The Stranger I Married Part 21

As the Grayson carriage pulled into the crowded drive of the Hammond residence, Isabel could not bite back her groan. One guest in particular filled her with dread.

Sitting across from her, Gray arched his brow in silent query.

Your mother, she mouthed, showing caution so as not to anger Lord Spencer, who shared a squab with her husband.

Gray pinched the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh.

Suddenly all the antic.i.p.ation she'd had for the upcoming long weekend party fled. Stepping down from the carriage with Gray's a.s.sistance, she managed a smile and took inventory of the a.s.sembled guests. She shuddered when the Dowager Lady Grayson gifted her with a conspiratorial wink. There was no avoiding the fact that Isabel had liked the woman better when they had been at odds.

"Bella."

The relief she felt at the sound of the voice behind her was dizzying. Turning, she caught Rhys' outstretched hands like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. His smile was brilliant, his rich mahogany hair capped by a dashing hat.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, well aware that tame country parties were not his preference.

He shrugged. "I feel the need for a little respectable company."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you ill?"

Laughing, he shook his head. "No, though I do believe I've caught a bit of melancholia. Something I'm certain a few days of fresh country air will do wonders to cure."

"Melancholia?" Tugging off her glove, Isabel pressed her wrist to his forehead.

Rhys rolled his eyes. "Since when does a bad mood cause fevers?"

"You have never been in a bad mood in your life."

"There is a first for everything."

A firm grip at her waist drew her attention.

"Grayson," her brother greeted, his gaze lifting above her head.

"Trenton," Gray returned. "I would not have expected to find you here."

"A temporary bout of insanity."

"Ah." Gray tugged her closer, a motion which had her gazing up at him with wide eyes. They'd had an unspoken accord to avoid touching each other in public, since it seemed to spark a flare of l.u.s.t neither could control. "I appear to be suffering from the same ailment."

"Grayson. Isabel. Lovely to see you both here," the dowager said as she approached.

As Isabel opened her mouth to reply, Gray squeezed the upper swell of her b.u.t.tock. She jumped, startling his mother. Reaching behind her, she swatted at his hand.

"Are you unwell?" the dowager asked, frowning in disapproval. "You should not have come if you are ill or out of sorts."

"She is perfectly healthy," Gray said smoothly. "As I can well attest."

Isabel stomped on his booted foot, although doing so caused no damage at all. What was his intent? She could not collect. To tease her so openly...

"Crudity is common," his mother reproved. "And beneath a man of your station."

"But, Mother, it is so enjoyable."

"Lord and Lady Grayson! How lovely of you to come."

Turning her head, Isabel found Lady Hammond descending the stairs from her front door. "We are delighted to be invited, of course," she replied.

"Now that you have arrived," the viscountess continued, "we can set off. What a lovely day to make the trip, don't you agree?"

"I do," she murmured, eager to return to their carriage.

"I shall ride with you, Grayson," the dowager said.

Isabel winced, suddenly finding the prospect of the daylong drive a torment.

Gray gave a soothing caress down the length of her spine, but the comfort it offered did not last. The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent in the tight confines of their traveling coach listening to his mother chastising them all for one transgression or another. She could only imagine the horror of living with a parent who found fault with everything, and she surrept.i.tiously stroked Gray's thigh with the back of her hand in sympathy. He sat deathly silent the entire ride, coming to life only when they stopped to change horses and take luncheon.

It was with great relief that they arrived at the Hammonds' lovely country estate late in the day. As soon as the carriage rolled to a halt, Grayson leapt out and a.s.sisted her down. That was when she caught sight of Hargreaves, and realized why Grayson had been acting as possessive as he had. Even now, despite his outward appearance of boredom, she sensed his alertness in the proximity he kept to her and the slow sweep of his gaze across the drive.

"What a lovely estate," the dowager cried, bringing the pleased smile of the viscountess her way. It was indeed a praiseworthy property with its lovely golden brick exterior and profusion of colorful flowers and climbing vines.

