought to never feel again gnawed at her belly. A twinge from the past. A reminder.

Entering her home of nearly five years, Isabel discovered, to her dismay, that it already felt almost empty without Gray’s vital presence. She cursed him for the upheaval he had wrought in only a few scant hours, and she took the stairs to her room determined to rectify the matter. Detailed planning of her dinner party was in order. She also needed to study her spouse, and ascertain his likes and dislikes.

Then, once she knew him, she would find the perfect mistress for him. She could only hope that Hargreaves’ plan would work, and work quickly.

Experience had taught her that men like Gray could not be resisted for long.

As Gerard ascended the steps to the double doors of Remington’s Gentleman’s Club, he knew that if it weren’t for his frustration, he would be nervous. Inside the popular establishment, there would be at least several gentlemen whose wives or paramours had been sampled by him. In the past, he would have felt no awkwardness. Rules do not apply in love or war, he would have said. Now, he knew better. Rules applied everywhere, and he was not exempt from following them.

He handed his hat and gloves to one of the two attending footmen, and passed through the main gaming areas to the great room beyond. Seeking a deep armchair and a libation of some sort, he glanced around the room as he entered. He found comfort in the familiar surroundings. The smell of leather and tobacco reminded him that some things were timeless. A pair of light blue eyes met his, and then they looked away in a deliberate snub. Gerard sighed, accepting his due, then moved forward to make the first of what he knew would be an endless number of apologies to an equally infinite number of recipients.

He bowed, and said, “Good afternoon, Lord Markham.”

“Grayson.” The man who was once his closest friend did not even look at him.

“Lord Denby, Lord William,” Gerard greeted the other two gentlemen who sat with Markham. He turned his attention back to the viscount. “I beg a moment of your time, Markham. If you would grant me that much, I would be eternally grateful.”

“I do not think I can spare it,” Markham said coldly.

“I understand. I will have to apologize to you here, then,” Gerard said, unwilling to be denied.

Markham’s head swiveled toward him.

“I am sorry my marriage caused you discomfort. As your friend, I should have had a care for your interests in the matter. I also offer my felicitations on your recent marriage. That is all I wished to say. Good day, gentlemen.”

Gerard tilted his head slightly, and then turned about. He found his own small table and leather armchair, releasing his pent up breath as he sat. A few moments later, he opened the paper brought to him, and attempted to relax, a task made more difficult by the stares directed his way, and the peers who approached with greetings.

“Grayson.”

He stiffened, and lowered his paper.

Markham stared at him for a long moment, and then gestured to the seat opposite him. “May I?”

“Certainly.” Gerard set aside his reading, as the viscount settled into his chair.