The Stranger I Married

intriguing, a mischievous sparkle.

It took him a moment to realize she said nothing.

“You are staring,” he pointed out.

“So are you,” she retorted with a straightforwardness that reminded him of Bella. “I have an excuse. You do not.”

His brows raised. “Share your excuse with me. Perhaps I can make use of it as well.”

She smiled, and he suddenly found himself uncomfortably hot. “I doubt that. You see, you are quite the handsomest man I have ever seen. I confess it took my brain a moment to reclassify my previous notions of manly beauty, in order to fully process yours.”

He returned her smile in full measure.

“Stop that,” she said with a chastising wag of an ink-stained finger. “Go away.”

“Why?”

“Because you are affecting my ability to think properly.”

“Don’t think.” He moved toward her, wondering what she smelled like and why her clothes were worn and her fingertips stained. Why was she alone, reading, in the midst of a gathering? The sudden flood of questions and the overpowering need to know the answers puzzled him.

As she shook her head, glossy dark curls drifted across her pink cheeks. “You are every bit the rake they say you are. If I did nothing to sway you, what would you do?”

The impertinent chit was flirting with him, but he suspected it was unintentional. She was truly curious, and that unabashed quest for knowledge piqued his jaded interests. “I am not certain. Shall we find out together?”

“Rhys! Damn you,” Isabel muttered from a short distance away. “You will not collect from me if you have run off.”

He stopped mid-step and cursed under his breath.

“Saved by Lady Grayson,” the girl said with a wink.

“Who are you?”

“No one important.”

“Is that not for me to decide?” he asked, entirely too reluctant to leave her.

“No, Lord Trenton. That was decided long ago.” She stood, and collected her book. “Have a good day.” And before he could think of a reason for her to stay, she was gone.

Chapter 9

Isabel paused in the foyer of her home at the sound of masculine voices. One was rushed and urgent. The other, her husband’s, was low and unwavering. The door to Gray’s study was closed or she would have peeked, out of curiosity. Instead, she looked at the butler who was collecting her hat and gloves. “Who is with Lord Grayson?”

“Lord Spencer Faulkner, my lady.” The servant paused a moment, then added, “He arrived with luggage.”

She blinked, but in no other way did she betray her surprise. With a nod of dismissal, Isabel went to the kitchen to make certain the cook was aware of the extra mouth to feed. Then she went upstairs to take a short nap. She was exhausted, both from a night spent with very little sleep and an afternoon of chatting inanities with women who spoke unkind things about her behind her back. Rhys was supposed to have been both support and a distraction, but he himself had seemed distracted, his gaze wandering restlessly over the guests as if he were looking for something. Like a way to escape, she imagined.

With the help of her abigail, Isabel stripped down to her stockings and chemise, then took down her hair. Within moments after lying on her bed, she was asleep and dreaming of Gray.

Isabel, he breathed in a voice filled with sin. His mouth, hot and wet, moved across her exposed shoulder. His stroking hand was equally hot, the callused palm causing a delicious friction even through the silk that covered her legs.

Her heart warned her to refuse him, and her arm lifted to push his touch away.

I need you, he said roughly.

Her blood thrummed with eagerness and she whimpered, every nerve ending alive and waiting for the pleasure he could bring. She could smell him and feel his warmth. His ardor radiated outward, igniting hers. It was a dream, and she did not want to wake up. Nothing she did here would affect her.

Her hand dropped away.

Good girl, he praised, his lips to her ear. He lifted her thigh and set it over his. “I missed you today.”

She came to consciousness with a start.

And found a very hard bodied, very aroused Grayson at her back.

“No!” Struggling, Isabel squirmed out of his embrace and sat up. She glared at him. “What are you doing in my bed?”

He rolled to his back and tucked his hands under his head, completely unabashed about his obvious erection. Dressed in an open-collared shirt and trousers, his blue eyes sparkling with both devilry and lust, he was unbearably handsome. “Making love to my wife.”

“Well, cease.” She crossed her arms under her bosom and his eyes dropped to her breasts. Her blasted nipples replied with enthusiasm. “We had a bargain.”

“Which I never agreed to.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Bring that mouth over here,” he murmured, his eyelids lowering.

“You are dreadful.”

“That is not what you said last night. Or this morning. I believe you said, ‘Oh God, Gray, that is so good.’” His lips twitched.

Isabel threw a pillow at him.

Gray laughed and shoved it under his head. “How was your afternoon?”

She sighed and shrugged, her body achingly aware of the man who sat so close to her. “Lady Marley had a breakfast.”

“Was it pleasant? I confess, I’m surprised you managed to lure Trenton to such an event.”

“He wants a favor.”

“Ah, extortion.” He smiled. “I love it.”

“You would, you wicked man.” Catching up one of the pillows, she reclined opposite him. “Perhaps you could fetch my robe?”

“Damnation, no,” he said, shaking his head.

“I have no wish to incite your already considerable appetite for sexual congress,” she said dryly.

He caught up her hand and kissed her fingertips. “The mere thought of you incites me. At least this way, I also have a charming view.”

“Was your day better than mine?” she asked, making every effort to ignore how his touch burned her.

“My brother has come for an extended visit.”

“I heard.” Gooseflesh spread across her skin as he stroked her palm. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Not precisely. Apparently, he is running amok.”

“Hmm…Well, he is the age for it.” But studying Gray, she could see he was disturbed. “You look so grave. Is he in trouble?”

“No.” Gray fell onto his back again and stared up at the ornate ceiling. “He has not yet run up any great debt or angered someone’s husband, but he is certainly on a steady course in that direction. I should have been here to guide him, but once again my own needs came before anyone else’s.”

“You cannot blame yourself,” she protested. “Any wildness on his part is natural for boys his age.”

Her husband stilled, his head turning to reveal narrowed eyes. “Boys his age?”

“Yes.” She recoiled slightly, suddenly wary.

“He is the same age as I was when we wed. Did you think I was a boy then?” He rolled on top of her, pinning