A week here under other circ.u.mstances would be a joy. Considering the personages in attendance, including Lady Stanhope who was presently ogling Gray in a manner that riled Isabel, she doubted that would be the case in this instance. "We should have remained in London," she muttered.

"Shall we go?" Gray asked. "I have an estate not far from here."

She turned wide eyes to him. "Are you mad?" But she could see in the intensity of his blue eyes that he was quite willing to leave. While it seemed sometimes that no trace of the Grayson she once knew remained, flashes of the one she recalled occasionally appeared. He was more polished, more somber, but no less ruthless than he always had been. "No."

He sighed and offered his arm. "I knew you would say that. I hope you are amenable to spending a great deal of time in our rooms."

"We could have spent time in our rooms at home. Here it will be rude."

"You should have mentioned that earlier and saved us the trip."

"Don't foist the blame for this on me," she whispered, shivering slightly at the feel of his powerful forearm flexing beneath her fingertips. "This was entirely your doing."

"I wanted to travel away," he said dryly, his sidelong glance revealing his knowledge of his affect on her, "and spend some time with you and Spencer. I had no notion this would turn into a gathering of all the people we most wished to avoid."

"Isabel!"

Rhys' cry caught their attention. Walking backward with his gaze directed elsewhere, her brother nearly ran her over. Grayson, however, stepped in as a formidable buffer and saved her.

"Beg your pardon," her brother offered quickly, then he looked at her with a tangible excitement about him. "Do you know who that woman is over there?"

Looking around his tall frame, she saw a small group of women speaking with Lady Hammond. "Which one?"

"The brunette to the right of Lady Stanhope."

"Oh...Yes, I know her, although at the moment, her name eludes me."

"Abby?" he prompted. "Abigail?"

"Ah, yes! Abigail Stewart. Niece to Lord Hammond. His sister and her entrepreneurial American husband have pa.s.sed on, leaving Miss Stewart orphaned, though quite wealthy I've been told."

"An heiress," Rhys said softly.

"Poor thing," Isabel said with a commiserating shake of her head. "She was hounded to death last season by every scapegrace and dest.i.tute man in England. I spoke with her briefly once. She is very bright. A bit rough around the edges, but charming."

"I never noticed her."

"Why would you? She hides herself well and she is not your type of female at all. Too smart for you," she teased.

"Yes...I'm certain that is true." He walked away frowning.

"I think you were correct," Gray said, his voice low and near enough to make her senses leap to attention. "I do believe he's ill. Perhaps we can follow his lead. You and I can feign poor const.i.tutions and lie abed for a week. Together. Unclothed."

"You are incorrigible," she said, laughing.

With quiet efficiency, they and the other guests were settled in their rooms to freshen up before the evening meal. Gerard made certain that Isabel was well established and tended by her abigail, before excusing himself to meet with the other gentlemen below.

Despite the unfortunate choice of guests, he found some slight convenience in it. The odd menagerie created by the presence of his mother and Hargreaves allowed him to dispense with whatever remaining illusions they had about his marriage to Pel. His affairs were not to be interfered with. Foolish of them, really, to forget how few qualms he had. However, it was no great burden to remind them.

Entering the lower parlor, he took in the design of the room, noting the large windows framed with dark red, ta.s.seled drapes, and the proliferation of burgundy leather chairs. A man's retreat. Just the type of setting he required to say what needed to be said.

He gave a curt nod to Spencer, refused the cheroot offered to him by Lord Hammond, and then strode across the Aubusson rug toward the window where Hargreaves stood studying the view outside. As he approached, Gerard examined the proud bearing and impeccable attire of the earl. This man had shared two private years with Pel and knew her far better than he himself did.

He remembered how she had been with Markham, lit like a candle with confidence and sparkling eyes. The contrast to the purely mercenary s.e.xual regard with which she held him was striking and disturbing. The casual friendship they had once shared was now marred by tension. He missed the ease he'd once felt with her, and longed to bask in the kind of affectionate attentions she shared with others.

"Hargreaves," he murmured.

