The Stranger I Married

by Sylvia Day

  “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.”

  “Perhaps scheduled interviews would please you better?” he suggested.

  Coming to an abrupt halt on the next-to-last stair, Isabel set her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”

  “Sweetheart, I loathe being the one to point this out to you, but you were already provoked.” He let that smile out, and she gripped the railing to support herself at the sight of it. “I must admit, it warms my heart to see you so jealous.”

  “I am not jealous.” Isabel took the last stair, and turned down the hallway. “I simply require a little respect to be afforded to me in my own home. And, I learned long ago that any man who makes a woman jealous is not worth having.”

  “I agree.”

  The softly spoken acknowledgment startled her, and her steps faltered just before she reached her door.

  “I hope you keep in mind, Pel,” he murmured, “that I did not enjoy those visitors any more than you did.”

  “Liar. You adore fawning women. All men do.”

  It is not in a husband’s nature to be faithful, especially handsome and charming husbands, her mother had said, and Isabel knew that firsthand. Of course, Gray had not lied to her. He made no promises to be faithful, only to be a good lover, a fact she did not doubt.

  “I adore fawning women only when they are temperamental marchionesses with satin-draped boudoirs.” He reached around her, turning the brass knob, his arm brushing against the side of her breast. “What vexes you, Isabel?” he asked, his mouth to her ear. “Where is that smile I long for?”

  “I am trying to be pleasant, Gray.” She hated being ill-humored. It was not in her nature.

  “I had other plans for today.”

  “You did?” She did not know why it bothered her that he had somewhere to go, a task to accomplish that did not include her.

  “Yes.” He licked the shell of her ear, his broad shoulders blocking out everything but him. “I had hoped to spend the day wooing you, and showing you my charming side.”

  Isabel pushed against his chest, tamping down the little quiver his words and nearness gave her. He leaned closer, resting one hand against the jamb, surrounding her with his scent and hard body. A thick lock of his dark hair fell over his brow, making him look relaxed and very much like a six-and-twenty-year-old man.

  “I have seen quite enough of your charming side.” And his passionate side. She shivered at the memory of his arms around her, and his lips at her throat.

  “Are you cold, Isabel?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, his gaze half-lidded. “Shall I warm you?”

  “Frankly,” she whispered, her hands brushing over the top of his shoulders, which made him shudder. “I am very hot at the moment.”

  “Me, too. Stay home with me tonight.”

  She shook her head. “I really must go out.” Stepping back into her room, she expected him to follow, but he did not.

  “Very well.” Gray sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Will you be taking dinner in your room?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have some tasks to attend to, then I will return and watch you prepare. I hope you have no objections. A man must find his pleasures where he can.”

  “No, I have no objections.” She was beginning to realize that the thought of him finding pleasure elsewhere was highly disturbing.

  “Until later then.” He pulled the door closed, and Isabel stared at the portal for long moments after he had departed.

  Over the course of the next few hours, she bathed and ate a light meal. Normally she would gossip with Mary during her toilette. Servants knew the prime bits, and she liked to hear them. Today, however, Isabel was quiet. Her mind was occupied with the events of the afternoon. She knew some of the women in her home today were intimately familiar with her husband. Over the last four years, she had met those same women many times and thought nothing of it. Now it bothered her to such an extent, she could not stop thinking about it.

  Worse than that, though, were the new women, the ones not in his past, but in his future. The ones who had come to bat their eyelashes, touch his arm, and smile with carnal promise. Every one of them so certain Isabel would not mind. Why w
ould she? She had Hargreaves, and she had never minded before. Fact was, she did mind. Knowing one of those women would soon share Gray’s bed made her blood simmer. Dressed only in her chemise and underbust corset, she was nevertheless overheated by her thoughts and frustration.

  She closed her eyes as her abigail swept her hair up, and arranged it in the popular style of short curls around her face. There was a slight knock at the door, and then it opened without further ado. The presumptive move was slightly disturbing, but what bothered her most was the direction from whence the sound came. Opening her eyes, she looked to the side, and watched Gray enter from the adjoining bedroom.

  “What…?” she sputtered.

