The Stranger I Married Read Free

her. That distinction went to the only spot of obtrusive color in the room—the large portrait of Pelham that graced the far wall.
Every day she gazed upon that portrait, and allowed her heartbreak and loathing to rise to the surface. The earl, of course, was impervious, his seductively etched mouth curved in the smile that had won her hand in marriage. How she’d loved him, and adored him, as only a young girl could. Pelham had been everything to her, until she’d sat at Lady Warren’s musicale and heard two women behind her discussing her husband’s carnal prowess.
Her jaw clenched at the memory, all her old resentment rushing to the fore. Nearly five years had passed since Pelham met his reward in a duel over a paramour, but she still smarted from the sting of betrayal and humiliation.
A soft scratching came to the door. Turning the knob, Isabel opened the portal and met the frowning countenance of her hastily-dressed butler.
“My lady, the Marquess of Grayson requests a moment of your time.” He cleared his throat. “From the kitchen door.”
Isabel bit back a smile, her dark mood fleeing at the image she pictured of Grayson standing haughty and arrogant, as only he could be, while semi-dressed and at the delivery entrance. “Show him in, please.”
A slight twitching of a gray eyebrow was the only indication of surprise.
While the servant went to fetch Gray, she went around the room and lit the tapers. Lord, she was tired. She hoped he’d be quick about whatever was so urgent. Thinking of their earlier odd conversation, she wondered if he might not need some help. He could be a bit touched in the head.
Certainly they’d been unfailingly friendly with one another, and closer than mere acquaintances, but never more than that. Isabel had always rubbed along well with men. After all, she liked them quite well. But there had been a respectful distance between her and Lord Grayson, because of her ongoing affair with Markham, his best friend. An affair she’d ended just hours ago, when the handsome viscount had asked her to marry him for the third time.
In any case, despite Gray’s ability to stop her brain processes for a moment with his uncommon beauty, she had no further interest in him. He was Pelham all over again—a man too selfish and self-centered to set aside his own needs for someone else’s.
The door flew open behind her, startling her, and she spun about, only to be met head on with over six feet of powerful male. Gray caught her around the waist, and spun her about, laughing that rich laugh of his. A laugh that said he’d never once had a care in the world.
“Gray!” she protested, pushing at his shoulders. “Put me down.”
“Dear, Pel,” he cried, his eyes alight. “I’ve had the most wondrous news told to me this morn. I’m to be a father!”
Isabel blinked, growing dizzy from lack of sleep and the spinning.
“You are the only person alive I could think of who might be happy for me. Everyone else will be horrified. Please smile, Pel. Congratulate me.”
“I will, if you put me down.”
The marquess set her on her feet, and stepped back, waiting.
She laughed at his impatient expectation.
“Congratulations, my lord. May I have the name of the lucky woman who is to become your bride?”
Much of the joy in his blue eyes faded, but his charming smile remained. “Well, that would still be you, Isabel.”
Staring up at him, she tried to decide what in hell he was about, and failed. She gestured to a nearby chair, and then sat herself.
“You really are quite lovely with sex-mussed hair,” Gray mused. “I can see why your lovers would mourn the loss of such a sight.”
“Lord Grayson!” Isabel ran a hand over the tangles in her long tresses. The present fashion was close-cropped curls, but she preferred a longer length, as did her paramours. “Please, I must hasten you to explain the purpose of your visit. It has been a long night and I am tired.”
“It has been a long night for me as