by Sylvia Day
“Please do not scream when this comes off,” she begged softly as she worked at the knot. “I realize you have been treated abominably by Lord Trenton, but he truly does care for you. He is simply misguided. He would not have—”
Abigail writhed frantically as the gag worked free. “My hands, my lady! Free my hands!”
“Yes, of course.” Isabel swiped at the tears that wet Abigail’s cheeks, then tugged at the soft cloth that wrapped around her wrists. The moment the tie loosened, Abigail worked her arms free and threw herself out the open door of the coach at Rhys. His tall frame absorbed the impact easily, though his hat was knocked away.
“Abby, please!” he begged as she pounded ineffectually at his shoulders. “I must have you. Yield to me! I will make you love me, I promise.”
“I already love you, you idiot!” she sobbed.
He pulled back with wide eyes. “What? You said you only wanted—Damnation, you lied to me?”
“I’m sorry.” Her feet dangled above the ground as he hugged her.
“What the devil is your objection to marrying me then?”
“You did not tell me you felt the same.”
Setting her down, Rhys scrubbed a hand over his face and growled. “Why in the world would a man marry a woman who drives him insane if not for love?”
“I thought you only wished to marry me because we were caught kissing.”
“Good God.” His eyes closed, even as he reached for her again. “You will be the death of me.”
“Say it again,” she implored, her lips pressed to the line of his jaw.
“I love you madly.”
Isabel looked away from the scene, a fresh kerchief pressed to her face. “Remove his bags,” she said to the nearby footman, who hurried to do as she ordered. She settled into the seat, leaned her head back and closed her eyes, which didn’t stop the tears from leaking out regardless.
Perhaps it was only she who was cursed.
“Bella.”
Opening her eyes, she glanced at Rhys, whose torso filled the doorway.
“Stay,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”
“But it is so annoying when women start discussing their feelings,” she replied with a watery smile.
“Don’t make light. You should not be alone now.”
“I want to be alone, Rhys. Staying here, pretending to be well when I am not, would be the worst form of torture.”
“What in hell happened with you and Grayson? He was sincere in his wish to win your affections. I know he was.”
“He succeeded.” Leaning forward, she spoke urgently. “You took a risk for love, and it has paid you handsomely. Promise me you will always put your love above everything else, just as you did today. And never underestimate Miss Abigail.”
Rhys scowled. “Please do not speak in riddles, Bella. I am a man. I lack comprehension of the female language.”
She set her hand over his where it curled around the door frame. “I must go before Grayson arrives. We will talk more when you return to London with your fiancée.”
It was that one-word reminder that caused him to nod and step back. He would stay and speak with the Hammonds. She would survive, as she always had.
“I will hold you to that, Bella,” he warned.
“Of course.” She offered him a wavering smile. “I am so happy for you. I do not approve of your methods,” she amended hastily, “but I am glad that you have found the one woman for you. Please make my apologies for me. I did not have the time.”
He nodded. “I love you.”
“My, you are becoming proficient at saying that, aren’t you?” Isabel sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I love you, as well. Now let me go.”
Rhys stepped back and shut the door. The coach lurched into motion, leaving the setting of fleeting bliss behind, but taking the memories with it.
Isabel curled into the corner and cried.
Gerard rode his mount hard through the Hammond park gate. When he drew to a halt before the front steps, he threw himself down and tossed the reins to the startled groomsman. Disregarding any semblance of decorum, he ran up the stairs to his rooms.
Only to find his wife gone and a tersely worded note requesting that her belongings be sent to her. His response knotted his gut and stole his breath like a physical blow.
He realized then how wounded she was. He sank onto the nearest chair, Pel’s missive crushed within his clenched fist. He was stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened to the happiness they’d enjoyed upon waking mere hours ago.
“What transpired?” asked a voice from the open doorway to the main gallery.
Glancing up, Gerard found Trenton leaning against the jamb. “I wish I knew.” He sighed. “Were you aware that Isabel wanted children?”
Trenton pursed his lips a moment. “I do not recall ever discussing the topic with her, but it stands to reason that she would. She is romantically inclined. I cannot imagine a woman finding anything more romantic than a family.”
“How could I have missed that?”
“I’ve no notion. Why is having a child a problem? Surely you want the same.” Trenton pushed upright and entered, taking the wingback opposite.
“A woman I once cared for died in childbirth,” Gerard murmured, staring down at the wedding band on his finger.
“Ah, yes. Lady Sinclair.”
Gerard’s gaze lifted with a scowl. “How in hell can Isabel ask me to relive the experience? The mere thought of her increasing fills me with such terror I can hardly bear it. The reality would kill me.”
“Ah, I see.” Settling back into the chair, Trenton crossed one foot over the opposite knee and gave a thoughtful hum. “Forgive me for discussing something delicate, but I am not blind. Over the weeks since your return, I have seen bruises on Isabel. Occasional bite marks. Scratches. I would venture to say you are not a man who practices moderation in his appetites. And somewhere along the way, you found some confidence that she could withstand such depth of ardor.”
“Damned if this isn’t uncomfortable to discuss,” Gerard muttered.
