Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

Rhys, lost in his own thoughts, took several steps forward before realizing she remained behind. He turned to face her, his rich hair glinting in the filtered light of the overhead canopy. “Are your nipples different in the sunlight? Is your scent altered? Your skin less soft? Your cunt less tight and wet?”

She shook her head rapidly, unable to speak.

His gaze bore intensely into hers. “I have to depart in the morning, Abby. I cannot remain here and debauch you further. That I am trusted to be alone with you is like trusting the wolf to guard the lamb. It’s perverse.”

Try as she might to keep her mother’s advice firmly in her mind, she could not do it. Her heart ached. She could only hope her exterior did not betray her.

“I understand,” she said tonelessly, all her previous enjoyment in the day gone.

Why did this man appeal to her so deeply?

She had lain in her bed after leaving him and pondered that question for hours. In the end, she decided it was a combination of many things, some external, like his attractiveness and charm. And others internal, like his tendency to find new joy in her discoveries about how men and women related with one another. With him, she did not feel gauche. She was desirable, witty, and wise. Rhys thought it was “wonderful” that she enjoyed puzzling out scientific equations. He had even kissed the ink stains on her fingers as if they were a thing of beauty.

He was known for his ennui and jaded views, but Rhys was only dormant, not dead. She longed to be the catalyst that revived him, but she knew his sense of duty to his title would never allow her to be.

It would be best if he left.

“It would be best if you left.”

He stared at her for a long moment, unmoving, so when he lunged at her and grabbed her roughly, she was caught completely unawares. His hands in her hair, he kissed her with unrestrained passion, his thrusting tongue stealing her breath and her wits.

“You make me forget myself,” he said harshly against her bruised lips. “To see you dismiss me so summarily drives me insane.”

“Something has obviously driven you insane,” snapped a familiar female voice.

Rhys groaned. “Bloody hell.”

“Leave it to you, Trenton,” drawled Lord Grayson, “to ruin my day.”

“I’ve no notion what to say to you, Rhys,” Isabel scolded, glaring up the narrow path at her brother.

Gray leaned over and murmured, “I will see Hammond’s niece back to the manse so that you may speak with Trenton in private.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes met his for a moment and she squeezed his hand in gratitude. She watched as he collected the obviously flustered girl and led her away. Then she rounded on Rhys. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes. God, yes.” His countenance was gloomy as he kicked at a tree root that rose slightly above the dirt.

“I know you were out of sorts when we left London, but to use that child as salve for your-”

“That ‘child’ is the same age as your husband,” he pointed out dryly, making her gasp in horror.

“Ooohhh…” She chewed her lower lip and began to pace.

Lately, she often forgot about the age difference in her marriage. After she’d first wed Grayson, the gossips had salivated over her superior years, but she managed to ignore them. Now, however, she was most definitely entertaining a younger man in her bed.

But she could not think of that now.

“Do not dare make that comparison.” Her chin lifted. “Grayson is far more experienced in such matters, whereas it is quite obvious that Miss Abigail is not.”

“It was almost effective in distracting you,” he muttered.

“Ha!” She shook her head and then said more somberly, “Please tell me that you have not taken her to your bed, Rhys.”

His shoulders drooped.

“Dear God.” Isabel paused her pacing and stared at her brother as if he were a stranger. The Rhys she knew would have no interest in an innocent bluestocking. “How long has this been progressing?”

“I first made her acquaintance at that blasted breakfast you forced me to attend.” He growled. “This is all your doing.”

She blinked. Weeks. Not merely the last couple of days. “I am attempting to understand. Not to sympathize, mind you,” she added hastily. “But simply to comprehend it. I cannot.”

“Do not ask me to enlighten you. All I know is that I cannot be within a few feet of her without my brain ceasing to function. I become some boorish rutting beast.”

“Over Abigail Stewart?”

The glare he shot her spoke volumes. “Yes, over Abigail. Damn it, why can no one see her worth? Her beauty?”

Wide-eyed, she studied him in detail, noting the flush at the crest of his cheekbones and the brightness of his eyes. “Are you in love with her?”

