He sighed in resignation and held out his hand, every muscle hardening when her gloved fingertips pressed lightly into his palm. He escorted her to the door, draped her in her cloak, and returned to his study window to watch his carriage carry her away.
She belonged to him, as surely as his entailed estates. Nothing and no one could take her away. But he had no wish to keep her by force. He wished to earn her regard, just as he had earned the respect of his tenants. Pride in ownership worked both ways, and until he’d worked side by side with his tenants on his many holdings—until he’d worn their clothes, attended their celebrations, and eaten at their ta bles—they’d had none for him, an errant lord who paid them no mind and felt no loyalty.
His methods had been extreme by any measure, and every time he moved his attentions to a new estate, he had to begin the process of building trust and respect anew. But it had been healing for him. A chance for him to find a home, a place to belong, things he’d never had before.
Now he knew it had been training for this. This was his true home. And if he could find a way to share it with Isabel, in every way, if he could cool his ardor enough and rein in the base needs that clawed at him, perhaps contentment with her could be his.
It was a goal worth striving for.
“She has thrown you over, has she, Lord Hargreaves?” asked a girlish voice beside him.
John turned his head away from the sight of Isabel across the ballroom, and bowed to the lovely brunette who spoke to him. “Lady Stanhope, a pleasure.”
“Grayson has ruined your cozy little arrangement,” she purred, her eyes leaving his to find Pel. “Look how zealously Lord Spencer guards her side. You know as well as I that he would not be here if Grayson had not ordered him to be. Makes one wonder why he is not here to see to the matter himself.”
“I have no wish to discuss Lord Grayson,” he said tightly. Unable to help himself, he stared at his former mistress. He still could not collect how everything could change so drastically in so short a time. Yes, he had noted Pel’s increasing restlessness, but their friendship had been strong and the sex as satisfying as always.
“Even if discussing him could return Lady Grayson’s attentions to you?”
His head whipped toward her. Dressed in blood red satin, Stanhope’s widow was hard to miss, even amongst the crowd. He had noted her several times over the course of the evening, especially since she seemed to be spending a great deal of her time studying him. “What are you saying?”
Lady Stanhope’s rouged mouth curved in a portentous smile. “I want Grayson. You want his wife. It would be to both of our benefits to work together.”
“I’ve no notion of what you are talking about.” But he was intrigued. And it showed.
“That’s fine, darling,” she drawled. “You can leave all the notions to me.”
“Lady Stanhope—”
“We are allies. Call me Barbara.”
The determined tilt of her chin and eyes as hard as the jade they resembled told John she knew what she was about. He glanced at Pel again and caught her staring back at him with her full bottom lip worried between her teeth. His pride smarted.
Barbara’s hand slipped around his arm. “Let’s walk, and I shall tell you what I have planned…”
Chapter 10
Sitting at her boudoir desk, Isabel addressed the last of her dinner invitations with a flourish that belied the apprehension she felt. Grayson had never been the type of man who would brush off such machinations. He was devious and lacked the morals that restrained most, and while he admired similar cunning in others, he did not feel as charitable to those who would try their trickery on him.
Fully cognizant of the fact that she was, in effect, poking a sleeping lion with a stick, she hesitated a moment, staring at the tidy stack of cream-colored missives at her elbow.
“Would you like these sent out immediately?” her secretary asked, hovering nearby.
She hesitated a moment, and then shook her head. “Not just yet. You may go for now.”
Rising from her seat at the escritoire, Isabel knew she was only prolonging the inevitable by failing to set in motion her search for a mistress for Gray, but she needed a bit more inner strength to manage the task. The tension and heated awareness between them was anathema to her mental health.
She’d slept fitfully the night before. Her body, while sore, craved the feel of his. If only she knew what had caused their relationship to alter so drastically, perhaps she could find a way to change it back.
As Gray had requested earlier, she moved over to the adjoining door to speak with him, her stomach fluttering at the mere thought of seeing him. She had barely cracked the portal open when the sound of angry voices stilled her.
“What concerns me is the talk, Gray. Since I avoid those types of preening social events, I had no notion of how bad it is. It is truly dreadful.”
“What is said about me is no concern of yours,” Gray rejoined tightly.
“Damned if it isn’t!” Spencer cried. “I am a Faulkner, too. You chastise me for running wild, and yet Pel has a far worse reputation. They wonder if you have the wherewithal to bring her to heel. They whisper about why you left, that perhaps your recalcitrant wife is too much for you. That you are not man enough to—”
“I suggest you say no more.” Gray’s interjection was fraught with menace.
“Turning a deaf ear does nothing to correct the damage. She was in the retiring room for no more than a few minutes, and in that time I overheard things that made my blood run cold. Mother is right. You should petition Parliament to be rid of her. You quite easily have two witnesses to her adultery. Hundreds, in fact.”
“You tread on thin ice, brother.”
“I will not tolerate the disparagement of our name, and I am aghast that you would do so!”
“Spencer.” Gray’s voice dropped in warning. “Do not do anything idiotic.”
“I will do what is necessary. She is a mistress, Grayson. Not a wife.”
