Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you never found that you can no longer eat a food you used to crave? Once hunger is appeased, the dish you gorged on becomes unappetizing.” She sat up, and slipped past him. Rising to her feet, she began to pace, as was her wont when agitated. “We would be truly estranged then. I would most likely choose a different property in which to reside. Social events where we meet would become uncomfortable.”

He rose to his feet, and followed her with his gaze. A gaze that was tactile in its intensity. “You see your former lovers every day. They are sociable with you, and you with them. What makes me different?”

“I do not look at them over coffee in the morning. I do not rely on them to settle my accounts, and see to my welfare. They do not wear my ring!” She paused, and closed her eyes, shaking her head at the foolishness of her errant mouth.

“Isabel,” he began softly.

She held up her hand, and stared at the portrait on the wall. A golden god stared back at her, forever arrested in his prime. “We will find you a paramour. Sex is sex, and another woman would be far less messy.”

Her husband moved with such grace, she failed to hear him approach. Gray’s encircling arms came as a surprise-one banding her waist, the other crossing her torso so a large hand could cup her breast possessively. She cried out as her feet left the floor, and he buried his face in her neck. The feel of his body was so hot and hard behind her, filled with strength, yet tender in its clasp.

“I do not require your assistance to find sex. I require you.” He licked and nipped at the tender skin of her throat, and then he breathed her in, his arms tightening around her with a low groan. “I want messy. And sweaty and dirty. God give me strength, for I have been cursed with wanting that from my wife.”

Isabel burned at the feel of his erection, and then melted in his embrace when he ground it against her in near desperation. “No.”

“But I can be gentle, Pel. I can love you well.” His grip lightened, his fingertips softly teasing her nipple. She writhed in his arms, the ache between her legs nearly unbearable.

“No…” she moaned, wanting him with every breath in her body.

“See your ring on my finger,” he growled, obviously frustrated. “Know that I am yours. That I am different from the others.” Gray licked the shell of her ear, and then bit the lobe. “Want me, damn you. The way I want you.”

Grayson set her aside with a curse, and left the room, leaving Isabel to the warring halves within her-the part of her that knew an affair with Gray could not last, and the part of her that did not care if it didn’t.

Gerard stood in his parlor, and silently cursed the crowd that gathered there. The daylight hours were his time to spend with Pel and work on building their rapport. Tonight, he knew she would venture out and dazzle the peerage with her charm and beauty. Isabel was a social creature who enjoyed time spent in the company of others, and until he had acceptable garments he could not escort her. So he had determined to make the most of the time he was afforded, perhaps take her on a picnic. But then the callers had begun to arrive. Now their home swarmed with curious visitors who wanted to see both him, and the state of his scandalous marriage.

Resigned, he watched his wife pour tea for the women around her. Isabel sat in the middle of the settee, surrounded by blondes and brunettes who paled in comparison, her auburn hair striking and distinguishing. She wore a high-waisted gown of cream-colored silk, a shade uniquely suited to her pale skin and radiant tresses. In his parlor, which was decorated in striped blue damask, she was in her element, and he knew that despite the reasons why they had married, Pel had been an excellent choice as a bride. She was charming and gracious. He could find her easily, simply by following the sounds of laughter. People were happy in her presence.

As if she felt the weight of his regard, Isabel lifted her gaze and caught his eye. A soft pink flush swept up her chest to color her cheeks. He winked at her and smiled, just to watch her blush deepen.

How had it ever escaped his notice how she stood apart from all other women?

He could not help but note it now. Simply being in the same room with her made his blood thrum in his veins, a feeling he had once thought to never feel again. Isabel had attempted to keep her distance by moving from room to room, but he followed her, needing the flare of awareness he felt only in proximity to her.

“She is lovely, is she not?”

Gerard turned to the woman at his side. “Indeed, Your Grace.” A smile curved his mouth at the sight of Pel’s mother, a woman of renowned beauty. It was obvious his wife would age just as well. “She takes after her mother.”

“Charming, and dashing,” Lady Sandforth murmured, returning his smile. “How long will you be staying this time?”

“As long as my wife is here.”

“Interesting.” She arched a brow. “May I be so bold as to ask why you have had a change of heart?”