"Lord Grayson." The earl turned cool dark eyes on him. They were almost of a height, with Gerard having only a slight advantage. "Before you try to waylay attempts on my part to woo back Isabel, allow me to tell you I have no intentions in that regard."

"No?"

"No, but if she comes to me I will not turn her away."

"Despite the hazard such an action would place you in?" Gerard was a man of action, not empty threats. By the slight nod Hargreaves gave him, he could see the other man knew it.

"You cannot cage a woman like Isabel, Grayson. She values her freedom more than anything. I am certain it chafes her to realize she married you to be free, and yet finds herself trapped." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Besides, you will tire of her eventually or she of you, and this desire you have to claim her so primitively will fade."

"My claim," Gerard said dryly, "is not merely primitive. It is also legal and binding."

Hargreaves shook his head. "You have always wanted women who belong to someone else."

"In this case, the woman I want belongs to me."

"Does she? Truly? Odd you should discover that after five years of marital oblivion. I have seen you together since your return, as has everyone else. In truth, it appears you barely tolerate one another."

Gerard's mouth curved in a slow smile. "We definitely more than tolerate one another."

The earl's face flushed. "I do not have time to school you on women, Grayson, but suffice it to say that o.r.g.a.s.ms are not all a woman requires to be content. Isabel will not grow an attachment to you, she is incapable of it, and even if she were open to elevated feelings, an inconstant man such as yourself will never appeal. You are much like Pelham, you know. He, too, failed to see the prize that was his. I cannot count the number of times Isabel would tell me some humorous tale of your exploits and finish with, 'Just like Pelham used to do.'"

A blow to his gut could not have struck Gerard harder. Outwardly impa.s.sive, his insides knotted with apprehension. Markham had said the same. There could be no worse mark against him than to remind his wife of her late husband. If he could not, at the very least, prove himself better than Pelham, he would never win Isabel's affections.

But she had written him faithfully every week, and held on to that tenuous tie. Surely, there was some hope to be found in that?

d.a.m.n it! Why had he disregarded those letters?

"You say she is incapable of deep affections, and yet you think she may return to you, when she has never been known to revisit a paramour once finished with him?"

"Because we are friends. I know how she likes her tea, what her favorite books are..." Hargreaves straightened. "She was happy with me before you returned-"

"No. She was not. You know this as well as I." Isabel would not have been tempted away if Hargreaves had been what she wanted. She was not a fickle woman. But she was a woman who bore wounds, and Gerard was determined to heal them.

The earl's jaw tightened. "I think we understand each other. There is nothing left to be said. You are aware of my position. I am aware of yours."

Gerard tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Are you aware? Be certain, Hargreaves. I am easily irritated and frankly, I will not have this conversation again. Next time I feel the urge to remind you of my marriage, I shall demonstrate the finer points of this discourse with the tip of my blade."

"Gentlemen, can I regale you with my tales of India?" Lord Hammond intruded, his gaze shifting nervously between them. "A fascinating country, I must say."

"Thank you, Hammond," Gerard said. "Perhaps over port this evening."

He withdrew and crossed the room to Spencer, who raised both brows as he approached.

"Only you, Gray, would be so brazen."

"Time is precious I've learned. I see no point in squandering it when directness works so well."

Spencer laughed. "I must admit, I was resigned to a week of la.s.situde. I am pleased to see there won't be a dull moment."

"Certainly not. I intend to keep you busy."

"Do you?"

Spencer's eyes lit up bright enough to compete with his grin. Gerard realized again how much influence he had on his younger brother. He only hoped he made full and positive use of it.

"Yes. There is a Grayson property only an hour's ride from here. We will go there tomorrow."

"Smashing!"

Gerard smiled. "Now, if you will excuse me..."

"Can't stay away from her for long, can you?" Spencer shook his head. "You are more randy than I will ever be, I think. Much as it pains me to admit that."

"You a.s.sume when we are alone we only stay abed."

Spencer snorted. "Are you saying that is not the case?"

"I refuse to say anything at all."