There was a loud grunt, and the wall beside her shook violently. Isabel covered her mouth to stifle a cry.
“Say another unkind word about Pel,” Gray bit out, “and I will not restrain myself. I will not tolerate any slander of my wife.”
“Bloody hell,” Spencer gasped. His surprised voice was so close to the gap in the door she was certain she would be discovered. “You attacked me! What has happened to you? You have changed.”
Stumbling footsteps told her that Gray had pushed his brother away.
“You say I have changed. Why? Because I choose to honor my promises and commitments? That is maturity.”
“She does not afford a like respect to you.”
The low growl from Grayson frightened Isabel. “Get out. I cannot be near you now.”
“We are well met, then, for I cannot bear to be near you either.”
Angry-sounding footfalls preceded the slamming of the hallway door.
Her heart racing madly, Isabel slumped against the wall and felt ill. She was well aware of the talk, which had started when they wed and grew worse as they lived separate lives. Gray’s title held enough power that no one would dare cut her, and she had considered the gossip the price she must pay for her decisions and the freedom she desired. Gray had seemed immune, and so she had assumed he did not care. Now she knew he did care. A great deal. To learn that she had hurt Gray was so painful she could barely catch her breath.
Unsure of what to do or what to say to minimize the damage she had caused, Isabel stood motionless until she heard Gray’s weary sigh. That soft sound touched her deeply, melting something that had long been frozen. She gripped the knob, pulled the door open…
…and was arrested by the sight that greeted her.
Gray was clad in only trousers, a new garment by the look of it, which reminded her of the tailor’s earlier call. He stood by the bed, his hand on the carved post, his back and beautifully curved buttocks hard with tension.
“Grayso
n,” she called quietly, her blood hot from the mere sight of him.
He straightened, but did not face her. “Yes, Pel?”
“You wished to speak with me?”
“I apologize. Now is not a good time.”
She took a deep breath, and stepped further into the room. “It is I who owes you an apology.”
He turned to face her then, causing her to reach for a nearby chair and grip the back of it. The sight of his bare torso stole her wits.
“You overheard,” he said flatly.
“It was not my intent.”
“We are not discussing this now.” His jaw tightened. “I am not fit company at the moment.”
Shaking her head, Isabel pushed away from her support and moved forward. “Tell me how I can help you.”
“You won’t like my answer, so I suggest you leave. Now.”
Heaving out her breath, she fought back the urge to cast up her accounts. “How could we have erred so greatly?” she asked, almost to herself.
Veering off course, she walked toward the other side of the room. “Ignorance, I suppose. And arrogance. To think that we could live as we pleased and expect Society to accept us.”
“Go away, Isabel.”
“I refuse to come between you and your family, Gray.”
“My family be damned!” he retorted. “As you will be, if you stay here any longer.”
“Don’t growl at me.” She shot him a narrowed glance. “You once shared your problems with me. Now that I am the problem, I think that habit is even more important. And cease looking at me like that…What are you doing?”
“I warned you,” he said grimly. Moving so quickly she had no time to evade him, Gray caught her about the waist with his hands and carried her to the bathing chamber. His skin was hot, his grip too tight. He set her down, shoved her inside, and slammed the door shut between them.
“Gray!” she shouted through the portal.
“I am feeling violent, and your scent is making me lustful. Persisting with your inane prattle will see you tossed on your back and your mouth put to much better uses.”
Isabel blinked in shock. His rudeness was meant to drive her away, to scare her, and it very nearly succeeded. She’d never had a man speak to her so crudely and in such anger. It did odd things to her insides, making her quiver and her breath shorten.
Standing with her hand pressed against the door, she listened for sounds of him. She had no notion of what she should do, but walking away when he was so inflamed seemed cowardly. And yet…She was no fool. She knew men far better than women, and the best thing to do with a surly man was stay out of his way. She was well aware of what would happen should she choose to enter his rooms again. “Grayson?”
He did not reply.
There was nothing she could do for him, nothing that could change the facts or make him feel better beyond the temporary release of orgasm. But perhaps that was what he needed after hearing the disparagement of his virility. Perhaps it was what she needed, to forget for a short time that both of her marriages had failed. The first time, she had been young and naïve. But this time she had known better. How foolish to have thought Gray would not mature with age, which he appeared to have done by taking responsibility for Lord Spencer. Which left her wondering if perhaps Pelham also would have changed, had he been given the time.
“I can hear you thinking through the door,” Gray said wryly, his voice directly opposite the barrier.
“Are you still angry?”
“Of course, but not with you.”
“I am sorry, Grayson.”
“For what?” he asked in a low tone. “Marrying me?”
She swallowed hard, the word “no” trapped in her throat because she refused to give it voice.
“Isabel?”
Sighing, she moved away. He was right. Now was not the time to discuss this, not when she couldn’t think clearly. She hated the door between them. It blocked his scent and his touch and the hunger in his eyes—things she should not want. Why could she not be more practical about her wedded state, like the rest of her family? Why did her emotions have to become so tangled up and ruin everything?
