by Sylvia Day
“Damn you,” she whispered, hating him for coming home and turning her life upside-down. She ached all over, her skin too hot and too tight, and she detested the feeling and the memories it brought with it.
“I am damned, Pel, if I must live with you and not have you.”
“We had a bargain.”
“This,” he gestured between them, “was not there then. What do you propose we do about it? Ignore it?”
“Spend it elsewhere. You are young and randy—”
“And married.”
“Not truly!” she cried, ready to tear out her hair in frustration.
Gray snorted. “As truly as marriage can be without sex. I intend to correct that lack.”
“Is that why you came back? To fuck your wife?”
“I came back because you wrote to me. Every Friday the post would come and there would be a letter, written with soft pink parchment and scented of flowers.”
“You sent them back, every one of them. Unopened.”
“The contents were not important, Pel. I knew what you did and where you went without your recounts. It was the thought that mattered. I had hoped you would desist, and leave me to my misery—”
“Instead you brought the misery to me,” she snapped, pacing the length of the small room to ease the feeling of confinement. “It was my obligation to write to you.”
“Yes!” he cried, triumphant. “Your obligation as my wife, which in turn forced me to remember that I had a like obligation to you. So I returned to quell the rumors, to support you, to correct the wrong I did you by leaving.”
“That does not require sex!”
“Lower your voice,” he warned, grabbing her arm and tugging her closer. He cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding her erect nipple, and rolling it until she whimpered in helpless pleasure. “This requires sex. Look how aroused you are. Even in your fury and distress, I would wager you are wet between the thighs for me. Why should I take someone else, when it is you I want?”
“I have someone.”
“You persist in saying that, but he is not enough, obviously, or you would not want me.”
Guilt flooded her that her body should be so eager for him. She never entertained the idea of another man while attached to one. Months passed between her lovers, because she mourned the loss of each one, even though she was the party who said good-bye.
“You are wrong.” She yanked her arm from his grip, her breast burning where he had touched her. “I do not want you.”
“And I used to admire your honesty,” he jeered softly.
Isabel stared at Gray, and saw his determination. The slow, dull ache in her chest was so familiar, a ghost of the hell Pelham had left her in.
“What happened to you?” she asked sadly, lamenting the loss of the comfort she once felt with him.
“The blinders were torn from me, Pel. And I saw what I was missing.”
Chapter 3
Once appropriately attired, Gerard moved aside the curtain and stepped out into the short hall. He caught sight of Isabel immediately. Standing by the window, her auburn hair caught stray rays of sunshine and turned to fire. The contrast of those silken threads of flame against the ice blue of her gown was stunning, and very apropos. The heat of her desire had scorched him, even as she chilled him with her words. In fact, he was surprised she had remained the two hours it had taken to alter the pilfered garments. Gerard had half-expected her to leave. But Pel was not one to hide from things unpleasant. She may avoid discussing them, but she would not actually run from them. It was one of the quirky traits he rather liked in her.
He sighed, damning himself for pushing too hard, but he could do nothing differently. He did not understand her, and he could not make amends without comprehension. Why was she so determined to have nothing of importance between them? Why desire him, know he craved her in return, and refuse to act upon it? It was not like Isabel to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh. Did she perhaps love her present amour? His hands clenched into fists at the thought. Gerard was well aware that it was possible to love one person, and yet physically require the attentions of another.
At that thought, he cursed inwardly. He had obviously not changed all that much to have pawed and groped at his wife. What in hell was the matter with him? A gentleman did not treat his spouse in that fashion. He should be wooing her, not salivating to rut in her.
He called out as he approached so as not to startle her. “Lady Grayson.”
Pel turned to face him with a winsome smile. “My lord. You look very dashing.”
So it was that way, was it? Pretend as if nothing had happened.
He smiled with all the charm he possessed, and lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “A husband must, to escort a wife as fair as you, my lovely Isabel.”
Her hand shook a little in his, and her voice when she spoke had a slight catch. “You flatter me.”
He wished to do a great deal more to her, but that would have to wait. He tucked her hand around his arm, and led her to the door.
“Even I cannot do you justice,” she said, as he retrieved her flowered straw hat from the clerk and set it on her head, pinning it in place with the ease of familiarity. The door chimes rang, and he stepped closer, his back to the street, to allow the new customer to pass. The air sweltered between him and Pel, flushing her skin and tensing his frame.
“You need a lover,” she breathed, those sherry eyes wide and held by his gaze.
“I have no need of one. I have a wife who desires me.”
“Good afternoon, my lord,” the clerk called out, rounding the counter.
Gerard moved to her side, and offered his arm again. Now facing the doorway, he saw the distinguished-looking gentleman who wore an expression of such horror it did not take but a moment to register who it must be. And what he must have heard.
“Good afternoon, Lord Hargreaves.” His fingers closed over Pel’s on his arm, staking an irrefutable claim. Never having been a possessive man, he frowned and tried to examine why he should feel this way now.
“Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Grayson,” the earl said tightly.
