The Stranger I Married

reached his feet, he laughed at her soft ticklish touch. When she reached his shoulders and her hair drifted over his back, he sighed.

One morning, not too long ago, he had sat on the short stone wall that surrounded one of his terraces and tried to remember what it felt like to smile with true contentment. What a godsend it was to have found that here, in his home. With Pel.

Then Isabel urged him to roll over, straddled his hips, and took him inside her, slowly. She was burning hot and drenched, and he watched, shaking, as his cock was engulfed inch by throbbing inch between the flushed, glistening lips of her sex.

“Oh God…” she breathed, her thighs trembling, her eyes heavy-lidded and locked with his. The soft whimper turned into rapid pants. That she enjoyed his cock to the extreme was not only obvious, but more than enough to make his balls crawl into his body.

“I won’t last,” he warned, his hands tugging her downward impatiently. He’d taken her several times now, but never had she taken him, and she was a mature woman with a comfortable understanding of her own desires. From the moment they had been introduced, he’d admired her poise and confidence. Now he found it both mesmerizing and satisfying to share the control of their bedsport with her. “I am ready to blow.”

“But you won’t.”

And he didn’t. Fear for her held him back, because she was his wife-his to please, his to enjoy, his to protect. He would not lose her like he lost Em.

His. She was his.

Now he need only convince her of that.

When Gerard finally found the strength of will to leave his bed, he went directly to Spencer’s rooms, but did not find him there. A cursory search of the house turned up nothing. It was then he discovered his brother had departed soon after their row. To say he was worried would be an understatement. He had no notion of what Spencer had overheard the night before or who had spoken the words that so angered him.

I will not tolerate the disparagement of our name…I will do what is necessary.

Growling, Gerard went to his office and penned two quick notes. One waited for Isabel, while the other was dispatched immediately. He had planned to escort his wife to whatever events she had agreed to attend, and he’d looked forward to both her company and the chance to dispel the rumors that plagued them. Now he was forced to scour clubs, brothels, and taverns to be certain Spencer did not land firmly into a puddle of trouble, as their mother claimed was his wont to do.

Damn and blast, he thought, as he waited for his horse to be saddled and brought around. An entire afternoon of physical exertion had made him somewhat jellied in the legs and should the need come for fisticuffs, he was certain he would not be at his best. Because of this, he prayed Spencer was not pursuing a fight, but simply drinking or whoring. And of those two choices, Gerard preferred the latter. Sated, perhaps, his brother would be more amenable to listening to reason.

Vaulting into the saddle, he urged his mount away from the house that was now a home and wondered how many more decisions of his past would hurt those he cared for.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Isabel asked as she entered the parlor. Try as she might, she could not hide the irritated note in her voice. To wake up without Gray was bad enough; to read his curt and vague missive only compounded her disgruntlement.

I must see to Spencer.

Yours,

Grayson

She knew how men related to one another-they argued, and then made up over ale and women. Well acquainted with her husband’s stamina, she could not put the indulgence past him.

Her brother rose from his seat on the blue velvet settee and sketched a quick bow. Dashingly dressed in evening black, he was a remarkable sight. “I am at your service, madam,” he intoned in a comical imitation of an upper servant.

“My service?” She frowned. “Whatever am I supposed to need you for?”

“Grayson sent for me. He wrote that he was unable to accompany you this evening and suggested I might like to. For if I did, surely I would be too weary to meet him in the rings at Remington’s in the morning. And in his gratitude for my escort, he would excuse me. Indefinitely.”

Her eyes widened. “He threatened you?”

“I warned you he would give me a thrashing for taking you away from him yesterday.”

“Ridiculous,” she muttered.

“I agree,” he said dryly. “However, fortuituously I had plans to attend the Hammond ball regardless, as Lady Margaret Crenshaw will be there.”

“Another victim on your list? Have you, at the very least, spoken to this one before?”

Rhys shot her a dark glance. “Yes, I have, and she was very pleasant. So, if you are ready…?”

Although she had dressed for an evening out, she’d actually considered remaining at home to wait for Gray. But that would be foolish. He obviously wished her to go, since he went to such lengths to see her escorted. She was not a young girl any longer, nor naive. It should not bother her one whit that Grayson had spent hours finding pleasure in her body, only to leave her behind for the evening. A mistress would find nothing untoward, she told herself.

And she continued to remind herself of that fact as the course of the evening progressed. But when she caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowded Hammond ballroom, the knowledge was discarded. Mistress or not, a knot formed in her belly, only to be quickly replaced by a cold flare of anger.

“Lord Spencer Faulkner is here,” Rhys noted casually, as the young man entered the ballroom just a few feet away from where they stood along the edge of the dance floor.

“So he is.” But Grayson was not. So he had lied to her. Why was she surprised?

She studied her brother-in-law carefully, noting both the similarities to her husband and the differences. Unlike her close resemblance to Rhys, Gray and Lord Spencer had only a passing physical familiarity, which gave her a small glimpse of what their father must have looked like.

As if he felt her perusal, Spencer turned his head and met her gaze. For one brief, unguarded heartbeat she saw something decidedly unpleasant, and then it was shielded with studious impassivity.

“Well, well,” Rhys murmured. “I believe we have finally met a man who is truly immune to your charms.”

“You saw that?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” His gaze raked the throng before them. “I can only hope that you and I were the only ones who-Good God!”

“What?” Alarmed by his shock, Isabel rose to her toes and looked around. Was it Gray? Her heart raced. “What is it?”

Rhys thrust his champagne at her with such haste the sloshing liquid nearly overwhelmed the flute, which would have ruined her satin gown. “Excuse me.” And then he was off, leaving Isabel blinking after him.

Rhys followed the trim form that weaved easily through the guests. Almost as if she were a wraith, she went by unnoticed, an unremarkable woman wearing an unremarkable dress. But Rhys was arrested. He knew that dark hair. He had dreamt of that voice.

She left the ballroom, and moved swiftly down the hall. He followed. When she exited the manse through a study door, he gave up any effort to hide his pursuit and he caught the knob just as it swung away from him. Her small, piquant face tilted up to his, the wide eyes blinking.

“Lord Trenton.”

He stepped out onto the terrace, and shut out the sounds of the ball with a click of the latch. Sketching a short bow, he caught up her gloved hand and kissed the back of it. “Lady Mystery.”

She laughed, and his grip tightened. Her head angled to the side in what looked to be puzzlement. “You find me attractive, don’t you? But you cannot reason why. Quite frankly, I am equally puzzled.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Will you allow me to investigate a little?” He bent slowly, giving her time to pull away before he brushed his lips across hers. The soft touch affected him strangely, as did her scent, which was so soft it was a mere hint in the cool night air. “I think a few experiments might be in order.”

“Oh my,” she breathed. Her free hand moved to shelter her stomach. “That just gave me a little flutter right here.”