“Just so we are clear,” he said gruffly. “I am not sorry, and out of all the things said to me in the last hour, hearing you say we have done something wrong disturbs me the most.”
Her steps faltered. How could he not regret the marriage that caused him such grief? If this was not enough to lessen his determination to have a true conjugal relationship, nothing would be.
Anger filled her at the sudden softening she felt toward him. She should not be melting over him. Her mother would not melt. Neither would Rhys. They would enjoy the great sex until they were sated and be done with it. Her chin lifted. That was what she should do also, if she were practical about such matters.
She left the bathing chamber, and walked slowly into her boudoir. The fact was, she could be practical about her affairs because the rules were set from the beginning and the end was anticipated. There was no ownership, such as she had felt for Pelham and was beginning to feel for Gray.
Drat the man! They had been friends. Then he had returned as a stranger, and took the place of her spouse.
A husband was a possession. A lover was not.
Her stomach flipped.
She is a mistress, Grayson. Not a wife.
Lord Spencer’s angry words were, quite simply, the solution.
Yanking on the bellpull, Isabel waited impatiently for her abigail to come up and then, with the servant’s help, she undressed. Completely. And unpinned her hair. Then she squared her shoulders and quickly crossed the distance back to Gray’s room. She threw the door open, saw her husband reaching for a shirt that lay on the bed, and with a running start, jumped onto his back.
“What in—”
Caught off balance, he tumbled face-first into the bed. Isabel hung on. Reaching behind him, Gray flipped her onto the counterpane with a deep growl.
“Finally, you come to your senses,” he muttered, before lowering his head and sucking a nipple into his mouth.
“Oh,” she cried, startled by the feel of drenched heat. Heavens, the man recovered quickly! “Wait.”
He grunted and went on suckling.
“I have rules!”
Heated blue eyes met hers, and he released her nipple with a loud pop. “You. Naked. Whenever I want you. Wherever I want you. Those are the only ‘rules.’”
“Yes.” She nodded, and he stilled, his large body turning hard as stone. “We will draft an agreement, and—”
“We have a written agreement, madam—a marriage certificate.”
“No. I will be your mistress and you will be my lover. The arrangement will be clear and on paper, since I cannot trust you to keep to your end of bargains.”
“Just for curiosity’s sake,” he began, pushing up from the bed to stand over her. His hands went to the placket of his trousers. “Are you deranged?”
She pushed up onto her elbows, her mouth watering as he shoved his garments to the floor and was suddenly, gloriously naked and impressively aroused.
He pounced on her with little finesse. “Your mental malady will not dampen my ardor, so you needn’t worry about that. You can spout all the gibberish you like while I ride you. I will not mind a bit.”
“Gray, really.”
Catching her knee, he shoved her thighs wide and settled his lean hips between them. “A wife is cherished and treated with a gentle hand. A mistress is a convenient cunt to rut in. Are you certain you wish to alter your status in our bedroom?”
It was then she realized he was still angry, his jaw clenched dangerously. The heavy heat of his erection was like lightning striking her skin. Gooseflesh spread over her body, and her breasts swelled painfully. “You don’t frighten me.”
His body was so hard and hot to the touch, it burned her. “You do not heed warnings very well,” he murmured in a low tone, and before she could process it, he’d thrust his cock into he
r. Not quite creamy for him and still a bit sore, she cried out and arched upward, the entry both painful and unexpected.
His hand fisted in the length of her hair, keeping her head back and her throat exposed. It also kept her helpless and rigidly in place as he began to fuck her with fierce, powerful lunges.
“When we are through with each other,” she gasped, her determination unwavering, “we will separate. I will return to my old residence. We will be friends, and you can regain face.”
He rammed into her, striking so deep she lost her breath.
“You can have only me,” she managed a moment later, moisture flooding her sex as he took what he wanted and excited her by doing so. “Slide between another woman’s sheets and you void our arrangement.”
Gray lowered his head and sucked hard on her neck. He grunted with every deep plunge of his cock, his heavy balls slapping against her with each downward stroke. The result of having her head held back was her breasts thrusting upward, and the coarse hairs on his chest scraped across her nipples. She whimpered at the feeling, her wits slipping rapidly.
She should not feel so good. Her position was uncomfortable, his touch bruising, his mouth and teeth hurtful against her tender throat. His hips pummeled hers, his shaft a thick intrusion that pumped through swollen tissues…And yet the absolute certainty in his touch, the complete lack of hesitation, his supreme arrogance in using her body for his pleasure was nearly rapturous.
“Yes…” As her body shivered on the verge of climax, she moaned a low plaintive sound. She clawed at his sides, dug her heels in his ass, and gave as good as she received.
“Isabel,” he growled, his mouth pressed to her ear. “Brazen enough to tackle a man naked, but so swiftly mastered by a hard cock.”
It would not be like it was before! “My rules,” she reminded, then she sank her teeth into his chest.
“Damn your rules.” Gray yanked out of her, his free hand gripping his cock and pumping, guttural sounds accompanying the spurting of his cum across her belly. It was base and raw, very different from his lovemaking of just a day before, and it left her writhing in an agony of lust.