The Stranger I Married

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.”

“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.”