  He took a deep breath, and then sprawled on her favorite chaise. “You look ravishing,” he said, as if it were perfectly normal for him to enter from the master suite. “Or more aptly, ravishable. Is that a word, Pel? If not, it should be, with your likeness rendered next to it.”

  From the time they had married, he had kept a room down the hall and around the corner from hers. She had offered to take a suite in the guest area, since this was his home and their marriage a sham, but he had pointed out how much more time she spent at home than he did. Which was true. She slept in her bed every night. Gray sometimes did not sleep in his room for days on end.

  The thought sparked her temper. “What were you doing in there?”

  He blinked innocently. “Whatever I felt like. Why?”

  “There is nothing in there besides empty furniture.”

  “On the contrary,” he drawled. “Most of my possessions are in there. At least the ones I use on a regular basis.”

  Her fingers curled around the edge of her vanity. The thought of Gray sleeping mere feet from her, with only a door to separate them, was instantly arousing. She pictured his body nude, as she had seen it in the tailor’s. She wondered if he slept facedown, with those powerful arms wrapped around a pillow and that luscious, tight ass bare to her view. Or perhaps faceup? The feel of his cock was imprinted on her derriere from last night. The long, hard heat of him…Bare…Gray’s beautiful body sprawled in sleep…Tangled in sheets…

  Oh Lord…

  Swallowing hard, she looked away from him before he could read her thoughts or see her turmoil.

  “Bartley inherited a chicken.”

  “Beg your pardon?” Isabel’s eyes moved to her husband’s again. As he had the night before, he was dressed in loose trousers and shirtsleeves, a tempting sight, which she was certain he knew. They would have to deal with his changing rooms eventually, but she did not have the heart to tackle the argument now. She already had an altercation ahead of her when she met with Hargreaves.

  “Bartley’s aunt was an eccentric,” he replied, his voice directed upward as he moved to lie on his back. “She kept a chicken as a pet. When he last visited her, she was so pleased with her chicken he felt it best to agree and say that it was the handsomest chicken he had ever seen.”

  “A handsome chicken?” Her lips twitched.

  “Quite.” She could not miss the smile in his voice. “When she passed on, she bequeathed portions of her estate to her many relatives and—”

  “Bartley was given the chicken.”

  “Yes.” Gray’s laughing eyes met hers in the mirror as she stood to don her gown. “No, don’t laugh, Pel. This is serious, you know.”

  Her abigail smothered a giggle.

  “Oh, of course,” Isabel said gravely, schooling her features.

  “The poor creature is mad for Bartley. But then I do believe chickens have pea-sized brains.”

  “Gray!” she cried, laughing.

  “Apparently he cannot go into his rear garden any longer. The moment he steps outside, she begins screeching for him.” Gray leapt to his feet in a fluidly graceful motion, and held out his arms. “She runs at him with her wings spread in joy, and flies into her lover’s arms.”

  Both she and her abigail laughed aloud.

  “You are fabricating that tale!”

  “I am not. While I do admit to having a wild imagination,” he said, coming toward her, “even I could not imagine any female mad for Bartley, poultry or otherwise.”

  Gray smiled at her maid. “I can take over from here.”

  Mary curtsied, and left.

  Isabel’s smile faded as he came up behind her, and began to work on the tiny row of cloth-covered buttons that ran up her spine. She held her breath, trying not to smell him. “We were doing so well, Gray,” she complained. “For a moment, I felt the friendship we had before. Why ruin it by reminding me of this damned attraction?”

  His fingertips drifted over her chemise-covered upper back. “Gooseflesh. You have no notion of how difficult it is for a man to stand this close to a woman he desires, to feel that desire returned, and then not act upon it.

  “Friends,” she insisted, secretly amazed at the steadiness of her voice. “That is the only way to make this marriage work.”

  “I can be your friend, as well as your lover.” His hot, open mouth pressed against the top of her shoulder.

  “And what will become of us when we are no longer lovers?”

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, Gray set his chin on her shoulder and stared at their reflection. He was so much taller than she was. He had to hunch over her, surrounding her completely.

