“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 would 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…
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-