Isabel straightened. “Lord Hargreaves, a pleasure.”
But it was not, not for any of them. The tension was palpable. “Excuse us,” Gerard said when Hargreaves continued to block the doorway. “We were on our way out.”
“Lovely to see you again, my lord,” Isabel murmured, her voice unusually somber.
“Yes,” Hargreaves muttered, stepping aside. “Quite.”
Opening the door, Gerard gave one last studious look at his rival, and then led his wife out with a hand at the small of her back. They walked slowly down the street, both lost in their thoughts. Several pedestrians attempted to approach, but a narrowed glance was effective at keeping them away.
“That was awkward,” he muttered finally.
“You noted that, did you?” she said, refusing to look at him.
In a way, he missed the overconfidence of his youth. Four years ago, he would have brushed off the encounter as amusing. In fact, he had done that very thing on several occasions, as social engagements had brought him face to face with Pel’s lovers, and she with his. Now he was all too aware of his flaws and shortcomings, and to his knowledge the popular and respected Hargreaves had none.
“I’ve no notion of how I will explain your comment to him,” she said, obviously upset.
“He knew the risks when he chose to dally with another man’s wife.”
“There were no risks! No one could predict that you would come home daft.”
“It is not daft to desire your spouse. Pretending you don’t, however, is ridiculous.”
He stopped abruptly as a merchant door swung inward, and a customer ran out directly before them.
“My apologies, my lady!” the man cried to Pel, tipping his hat before he strode away quickly.
Gerard looked at the establishment, curious about the reason for the man’s excitability. His m
outh curved as he reached for the door.
“A jeweler’s?” Isabel asked with a frown.
“Yes, vixen. There is something I should have attended to years ago.”
He urged her inside, and the clerk lifted his head from the sales record book with a smile. “Good afternoon, my lord. My lady.”
“That was a happy man who just departed,” Gerard noted.
“Ah yes,” the clerk agreed. “A bachelor embarking on an offer of marriage, which is strengthened by the lovely ring he purchased today.”
In search of equal pleasure, Gerard perused the offerings in the glass cases.
“What are you looking for?” Pel asked, bending over beside him. Her scent appealed to him so deeply, he wished he could lay amongst satin sheets infused with it. With her graceful limbs entwined with his, it would be heaven.
“Have you always smelled so wonderful, Pel?” He turned his head to look at her, and found her almost nose to nose.
She pulled back with a blink. “Gray, really. Can we put off a discussion on perfumery, and find what you want?”
Smiling, he caught her hand, and glanced up at the hovering clerk. “That one.” He pointed to the largest ring in the case—a massive ruby surrounded by diamonds, and supported by a filigreed band of gold.
“Heavens,” Pel breathed, as it came out from behind its glass shield and sparkled in the light.
Gerard lifted her hand, and sized the ring on her finger, pleased to see it fit snugly, but not too tightly, over her glove. Now, she looked like a married woman. “Perfect.”
“No.”
He arched a brow, and discerned his wife’s distress. “Why not?”
“It…it’s too large,” she protested.
“It suits you.” He lounged against the case, and smiled, keeping her hand trapped firmly within his own. “While I was in Lincolnshire—”
“You were?” she asked quickly.
“Amongst other places,” he said, stroking her palm. “I would watch the sunset, and think of you. There were times when a ribbon of red clouds in the sky would exactly match the highlights in your hair. When the light catches that ruby, it reflects almost the same color.”
She stared at him as he lifted her hand to his mouth. He kissed first the stone, and then the middle of her gloved palm, relishing the opportunity to be close to someone again.
The sunrises, with all their warm golden beauty, had brought memories of Em. He’d dreaded them at first. Each morning reminded him that another day had come, and Emily would not be living it. Later, the warmth the sun brought had been a benediction, a reminder that he had another opportunity to become a better man.
The sunsets, however, had always belonged to Pel. The darkening sky and the welcoming blanket of night that disregarded his imperfections—that was Isabel, who never pried. The sensuality of a bed, and the moments when he could release the stress of the day—that was Isabel, too, lying on her chaise in her boudoir. How odd that her lighthearted companionship had come to mean so much to him, and yet he’d never noticed it when it had been his to enjoy.
“You should save your silver tongue for a woman less jaded than I.”
“Dear Pel,” he murmured, smiling. “I adore that you are jaded. You hold no illusions about my less-than-sterling character.”
“I have no idea what your character is anymore.” She pulled away, and he released her. Straightening her spine, Isabel glanced around the small store. When she saw the clerk busy recording their transaction, she said, “I don’t understand why you would say such things to me, Gray. You never had any romantic notions, nor sexual ones, to my knowledge.”
“What color are the flowers in front of our house?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The flowers. Do you know what color they are?”
“Certainly, they’re red.”
He arched a brow. “Are you certain?”
She crossed her arms, and arched her own brow. “Yes, I’m certain.”
“And the ones in the planters by the street?”
“What?”
“The planters by the street have flowers in them. Do you know what color those blooms are?”
