The Stranger I Married

directly…To have trusted a man who lied to her…

It hurt, and she had promised herself that no man would ever hurt her again.

“No, I do not.” She lifted her chin. “The reasons for our marriage seem foolish and ill-conceived now. I’m certain they always have been and we were both too obstinate to take note.”

“Isabel.” The dowager pursed her lips and fingered her weighty sapphire necklace with a narrowed, thoughtful glance. “You are serious?”

“Yes.”

“Grayson insists that a petition for divorce will meet with failure. In any case, the scandal will be dreadful for all.”

Tugging off one of her long gloves, Isabel reached out and fingered the petals of a nearby rose. So Gray had been considering severing their bond. She should have known.

How unfortunate for her that she was a woman who relished the companionship of others. She thrived on it. Perhaps if she did not, she would not feel such a need to be held and cared for, and she would not be in this position now. Many women abstained. She could not.

She sighed. The censure heaped on them for a divorce petition would be devastating, but how much more devastating would marriage to Grayson be? She’d nearly been destroyed by her last spouse and her attraction to the man Gray had become was just as powerful as what she had once felt for Pelham.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked bitterly. “That I am prepared for and accepting of a future as a woman divorced for adultery? I am not.”

“But you are resolved, I can see it in the set of your shoulders. And I will help you.”

Isabel turned at that. “You will what?”

“You heard me.” A slight smile softened the dowager’s harshly drawn mouth. “I am not sure how I will help you. I only know that I will, in whatever manner I can. Perhaps I will even see you well settled.”

Suddenly, the events of the day were too much for Isabel. “Excuse me.” She would find Rhys and ask him to escort her home. Faulkner scratches wounded her on all sides, and she wished for her room and a decanter of Madeira more than she wished for her next breath.

“I shall be in touch, Isabel,” the dowager marchioness called after her.

“Lovely,” she muttered, speeding up her steps. “I cannot wait.”

Frustrated by his lack of success in finding Spencer, Gerard was about to do violence to someone, when he turned a corner and came to an abrupt halt, his way blocked by a woman backing out of a dark room.

She turned and jumped. “Good heavens,” Lady Stanhope cried, her gloved hand sheltering her heart. “You frightened me, Grayson.”

He studied her with an arched brow. Flushed and slightly disheveled, she was obviously fresh from some assignation. When the door opened again and Spencer stepped out with crumpled cravat, Gerard’s other brow rose to match the first. “I have been looking for you for hours.”

“You have?”

His brother was clearly far more relaxed than he had been earlier. Intimately familiar with Barbara’s sexual appetite, Gerard was not surprised. He smiled. This was exactly how he had hoped to find Spencer.

“I would like to speak with you.”

Spencer straightened his coat and shot a glance at Barbara, who hovered. “Tomorrow perhaps?”

Studying him carefully, Gerard asked, “What are your plans for this evening?” He would not wait if his brother was still intent on some trouble.

Another pointed glance at Barbara settled Gerard’s worries. If Spencer was fucking, he would not be fighting. “Breakfast in my study, then.”

“Very well.”

Lifting Barbara’s bare hand to his lips, Spencer sketched an elegant bow and moved away, most likely to arrange their departure.

“I will be along in a moment, darling.” Barbara’s eyes remained locked on Gerard.

When they were alone, he said, “I am grateful for your association with Lord Spencer.”

“Oh?” She made a moue. “A tiny flare of jealousy would be welcome, Grayson.”

He snorted. “There is nothing between us to warrant jealousy, and there never has been.”

Her hand came up to rest against his abdomen, her green eyes sparkling mischievously through her lashes. “There could be, if only you would warm my bed again. Although our liaison the other evening was lamentably short, it reminded me of how beautifully you and I suit each other.”

“Ah, Lady Stanhope,” Pel said tightly behind him. “Thank you for locating my husband for me.”

Gerard did not have to turn around to know that his evening had, impossibly, taken a turn for the worse.

As the obviously rumpled countess moved away, Isabel stood silently, her fists clenched. Grayson eyed her warily, his powerful frame tense with expectation while she considered what she wanted to do. She had once fought hard for Pelham, and the effort had been draining and pointless. Husbands lied and strayed. Practical wives understood this.

With her heart encased in the icy shell she had learned to rely on, she simply turned her back to Gray with the intent to leave-the ball, his house, him. In her mind she was already packing, her brain quickly sorting through her belongings.

“Isabel.”

That voice. She shivered. Why must he have that raspy bedroom voice that dripped lust and decadence?

Her steps did not falter, and when he caught her elbow to stay her egress, her thoughts shifted to her previous home and how all of her furniture would be sadly out of date.

Gray’s gloved hand cupped her cheek. Forced her gaze to meet his. She registered blue eyes of a striking color and thought of her parlor settee, which was of a similar tone. She would have to throw it out.

“Christ,” he muttered harshly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Her gaze dropped to where his large hand gripped her forearm.

Before she realized it, he had pulled her into a dark room that reeked of sex and closed the door behind them. Her stomach roiled, and feeling the overwhelming urge to flee, she hurried across the moonlit space toward a room on the other side. It was a library where windowed doors led outside. There she paused and leaned her hands upon the back of a leather wingback chair, sucking in deep breaths of untainted air.

“Isabel.” Gray’s hands gripped her shoulders, moved down to tug her grip free of the chair back, and then linked his fingers with hers. His body was feverishly hot against her back. She began to sweat.

Green, perhaps? No, that wouldn’t do. Gray’s study was green. Lavender, then? A lavender settee would be a change. Or pink. No man would want to visit a pink parlor. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

“Would you talk to me, please?” he coaxed. He was very good at coaxing. And wheedling and charming and fucking. A girl could lose her head over him if she lowered her guard.

“Tassels.”

“What?”

He turned her to face him.

“Pink with gold tassels in the parlor,” she said.

“Fine. Pink flatters my coloring.”

“You will not be invited to my parlor.”

His lips pursed, his frown deepened. “The hell I won’t. You are not leaving me, Pel. What you overheard does not mean what you think.”

“I do not think anything, my lord,” she said evenly. “If you will excuse me…” She sidestepped.

He kissed her.

Like candle-warmed brandy the kiss hit her stomach first, then spread outward. Intoxicating. Making her thoughts and blood run sluggishly. Needing air, she took a deep breath through her nose and smelled Gray. Starched linen. Clean skin.

His embrace tightened, lifting her slightly until only the tips of her curled toes brushed against the Aubusson rug beneath them. Against her belly she felt his cock stir, but his mouth connected sweetly with hers, his tongue tasting and licking, not plunging. As the ice inside her melted under the heat of his ardor, she moaned. His lips were