“But I am not wrong?” Trenton prodded. When Gerard gave a jerky nod, he said, “If memory serves me correctly, Lady Sinclair was of delicate stature. In fact, the difference between her and Bella is so extreme one cannot help but wonder how it is that you were so attracted to both.”
“Different motivators behind the two attractions.” Gerard stood and walked slowly about the room, searching out pockets of exotic floral scent in the air. Em had appealed to his pride. Pel appealed to his soul. “Very different.”
“My point exactly.”
Taking a deep breath, Gerard leaned against the mantel and closed his eyes. Isabel was a tigress. Em had been a kitten. The sunset to the sunrise. Opposites in every way.
“Women survive childbirth daily, Grayson. Women far less spirited than our Isabel.”
This was true, there could be no denying it. But while his mind spoke reason, his heart knew only the unreasonableness of love.
“If I were to lose her,” Gerard said, his tone anguished, “I do not know what would become of me.”
“Seems to me, you are already well on your way to losing her. Would it not be better to take the risk and chance keeping her, than to do nothing and lose her for certain?”
The logic of that statement was undeniable. Gerard knew that if he did not bend in this, he would lose Pel. Her distress today had made that abundantly clear.
He heard Trenton rise and turned to face him. “Before you go, Trenton, may I beg the use of your carriage?”
“No need. Bella took mine.”
“Why?” The dead weight of apprehension settled in Gerard’s stomach. Had his fear caused Isabel to forsake everything that belonged to him?
“It was hitched and ready in the drive. No, don’t ask. It is a long story, and you had best be off if you hope to make it back to London before sunrise.”
“Lord and Lady Hammond?”
“Are bl
issfully unaware of any unpleasantness. With minor effort you can keep it that way.”
Nodding his agreement, Gerard straightened and mentally began the preparations he needed to excuse himself and his wife from the party without arousing undue suspicions. “Thank you, Trenton,” he said gruffly.
“Just fix what has gone awry. I want Bella happy. That is all the thanks I require.”
Chapter 21
Gerard judged the distance to the second floor window of his London residence, leaned back, and took aim with a pebble. He waited until he heard the small but satisfying tink, before drawing his arm back and throwing another.
The sky was beginning to lighten, turning the dark charcoal gray to a pale pink. He was reminded of another morning, and another window. But the goal he sought was the same.
It took several hits before he achieved the desired result—the sash lifted and Pel thrust her sleep-mussed head out.
“What are you doing, Grayson?” she asked in that low, throaty tone he adored. “I warn you, I am not in the mood to recite Shakespeare.”
“Thank God for that,” he said with a hesitant laugh.
Apparently, she had vivid remembrances of that morning, too. There was hope in that.
With an audible sigh she settled into the window seat and arched a brow in silent query. No surprise to Isabel to find a man tossing things to win her attention. The whole of her adult life, men had been trying to gain entry to her bedroom.
Now, her body was promised to his bed, for the rest of her life. The pleasure the thought gave him spread rapidly through his body and warmed his blood. Then he chilled just as swiftly.
As the rising sun revealed her beloved face, he saw that her sherry-colored eyes were sad, and the tip of her nose was red. She had cried herself to sleep by the look of it, and it was entirely his fault.
“Isabel.” His voice was a raw plea. “Let me in. It’s cold out here.”
Her wary expression turned to one even more guarded. Leaning farther out the window, her unbound tresses drifted over a shoulder bared by her loosely belted dressing gown. From the soft sway of her full breasts he knew she was naked beneath. The effect that knowledge had on him was as predictable as the sunrise. “Is there some reason you cannot enter?” she asked. “Last I queried, this was your home.”
“Not the manse, Pel,” he clarified. “Your heart.”
She stilled.
“Please. Let me explain. Let me make things right between us. I need to make things right between us.”
“Gerard,” she breathed, so softly he barely heard his name drift down upon the chilly morning breeze.
“I love you desperately, Isabel. I cannot live without you.”
Her hand came up and covered trembling lips. He stepped closer to the house, every cell in his body reaching out to her.
“I pledge my troth to you, my wife. Not for my needs, as I did before, but for yours. You have given me so much—friendship, laughter, acceptance. You have never judged me or chastised. When I did not know who I was, you cared for me anyway. When I make love to you, I am content and I wish for nothing else.”
“Gerard.”
His name, spoken in her broken voice, struck deeply. “Will you let me in?” he implored.
“Why?”
“I want to give all that I am to you. Including children, should we be so blessed.”
She was silent for so long he grew dizzy from holding his breath. “I agree to talk. Nothing more.”
His lungs burned. “If you still love me, we can manage the rest.”
Her arm extended out to him. “Come up.”
Turning on his heel, Gerard ran to the door and then up the stairs, the desperate need to be with his wife riding him hard. But when he entered their rooms, he drew up short. The sight that greeted him was home, despite the tension that crackled between him and Pel.
A fire lay banked in the marble-framed hearth, ivory satin tented the ceiling, and Isabel stood before the window, her lush curves draped in deep red silk. It was an excellent color for his wife, whose lush flamboyance needed a bold setting. And this room, where they had spent so many hours talking and laughing, was an excellent setting for a new beginning. Here, they would conquer the inner demons that strove to drive them apart.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly. “When you are not beside me, I feel very alone.”