Isabel chewed her lower lip.
Gerard tugged off his glove, and then tugged that lush bottom lip out of her teeth. “Do you?”
“They are pink.”
“They’re blue.”
He moved his hand to her shoulder, and stroked the creamy expanse of skin with his thumb. The heat of her flesh burned through his fingertips, and spread up his arm, igniting a hunger such as he had not felt in years. For so long he had been numb and frozen inside. To feel this heat, to desire to burn with her touch, to want so desperately to be scorched inside her…He relished all of it.
“Blue flowers, Pel.” His voice was huskier than he’d like. “I’ve found people tend to take for granted the things they see every day. But just because one fails to see something, does not mean it isn’t there.”
Goose bumps prickled her skin. He felt them, even through the calluses on his fingertips.
“Please.” She brushed his hand away. “Don’t lie, and say pretty things, and attempt to make the past into what you wish it to be in the present. We were nothing to each other, nothing. And I wanted it that way. I liked it that way.” She tugged off the ring, and set it on the counter.
“Why?”
“Why?” she parroted.
“Yes, my lovely wife, why? Why did you like our marriage as a sham?”
Her eyes shot daggers at him. “You liked it as a sham, too.”
Gerard smiled. “I know the reasons why I liked it, but we are talking about you.”
“Here you are, Lord Grayson,” the clerk said with a wide smile.
Cursing inwardly at the interruption, Gerard dipped the proffered quill in ink and signed the bill. He waited until the ring was boxed and tucked into his inner coat pocket before glancing at Isabel. As she had in the tailor’s, she stood staring out the window with a ramrod straight spine, every inch of her voluptuous form betraying her anger. He shook his head, and could not help but think that all the restrained passion in her was untapped. What the devil was Hargreaves doing, or more likely not doing, that left her so volatile? Another man might see the rigidness of her spine, and be discouraged. Gerard took it as a sign of hope.
He walked to her, drawn to the vibrancy that attracted everyone. Coming to a stop directly behind her, he breathed her in, and then whispered, “Can I take you home with me?”
Startled by Gray’s husky voice in her ear, Isabel spun about so quickly, he was forced to arch backward to avoid being whacked in the face with the brim of her hat. The near miss made him laugh, and once he started, he could not stop.
She gaped at him, awed by how young he looked when lost in merriment. His laugh sounded rusty, as if it had not been let out in awhile, and she loved the sound of it—deeper and richer than it had been before, and she had adored it even then. Unable to resist, she smiled, but when he grabbed his ribs and gasped, she had to laugh with him. Then he caught her about the waist, and spun her around, just like he used to do.
Setting her hands on his broad shoulders for balance, Isabel hung on, and remembered again how she enjoyed being with him.
“Put me down, Gray!” she cried.
With his head tilted back, he looked at her and said, “What will you give me if I do?”
“Oh, that’s not fair. You are making a spectacle of us. Everyone will hear of this.” She thought of Hargreaves’ expression when he’d seen them in the tailor’s, and her smile faded. How awful she was to cavort with Gray, when it would hurt John.
“A boon, Pel, or I will carry you around until you agree. I am quite strong, you know. And you are light as a feather.”
“I am not.”
“Are so.” His lip made that little pout of his. It would look ridiculous on any other man, but on Gray it made women want to kiss him. It made Isabel want to kiss him.
“Yo
u think too much,” he complained when she stared at him mutely. “You rejected my gift. Offering me a boon is the least you can do.”
“What do you want?”
He considered it a moment, and then said, “Supper.”
“Supper? Can you be more specific?”
“I want to have supper with you. Stay home tonight, and share a meal with me.”
“I have commitments.”
Gray moved to exit the shop. “My good man,” he called out to the clerk. “The door, if you would please.”
“You would not carry me outside like this.”
“Do you truly believe I wouldn’t?” he asked with a devilish smile. “I may have changed, but a leopard cannot completely lose its spots.”
Isabel glanced over her shoulder, and saw the street approaching and the multitude of pedestrians who strolled there. “Yes.”
He paused mid-step. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I will have supper with you.”
His grin was triumphant. “You are such a generous soul, Pel.”
“Stuff,” she muttered. “You are a blackguard, Grayson.”
“Perhaps.” He set her down, and then tucked her hand around his arm, leading her out to the street. “But really, would you want me any other way?”
Looking at him, seeing the lightening of the oppressive air that had surrounded him the day before, she knew she liked him best as a scoundrel. It was when he was most happy.
Just like Pelham.
Only a fool would make the same mistake twice.
Recognizing the voice of reason, Isabel reminded herself to heed it, and keep her physical distance from him. As long as he remained at least three feet away from her, she was fine.
“Lord Grayson!”
They both sighed as a rather large woman approached them wearing a monstrosity of a hat, and an even worse pink ruffled concoction of a dress.
“That is Lady Hamilton,” Isabel whispered. “A lovely woman.”
“Not in that garment,” Gray replied through his smile.
It took everything she had not to laugh aloud.