His look of astonishment would have been comical if she weren’t so disturbed. “I am in lust with her. I admire her. I enjoy talking with her. Is that love?” He shook his head. “I will be Sandforth eventually and must consider the dukedom before considering my own desires.”

“Then what were you doing with her alone in the garden? This path is well-trodden. Any one of the other guests could have happened upon you. What of Hammond? What would you have said to him in return for abusing his hospitality and trust this way if he had been the one to discover you embracing?”

“Damnation, Bella! I do not know. What more can I say? I erred.”

“You erred?” Isabel blew out her breath. “Is that why you came? To be with her?”

“I had no notion she would be here, I promise you that. I meant to distract myself from thoughts of her. Remember when we arrived? I had to ask you who she was.”

“Are you expecting the girl to become your mistress?”

“No! Never,” he said emphatically. “She is much like you-filled with dreams of romance and love in marriage. I’ve no wish to take that away from her.”

“But you took the virginity meant for that great love?” She arched a brow. “Or was she not a virgin?”

“Yes! Of course she was. I am her only lover.”

Isabel said nothing. The notes of pride and possession in his tone were clear to both of them.

Rhys groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am departing in the morning. The best thing I can do at this point is stay away.”

“You never heed my advice, but I will share it with you anyway. Consider your feelings for Miss Abigail carefully. Having known both happiness and despair in my marriages, I strongly recommend you find a spouse you enjoy spending time with.”

“You would have an American as the Duchess of Sandforth?” he asked incredulously.

“Alter your thinking, Rhys. She is the granddaughter of an earl. And frankly, there must be something exceedingly extraordinary about her for you to lose your head as you have done. If you put your mind to it, I am certain you can help reveal that side of her to the world.”

He shook his head. “Romantic nonsense, Bella.”

“Certainly being practical in one’s choices is wise when the heart is not involved, but when it is, I think you should weigh those additional concerns carefully.”

Frowning, he stared up the path in the direction Gray and Abigail had taken. “How furious was our pater when you selected Pelham?”

“Nowhere near as furious as he was when I wed Grayson, but he adapted.” Stepping closer, Isabel set her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if you will find comfort in this, or pain, but it was quite clear to me that she adores you.”

He winced and held out his arm to her. “I don’t know how I should feel about that either. Come. Let’s return to the house. I must set my valet to packing.”

A depressive air hung about the Hammond party in the parlor that evening. Rhys lacked his customary charm and quick wit, and retired early. Abigail put on a brave face, and to the casual eye, one would find nothing amiss, but Isabel could see the strain that tightened the other woman’s mouth. Beside her on the settee, Lady Ansell was equally despondent, despite having won the treasure hunt earlier.

“Your necklace is a lovely piece,” Isabel murmured, hoping to cheer the viscountess.

“Thank you.”

They had known each other casually for years, though after her recent marriage to the viscount, Lady Ansell had spent a great deal of her time traveling abroad with her husband. Not quite pretty, the viscountess nevertheless was a handsome woman, tall and proud in bearing. It was clear to many that her match with Ansell was a love match, which gave the woman a sparkle to her eyes that more than made up for her lack of classical beauty. Tonight, however, that sparkle was missing.

Lady Ansell turned to face her, revealing a reddened nose and quivering lips. “Forgive my importunateness, but would you walk in the garden with me? If I go alone, Ansell will come and I cannot bear to be alone with him now.”

Startled by the request, and concerned, Isabel nodded and rose to her feet. She shot a placating smile at Gray before exiting out the open glass-paned doors to the terrace and leaving him behind. Strolling along the lighted gravel paths with the statuesque blonde, Isabel maintained her silence, having learned long ago that sometimes it was best simply to be present, no discourse necessary.

Finally, the viscountess said, “I feel dreadful for poor Lady Hammond. She is certain that despite her careful planning, her party is a crashing bore. I have tried my best to enjoy myself, I truly have, but I am afraid no amount of festivities can enliven my mood.”

“I will reassure her again,” Isabel murmured.

“I’m certain she would appreciate it.” Sighing, Lady Ansell said, “I miss wearing the glow you bear. I wonder if I will ever reclaim it for myself.”