She knocked softly on John’s bedroom door, then entered.
Hargreaves sat before the fire. Dressed in a multi-colored silk robe, and holding a snifter in his hand, he stared broodingly into the fire. “I did not think you would come,” he said without looking at her. His voice was slightly slurred, and she noted the near-empty decanter on the table next to him.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, sinking to the floor at his feet. “I know the gossip hurts you. It pains me deeply.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“No.”
“But you want to.”
“Yes.”
His eyes met hers, and he cupped her cheek in his hand. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“I sent him away tonight.” She nuzzled into his touch, relishing the peace and familiar comfort she found in his presence. “He went.”
“Will he stay away?”
Leaning her cheek against his knee, she stared into the fire. “I’m not certain. He seems quite determined.”
“Yes.” John’s fingers slipped into her hair. “I remember that age. The barest periphery of your mortality hits you, and the need to sire an heir becomes nearly overwhelming.”
Isabel stiffened. “He has two younger brothers. He does not need an heir.”
John’s laugh held no humor. “When did he tell you this? When you married? When he was two and twenty? Of course he was not interested in children at that time. Most men are not. Fucking is primary, and pregnancy does put a damper on that.”
She thought of Gray’s boyish excitement over Emily’s pregnancy, and her blood ran cold. He had shown a strong desire for children before.
“He is a marquess, Isabel,” Hargreaves said, his lips on the rim of his glass, his fingers in her hair. “He needs an heir, and while he may have brothers, a man does like to produce his own issue. What other reason did he give you for returning?”
“He said he felt guilt for leaving me to face the rumors alone.”
“I would not have thought Grayson was capable of such altruism,” Hargreaves said dryly, setting his empty glass aside. “He would have to be a completely different man than the one I knew of only four years ago.”
Staring into the fire, Isabel suddenly felt very foolish and very hurt. She sat there for a long time watching the flames dance.
Later, John’s hand drifted, weighing heavily on her shoulder. She turned her head, and found him sleeping. Torn, and terribly confused, she rose and fetched a blanket. Once she knew he was comfortable, she left.
Gerard turned his head away when Barbara attempted to kiss him. Her perfume was cloying, a musky scent he had once found attractive and now found sadly lacking. His cock was rock hard and aching in her hand, his body responding to her expert ministrations despite his emotional and mental disconnections. She whispered shocking, depraved things in his ear, and then she straddled him, preparing to mount him.
“I am so glad you came home, Grayson,” she breathed.
The word swirled through his head, and made his stomach clench tight. He had never had a home. As a child, his mother’s bitterness had poisoned everything around him. The only time he had felt relaxed and accepted was with Pel. That had changed with their new attraction, but he would do whatever was necessary to have that accord again.
And his present encounter was not the way to go about it.
This was not home. This was a hotel, and the woman preparing to fuck him was not his wife. Gripping her waist, Gerard turned quickly, tossing her to the bed next to him.
Barbara squealed in delight. “Yes!” she cried. “I wondered when you would enter into the spirit of things.”
Gerard thrust his hand between her legs, and stroked her to orgasm. He knew just what she liked, and where she liked it. Within moments Barbara was coming, and he was free to depart this sordid encounter.
Releasing a frustrated breath, he rolled from the bed, refastened his trousers, and moved to the washstand in the corner.
“What are you doing?” she purred, stretching like a cat.
“Washing. Then leaving.”
“No, you are not!” She sat up. With her flushed cheeks and pouty red mouth, she was lovely. But not at all what he wanted.
“Sorry, sweet,” he said gruffly, scrubbing his hands in the basin. “I am not in the mood this evening.”
“You lie. Your cock is hard as a poker.”
Gerard turned, and collected his coat and waistcoat.
Barbara’s shoulders slumped. “She’s old, Grayson.”
“She is my wife.”
“That never bothered you before. Besides, she has Hargreaves.”
He stiffened, his jaw clenching.
“Ah. A direct hit.” Her smile was as wicked as always. “Is she with him now? Is that why you came to me?” Spreading her legs, she leaned against the pillows and ran her hands between her thighs. “Why should she have all the fun? I can offer the same entertainments.”
Buttoning the last button, Gerard moved to make his egress. “Good night, Barbara.”
He was only a few feet down the hall when he heard something fragile shatter against the door. Shaking his head, he descended the stairs quickly, eager to go home.
Comfortably ensconced in her own bedroom, Isabel dismissed Mary as soon as she had undressed. “But bring me some Madeira,” she murmured as the abigail curtsied.
When she was alone, she sank into the wingback in front of the fire and thought of Hargreaves. This situation was so unfair to him. He had been good to her, she adored him, and she hated herself for being so confused. Her mother would say there was no monopoly on desire, and life had proved that to be true. The duchess would find nothing at all wrong with desiring two men at one time. Isabel, however, would always believe that a person should be strong enough to resist baser demands, if they cared enough.
Several minutes later, a knock drew her attention to the open door, and she gestured the maid in. The servant balanced the bottle of Madeira and a glass on a tray in one hand. The other was loaded with towels.
“What are those for?” Isabel asked.
“Forgive me, my lady, Edward requested them for His Lordship’s bath.”
Edward was Gray’s valet. It was nearly dawn. Her husband was bathing away the scents of his carnal exertions and she sat here, morose and guilty. Suddenly furious at the unfairness, she stood and collected the towels. “I will see to this.”
The girl’s eyes widened, but she curtsied, and set down the bottle and glass before departing.
Isabel crossed her boudoir to the dressing room and then, without any warning, opened the door to the bathing room. Gray lay in steaming water, his head resting against the lip of the tub with his eyes closed. He did not move at all when she entered, and she took a brief moment to absorb the sight of his dark chest and long, powerful legs. All of his beauty was visible through the clear water, including the impressive cock she had felt only briefly. She was instantly aroused, which further incited her temper. A narrow-eyed glance at Edward sent the valet fleeing from the room.
Gray took a deep breath, and then stiffened all over. “Isabel,” he breathed, his eyes drifting open. He stared at her with impossibly blue eyes framed with wet lashes, and made no effort to cover himself.
“Did you enjoy your evening?” she bit out.
His lips pursed at her tone. “Did you?”
“No, I did not, and I blame you entirely.”
“Of course you would.” The silence stretched out, the air between them thick with things left unsaid and a desire that went unappeased. “Did you fuck him, Pel?” he asked finally, his voice gruff.
Her gaze roamed over the length of his body.
“Did you?” he repeated when she said nothing.
