The Stranger I Married
Page 16

It took him a moment to realize she said nothing.
“You are staring,” he pointed out.
“So are you,” she retorted with a straightforwardness that reminded him of Bella. “I have an excuse. You do not.”
His brows raised. “Share your excuse with me. Perhaps I can make use of it as well.”
She smiled, and he suddenly found himself uncomfortably hot. “I doubt that. You see, you are quite the handsomest man I have ever seen. I confess it took my brain a moment to reclassify my previous notions of manly beauty, in order to fully process yours.”
He returned her smile in full measure.
“Stop that,” she said with a chastising wag of an ink-stained finger. “Go away.”
“Why?”
“Because you are affecting my ability to think properly.”
“Don’t think.” He moved toward her, wondering what she smelled like and why her clothes were worn and her fingertips stained. Why was she alone, reading, in the midst of a gathering? The sudden flood of questions and the overpowering need to know the answers puzzled him.
As she shook her head, glossy dark curls drifted across her pink cheeks. “You are every bit the rake they say you are. If I did nothing to sway you, what would you do?”
The impertinent chit was flirting with him, but he suspected it was unintentional. She was truly curious, and that unabashed quest for knowledge piqued his jaded interests. “I am not certain. Shall we find out together?”
“Rhys! Damn you,” Isabel muttered from a short distance away. “You will not collect from me if you have run off.”
He stopped mid-step and cursed under his breath.
“Saved by Lady Grayson,” the girl said with a wink.
“Who are you?”
“No one important.”
“Is that not for me to decide?” he asked, entirely too reluctant to leave her.
“No, Lord Trenton. That was decided long ago.” She stood, and collected her book. “Have a good day.” And before he could think of a reason for her to stay, she was gone.
Chapter 9
Isabel paused in the foyer of her home at the sound of masculine voices. One was rushed and urgent. The other, her husband’s, was low and unwavering. The door to Gray’s study was closed or she would have peeked, out of curiosity. Instead, she looked at the butler who was collecting her hat and gloves. “Who is with Lord Grayson?”
“Lord Spencer Faulkner, my lady.” The servant paused a moment, then added, “He arrived with luggage.”
She blinked, but in no other way did she betray her surprise. With a nod of dismissal, Isabel went to the kitchen to make certain the cook was aware of the extra mouth to feed. Then she went upstairs to take a short nap. She was exhausted, both from a night spent with very little sleep and an afternoon of chatting inanities with women who spoke unkind things about her behind her back. Rhys was supposed to have been both support and a distraction, but he himself had seemed distracted, his gaze wandering restlessly over the guests as if he were looking for something. Like a way to escape, she imagined.
With the help of her abigail, Isabel stripped down to her stockings and chemise, then took down her hair. Within moments after lying on her bed, she was asleep and dreaming of Gray.
Isabel, he breathed in a voice filled with sin. His mouth, hot and wet, moved across her exposed shoulder. His stroking hand was equally hot, the callused palm causing a delicious friction even through the silk that covered her legs.
Her heart warned her to refuse him, and her arm lifted to push his touch away.
I need you, he said roughly.
Her blood thrummed with eagerness and she whimpered, every nerve ending alive and waiting for the pleasure he could bring. She could smell him and feel his warmth. His ardor radiated outward, igniting hers. It was a dream, and she did not want to wake up. Nothing she did here would affect her.
Her hand dropped away.
Good girl, he praised, his lips to her ear. He lifted her thigh and set it over his. “I missed you today.”
She came to consciousness with a start.
And found a very hard bodied, very aroused Grayson at her back.
“No!” Struggling, Isabel squirmed out of his embrace and sat up. She glared at him. “What are you doing in my bed?”
He rolled to his back and tucked his hands under his head, completely unabashed about his obvious erection. Dressed in an open-collared shirt and trousers, his blue eyes sparkling with both devilry and lust, he was unbearably handsome. “Making love to my wife.”
“Well, cease.” She crossed her arms under her bosom and his eyes dropped to her breasts. Her blasted nipples replied with enthusiasm. “We had a bargain.”
“Which I never agreed to.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Bring that mouth over here,” he murmured, his eyelids lowering.
“You are dreadful.”
“That is not what you said last night. Or this morning. I believe you said, ‘Oh God, Gray, that is so good.’” His lips twitched.
Isabel threw a pillow at him.
Gray laughed and shoved it under his head. “How was your afternoon?”
She sighed and shrugged, her body achingly aware of the man who sat so close to her. “Lady Marley had a breakfast.”
“Was it pleasant? I confess, I’m surprised you managed to lure Trenton to such an event.”
“He wants a favor.”
“Ah, extortion.” He smiled. “I love it.”
“You would, you wicked man.” Catching up one of the pillows, she reclined opposite him. “Perhaps you could fetch my robe?”
“Damnation, no,” he said, shaking his head.
“I have no wish to incite your already considerable appetite for sexual congress,” she said dryly.
He caught up her hand and kissed her fingertips. “The mere thought of you incites me. At least this way, I also have a charming view.”
“Was your day better than mine?” she asked, making every effort to ignore how his touch burned her.
“My brother has come for an extended visit.”
“I heard.” Gooseflesh spread across her skin as he stroked her palm. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? Not precisely. Apparently, he is running amok.”
“Hmm…Well, he is the age for it.” But studying Gray, she could see he was disturbed. “You look so grave. Is he in trouble?”
“No.” Gray fell onto his back again and stared up at the ornate ceiling. “He has not yet run up any great debt or angered someone’s husband, but he is certainly on a steady course in that direction. I should have been here to guide him, but once again my own needs came before anyone else’s.”
“You cannot blame yourself,” she protested. “Any wildness on his part is natural for boys his age.”