  “What do you want me to say, Isabel? That we will always be lovers?”

  His hands pushed down her loose bodice and cupped her breasts, kneading gently, his hips swirling against her derriere. The fierce evidence of his desire was unmistakable, and heat spread instantly across her skin. She was primed for sex, her body repeatedly aroused by his seductions, and her eyes slid closed on a low moan.

  “Look at us,” he urged. “Open your eyes. See how flushed we are, how needy.” Strong, nimble fingers tugged at her nipples. “I know I could make you come like this, still fully clothed. Would you like to come, Isabel?” He licked her sweat-misted skin. “Of course, you would.”

  Afraid to see herself in his arms, she shook her head.

  Gray shifted, his hips aligning so he could rub his cock against her, up and down, the hard length making her sob in near desperation. He worked her nipples, elongating them, pulling and twisting until she cried out in pleasure. She felt every motion of his fingers as if they were between her legs, her cunt creamy and aching for him.

  “I cannot say we will always be lovers.” His gruff voice skittered across her skin, making her nipples tighten further. He groaned. “But I can tell you that if my lust for you were half the measure it is now, I would still want you desperately.”

  She knew he would still want someone else, too. Even when he’d been in love, he had not been steadfast. Despite this knowledge, her back arched, thrusting her breasts into his hands and her buttocks against his bone-hard erection. Gray growled—a deep, throaty warning. “Stay home with me.”

  The temptation to do so was nearly overwhelming. She wanted to push him to the floor, sink her body onto his cock, and ride out this agitation.

  “I never once wanted you,” she moaned, undulating in his embrace, every part of her straining. She was almost mad with desire, prepared to throw aside everything she held dear to take him. But some of her reasoning would not be denied. “Not once did I ever look at you, and think about sharing your bed.”

  Now she could not stop thinking about it.

  Forcing her eyes to open, Isabel stared at the mirror and watched herself writhe between his skilled hands and hard body. At that moment she hated herself, hated seeing an echo of the girl she had been almost a decade ago, helpless in the grip of a desire skillfully crafted for a man’s pleasure.

  Gray’s arms tightened, pinning her tightly to his chest. His mouth, hot and wet, nuzzled all over her throat and shoulder. “God, I want to fuck you,” he rasped, the clasp of his fingers becoming a hard pinch. “I want that so badly I’m afraid I will tear you apart.”

  The crudeness of his speech was more than sh
e could tolerate. With a cry, she climaxed, her cunt spasming so hard her knees nearly gave way. Gray held her upright, his hold strong and steady.

  Panting, Isabel turned her gaze away from her wanton reflection and sought out Pelham’s likeness. She looked into dark eyes that had once drawn her into sexual decadence, and she called to mind every one of his mistresses. She remembered every occasion where she had been forced to sit across from one of them at a social function or to smell their perfume on her husband’s skin. She thought of all the women who had been in her home today with their come-hither smiles, and her stomach roiled violently, dousing her ardor instantly.

  “Release me,” she said, her voice low and determined. She straightened, shrugging him off.

  He stiffened behind her. “Listen to your breathing, and the rapid beat of your heart. You want this as badly as I do.”

  “I do not.” She struggled in near panic until he released her with a curse. Then she spun on him with her fists clenched, every cell in her body working to turn her raging desire into just plain rage. “Keep your distance from me. Move back to your room. Leave me alone.”

  “What in hell is the matter with you?” He ran both hands through his thick, dark hair. “I do not understand you.”

  “I don’t want a sexual relationship with you. I have said that many times.”

  “Why not?” he said crossly, beginning to pace.

  “Do not push me anymore, Grayson. If you continue forcing yourself on me, I will have to leave.”

  “Forcing myself on you?” He pointed a finger at her, a wealth of frustration betrayed by the rigidness of his body. “We will sort this out. Tonight.”

  Lifting her chin, Isabel held her gown to her breasts and shook her head rapidly. “I have plans for this evening. I told you that.”

  “You cannot go out,” he scoffed. “Look at you. You are shaking all over with the need for a hard tumble.”

  “That is not your concern.”

  “Damned if it isn’t.”

  “Gray—”