“The fact that she is my wife is not enough?”

“Men desire their wives in the beginning, my lord. Not four years later.”

He laughed. “I am a little slow, but I’m catching up.”

A movement caught his eye, and Gerard turned his head to discover Bartley at the door. He took a moment to think, trying to decide how he should proceed. They had once been friends, but only in the most mercenary sense of the word. He made his excuses, and moved to meet the baron, offering a genuine smile of welcome.

“Bartley, you look well.” And indeed he did, having lost a good portion of the weight that had thickened his waistline.

“Not as well as you, Gray,” Bartley returned. “Although I admit, you appear to have the chest of a laborer. Have you been working your own fields?” He laughed.

“Occasionally.” Gerard gestured down the short hallway by the stairs. “Come. Have a cigar with me, and tell me what trouble you’ve occupied yourself with in my absence.”

“First, I have brought you a present.”

Gerard’s eyebrows rose. “A gift?”

Bartley’s florid complexion was mitigated by a broad grin. “Yes. Since you’ve just returned, and have yet to truly socialize, I knew you would be a tad…shall we say, lonely?” He gestured toward the front door with a jerk of his head.

Curious, Gerard’s gaze followed the prodding, and he saw the dark-haired beauty by the front door-Barbara, Lady Stanhope. Her mouth curved in a smile so carnal, it could only be called wicked. He remembered that smile, remembered how it had incited his lust and a torrid nine-month affair. Barbara liked her fucking sweaty and messy, too.

He moved to greet her, lifting her proffered hand to kiss the back. Her long nails raked his palm with sensual deliberation.

“Grayson,” she said, in a girlish voice that did not suit her disposition. That had turned him on, too, hearing that innocent angel’s voice while he used her lush body. “You look divine, at least from what I can see of you with your clothes on.”

“You also look well, Barbara, but then you knew that.”

“When I heard you had returned, I came quickly, before another woman snatched you up.”

“You should not have come to my home,” he admonished.

“I know, darling, and I’m leaving. I just knew I would have a better chance at you if you saw me in person. A note is so impersonal, and not nearly as fun as touching you.” Her eyes, clear as jade and just as beautifully colored, sparkled with amusement. “I would like us to be friends again, Gray.”

Gerard arched a brow, and his mouth curved in an indulgent smile. “A lovely offer, Barbara, but I must decline.”

She reached out and brushed a hand down his stomach, giving a soft purr. “I heard the rumors of you and Lady Grayson reconciling.”

“We were never estranged,” he corrected, taking a small step backward.

Barbara gave a soft pout. “I do so hope you will reconsider. I’ve procured a room at our favorite hotel. I will be there for the next three days.” She blew a kiss to Bartley, then she looked up again. “I hope to see you there, Grayson.”

He bowed. “I wouldn’t wait up.”

As the footman closed the door behind his lascivious guest, Bartley came to his side. “You can thank me with brandy and a cigar.”

“I have never required your services in this particular regard,” Gerard said dryly.

“Yes, yes, I know. But you’ve just arrived, and I wanted to save you a spot of trouble. No need to keep her when you’re done with her.”

Shaking his head, Gerard led Bartley away from the door to his study. “You know, Bartley. I doubt there is a chance in hell of reforming you.”

“Reforming me?” the baron cried, horrified. “Good God, I should hope not. How dreadful.”

The hour was nearly six before their home was empty of visitors. As Isabel stood in the foyer beside Grayson and watched the last callers depart, she could not contain her sigh of relief. The entire day had been a study in misery and clenched teeth. She could swear that every one of Gray’s former paramours had come calling today. At least the peeresses had, the ones who knew she could not turn them away. And Gray had been charming and witty, making every one of those odious women infatuated with him all over again.

“Well, that was trying,” she muttered. “Despite what a scoundrel you are, you remain popular.” She turned, and took the stairs. “Of course, the majority of visitors were women.” Young women.

The soft chuckle beside her was maddeningly smug. “Well, you do wish me to contract a mistress,” Gray reminded.

She shot him a sidelong glance, and found that lusciously etched mouth twitching with a withheld smile. She snorted. “Shameless of them to come to my home, and ogle you within my view.”