Her husband stilled, his head turning to reveal narrowed eyes. “Boys his age?”
“Yes.” She recoiled slightly, suddenly wary.
“He is the same age as I was when we wed. Did you think I was a boy then?” He rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed. “Do you think I am a boy now?”
Her heart raced. “Gray, really—”
“Yes, really,” he purred, his jaw set ominously as he thrust his hand under her buttocks and tilted her pelvis to cradle his. He rolled his hips, rubbing his cock against the perfect spot between her legs. “I want to know. Do you think me less than a man because I am younger than you?”
She swallowed hard, her body tense and straining beneath his. “No,” she breathed. Her subsequent inhale filled her lungs with his luscious scent. Grayson was virile, temperamental, and most definitely a man.
He stared down at her for a long moment, his cock hardening and swelling between her thighs. Lowering his head, he took her mouth, his tongue licking between her parted lips. “I have wanted to do this all day.”
“You did do this all day.” Her hands fisted in the counterpane to prevent herself from touching him.
Gray rested his forehead against hers and laughed. “I hope you have no objection to Spencer’s visit.”
“Of course not,” she assured him, managing a smile through her near painful attraction. What the devil was she to do with him? With herself? She could only hope that Lord Spencer would distract him from his single-minded seduction. How long could she truly expect to resist?
“Thank you.” He brushed his mouth across hers, then twisted to drape her body over his.
She frowned, puzzled. “No need to thank me. This is your home.”
“This is our home, Pel.” He settled into the pillows. When she tried to slide off him, he caught her waist. “Stay here.”
When she opened her mouth to argue, he grimaced, which arrested her. “What is it?” Before she could think better of it, her hand was cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch and sighed.
“Spencer told me that I am his hero.”
Her brows rose. “What a lovely thing to say.”
“But it’s not. Not at all. You see, to him, I am the brother he knew before. That is the man whom he and his friends emulate. They are drinking in vast quantities, associating with questionable people, and showing no concern whatsoever for the effect of their behavior on others. He said he has yet to manage two mistresses, but he is giving it his best effort.”
Isabel winced, her stomach clenching at the reminder of how wild her husband was. His edges might have smoothed some, but he was no less dangerous. So far he had been cocooned with her while awaiting his garments, but soon he would be out and about. Once that happened, everything would change.
He nipped the fleshy part of her palm with his teeth, and held her gaze with his. “I told him he was better off finding a wife such as you. You are more expensive than two mistresses, but worth every shilling.”
“Grayson!”
“It’s true.” His smile was wicked.
“There is no hope for you, my lord.” But she had to bite her lip to keep a straight face.
His hands left her waist and followed the curve of her spine. “I missed you, dear Pel, these last four years.” He gripped her shoulders, and pulled her gently but firmly to his chest. “I must begin anew. You are all I have at the moment, and I am grateful that you are more than enough.”
Her heart welled with tenderness for him. “Whatever you need—” He chuckled, and her eyes widened in horror. “As far as your brother is concerned, you understand. Not for…” She wrinkled her nose as he laughed. “Odious man.”
“Not for sex. I collect what you meant.” His mouth nuzzled into her hair, and his chest expanded beneath her. “Now, you must understand what I mean.” Cupping her buttocks, he rocked her against his rigid cock. His lips to her ear, he whispered, “I ache for you—for your body, your scent, the sounds you make when we’re fucking. If you think I will deny myself those pleasures, you are mad. A raving lunatic.”
“Stop that.” Her voice was so thready it had no substance. He was like warm marble beneath her—hard, ridged, solid. She could almost believe he would support her, provide her an anchor, but she knew men of his ilk too well. She did not hold it against him, she simply accepted it.
“I will make a bargain with you, dear wife.”
Lifting her head, she caught her breath at the heat that burned in his eyes and flushed his cheeks. “You do not honor your bargains, Grayson.”
“I shall honor this one. The day you stop wanting me is the day I will no longer want you.”
She stared at him, taking in the wicked arch of his brow, before sighing dramatically. “Can you grow a wart?”
Gray blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“Or overeat? Perhaps cease to bathe?”
He laughed. “As if I would do anything to make myself less attractive to you.” The fingers that combed through her hair were gentle, the smile he gave her tender. “I find you irresistible as well.”
“You never paid me any mind before.”
“That is not true, and you know it. I am no more immune to your charms than any other man.” His jaw firmed. “Which is why Spencer will accompany you when you go out tonight.”
“Your brother has no interest in the tame social affairs I attend,” she said with a laugh.
“He does now.”
Isabel took a moment to absorb the sudden quiet intensity of her husband’s tone, before sliding off of him and leaving the bed. The fact that he let her go without argument made her wary. “Must I be home at a certain time as well?” she asked tightly.
“Three.” He sat up further on the pillows and crossed his arms. The unspoken challenge was evident in his tone and posture.
She picked up the gauntlet. “And if I fail to return by that time?”
“Why, I will come after you, vixen,” he replied with ominous softness. “I’ve no wish to lose you, now that I have found you.”
“You cannot do this, Gray.” She began to pace.
“I can, and will, Pel.”
“I am not chattel.”
“You do belong to me.”
“Does that possession apply to you in like fashion?”
He frowned. “What are you asking?”
She paused next to the bed and set her hands on her hips. “Will you always return at three when I am not with you?”
His frown deepened.
“When you do not return in a timely manner, will I have the right to hunt you down? Shall I barge into whatever den of iniquity you happen to be gracing and rip you from the arms of your lover?”
Gray rose from the bed with slow, predatory grace. “Was that your intent? A lover?”
“We are not talking about me.”
“Yes. We are.” Rounding the bed, he came toward her on bare feet. Somehow she found the sight arousing, which only goaded her temper. The man was everything she did not want, and yet she wanted him more than anything.