“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.