“I missed you, too,” she admitted, swallowing hard. “But then, I wonder if I ever really had you. I think, perhaps, Emily still holds a part of you captive.”
“As Pelham holds you captive?” He shrugged out of his great coat, and then his coat, taking his time because he noted how warily she watched him. Turning his head, his gaze met Pelham’s in the portrait. “You and I both made poor choices for ourselves earlier in life, and we are both scarred by them.”
“Yes, perhaps we are each ruined in our own way,” she said wearily, moving to her favorite chaise.
“I refuse to believe that. There is a reason for everything.” Gerard tossed his waistcoat across the back of a gilded chair and crouched before the fire, stoking it and throwing on more coal until heat began to fill the room. “I’m certain that had I not known Emily, I would not be able to appreciate you as I do. I would not have had the comparison required to recognize how perfect you are for me.”
She snorted softly. “You only thought I was perfect when you assumed I had forsaken motherhood.”
“And you,” he continued, ignoring her. “I doubt you would find my uncontrollable passion for you to be so welcome had you not been wooed with calculated seduction by Pelham.”
The silence that greeted him was rife with possibilities. He felt the spark of hope he’d tucked close to his heart expand into a blaze to match the one in the hearth before him.
He stood. “However, I think it is time to reduce this marriage of four into a more intimate union of two.”
Turning to face her, he found her sitting upright on the chaise, her face pale and beautiful, her eyes welling with tears. Her fingers were laced so tightly together they were white, and he went to her, sat at her feet, and warmed her icy hands with his own.
“Look at me, Pel.” When she met his gaze, he offered a smile. “Let’s make another bargain, shall we?”
“A bargain?” One finely arched brow rose.
“Yes. I agree to start anew with you. In every way. I will not burden our love with guilt from the past.”
“Every way?”
“Yes. Nothing held back, I swear it. In return, you will take down that portrait. You will agree to believe that you are perfection itself. That there is nothing—” His voice broke, forcing him to close his eyes and take a shuddering breath.
Parting the ends of her gown, Gerard nuzzled his cheek against the satin skin of her thigh and breathed in her scent, calming the emotion that overwhelmed him.
Her fingers drifted into his hair, stroking the roots, loving him silently.
“There is nothing I would change about you, Isabel,” he whispered, drinking in the sight of the mature beauty and inner strength that made her who she was. Unique and priceless. “Most especially not your age. Only an experienced woman could manage a man as overbearing as I can be.”
“Gerard.” She slid down beside him, and pulled him to her breast. There, she held him to her heart. “I suppose I should expect that any time you throw stones at my window, it is a herald to how drastically my life is about to change.”
“Yes, you should.”
“Wicked rogue.” Her lips curved against his forehead.
“Ah, but I am your wicked rogue.”
“Yes.” She laughed softly. “That’s true. You are far different from the man I married, but your wickedness is one thing that, thankfully, did not change. You are just exactly the way I want you.”
He moved, cradling her spine as he lowered her to the floor. “I want you, too.”
Isabel gazed up at him, her hair a banner of fire, her skin as pale as ivory where it w
as revealed by the parted edges of her gown. His dark hand brushed aside the intruding material, revealing the full breasts and ripe curves he worshipped. He shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew the ruby ring he had purchased for her. With shaking fingers, Gerard slipped it into place, kissing the stone before turning her hand and pressing his lips against her palm.
Heat swept across his skin like a hot breeze, nerve endings tingling to acute awareness, his mouth watering. Bending his head, he licked the softness of one nipple and then the other, parting his lips more fully and drawing her into his mouth. His eyes slid closed, his blood growing sluggish with desire and love, as he drank in her taste with long, deep pulls.
“Yes…” she breathed, when he bit gently down on the hardened crest, relishing as always the fierce need he had to devour her whole.
They moved languidly, in no rush. Every touch, caress, and murmur was a promise made. To forsake all others. To love one another, trust one another, and leave the past behind. Theirs was a union made for all the wrong reasons, but in the end it was one that could not have been more right.
Clothing fell away until their skin touched everywhere and he cupped her thigh and opened her, sinking the hard length of his cock into tight hot depths. Joining them more fully than the golden bands they wore ever could.
Gerard lifted his head and watched Isabel’s face as he pumped deep into her. Her soft whimper filled the air, made his balls draw up, made his arms shake as he supported his weight. She tossed her head restlessly, her heels in his back, her nails in his forearms. The fiery skeins of her dark hair were spread across the Aubusson rug, releasing the heady scent that intoxicated him.
God, how he loved this. He doubted he would ever have his fill of the sight of her helpless to her desire or the feel of her cunt so tight and slick.
“Sweet Isabel,” he crooned, freed for the first time from the desperation that had marked their past encounters.
“Gerard.”
He groaned. His name was a tactile caress when spoken in that throaty voice. Lowering over her, he pressed his mouth to hers, drinking in her gasps as he worked her with his cock in exactly the way she liked, stroking her with long, deep, slow drives.
