The Stranger I Married Read Free Page B

all. This was a bargain, nothing more.
Perhaps it was exhaustion that stunted her ability to think properly, but within the space of two hours, Isabel found herself in the Grayson traveling coach on the way to Scotland.
* * * * *
     
Six months later...
     
“Isabel, a moment of your time, if you would please.”
    Gerard watched the empty open doorway until his wife’s curvaceous form, which had just passed by, filled it again.
    “Yes, Gray?” Isabel stepped into his study with an inquisitively raised brow.
“Are you free on Friday evening?”
She gave him a mock chastising look. “You know I am
    available whenever you need me.”
“Thank you, vixen.” He leaned back in his chair and
smiled. “You are too good to me.”
Isabel moved to the settee and sat down. “Where are we
going?”
“To a dinner at the Middleton’s. I agreed to speak to
Lord Rupert there, but Bentley informed today that Lady
Middleton has also invited the Grimshaws.”
“Oh.” Isabel wrinkled her nose. “Devious of her to
invite your inamorata and her husband to an event you are
attending.”
“Quite,” Gerard said, rising and rounding the desk to
take a seat next her.
“That smile is so wicked, Gray. You really should not
let it out.”
“I can’t restrain it.” He tossed his arm over her
shoulders and pulled her close, breathing in the exotic floral
scent that was both familiar and stirring. “I am the luckiest
man alive, and I’m smart enough to know it. Can you imagine
how many peers wish they had a wife like mine?”
She laughed. “You remain deliciously, unabashedly
shameless.”
“And you love it. Our marriage has made you a figure
of some renown.”
“You mean ‘infamy’,” she said dryly. “The older
woman starved for the stamina of a younger man.” “Starved for me.” He fingered a loose tendril of fiery
hair. “I do like the sound of that.”
A soft knock on the open door had them both looking
over the back of settee at the footman who waited there. “Yes?” Gerard asked, put out to be interrupted during a
rare quiet moment with his wife. She was so often occupied
with political teas and other female nonsense that he was
hardly ever afforded the opportunity to enjoy her sparkling
discourse. Pel was infamous, yes, but she was also unfailing
charming and the Marchioness of Grayson. Society may
speculate about her, but they would never shut their doors to
her.
“A special post arrived, my lord.”
Gerard held out his hand and crooked his fingers
impatiently. As soon as he held the missive, he grimaced at the
familiar handwriting.
“Heavens, what a face,” Isabel said. “I should leave you
to it.”
“No.” He held her down by tightening his arm on her
shoulder. “It’s from the dowager, and by the time I am done
reading it, I will need you to pull me out of the doldrums, as
only you can.”
“As you wish. If you want me to stay, I will. I am not
due to go out for hours yet.”
Smiling at the thought of hours to share with her,
Gerard opened the letter.
“Shall we play chess?” she suggested, her smile
mischievous.
He shuddered dramatically. “You know how much I detest that game. Think of something less likely to put me to
sleep.”
Turning his attention to the letter, he skimmed. But as
he came to a paragraph written as if it were an afterthought,
but which he knew to be a calculated strike, his reading
slowed and his hands began to shake. His mother never wrote
without the intent to wound, and she remained furious that
he’d married the notorious Lady Pelham.
    ...a shame the infant did not survive the birthing. It was a boy child, I heard. Plump and well-formed with a dark mane of hair, unlike his two blond parents. Lady Sinclair was too slightly built, the doctor said, and the baby too large. She bled out over hours. A gruesome sight, I was told...
    Gerard’s breathing faltered, and he grew dizzy. The beautifully handwritten horrors on the page blurred until he could no longer read