The Stranger I Married

Chapter 17

“I’ve no notion what to say to you, Rhys,” Isabel scolded, glaring up the narrow path at her brother.

Gray leaned over and murmured, “I will see Hammond’s niece back to the manse so that you may speak with Trenton in private.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes met his for a moment and she squeezed his hand in gratitude. She watched as he collected the obviously flustered girl and led her away. Then she rounded on Rhys. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes. God, yes.” His countenance was gloomy as he kicked at a tree root that rose slightly above the dirt.

“I know you were out of sorts when we left London, but to use that child as salve for your-”

“That ‘child’ is the same age as your husband,” he pointed out dryly, making her gasp in horror.

“Ooohhh…” She chewed her lower lip and began to pace.

Lately, she often forgot about the age difference in her marriage. After she’d first wed Grayson, the gossips had salivated over her superior years, but she managed to ignore them. Now, however, she was most definitely entertaining a younger man in her bed.

But she could not think of that now.

“Do not dare make that comparison.” Her chin lifted. “Grayson is far more experienced in such matters, whereas it is quite obvious that Miss Abigail is not.”

“It was almost effective in distracting you,” he muttered.

“Ha!” She shook her head and then said more somberly, “Please tell me that you have not taken her to your bed, Rhys.”

His shoulders drooped.

“Dear God.” Isabel paused her pacing and stared at her brother as if he were a stranger. The Rhys she knew would have no interest in an innocent bluestocking. “How long has this been progressing?”

“I first made her acquaintance at that blasted breakfast you forced me to attend.” He growled. “This is all your doing.”

She blinked. Weeks. Not merely the last couple of days. “I am attempting to understand. Not to sympathize, mind you,” she added hastily. “But simply to comprehend it. I cannot.”

“Do not ask me to enlighten you. All I know is that I cannot be within a few feet of her without my brain ceasing to function. I become some boorish rutting beast.”

“Over Abigail Stewart?”

The glare he shot her spoke volumes. “Yes, over Abigail. Damn it, why can no one see her worth? Her beauty?”

Wide-eyed, she studied him in detail, noting the flush at the crest of his cheekbones and the brightness of his eyes. “Are you in love with her?”

His look of astonishment would have been comical if she weren’t so disturbed. “I am in lust with her. I admire her. I enjoy talking with her. Is that love?” He shook his head. “I will be Sandforth eventually and must consider the dukedom before considering my own desires.”

“Then what were you doing with her alone in the garden? This path is well-trodden. Any one of the other guests could have happened upon you. What of Hammond? What would you have said to him in return for abusing his hospitality and trust this way if he had been the one to discover you embracing?”

“Damnation, Bella! I do not know. What more can I say? I erred.”

“You erred?” Isabel blew out her breath. “Is that why you came? To be with her?”

“I had no notion she would be here, I promise you that. I meant to distract myself from thoughts of her. Remember when we arrived? I had to ask you who she was.”

“Are you expecting the girl to become your mistress?”

“No! Never,” he said emphatically. “She is much like you-filled with dreams of romance and love in marriage. I’ve no wish to take that away from her.”

“But you took the virginity meant for that great love?” She arched a brow. “Or was she not a virgin?”

“Yes! Of course she was. I am her only lover.”

Isabel said nothing. The notes of pride and possession in his tone were clear to both of them.

Rhys groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am departing in the morning. The best thing I can do at this point is stay away.”

“You never heed my advice, but I will share it with you anyway. Consider your feelings for Miss Abigail carefully. Having known both happiness and despair in my marriages, I strongly recommend you find a spouse you enjoy spending time with.”

“You would have an American as the Duchess of Sandforth?” he asked incredulously.

“Alter your thinking, Rhys. She is the granddaughter of an earl. And frankly, there must be something exceedingly extraordinary about her for you to lose your head as you have done. If you put your mind to it, I am certain you can help reveal that side of her to the world.”

He shook his head. “Romantic nonsense, Bella.”

“Certainly being practical in one’s choices is wise when the heart is not involved, but when it is, I think you should weigh those additional concerns carefully.”

Frowning, he stared up the path in the direction Gray and Abigail had taken. “How furious was our pater when you selected Pelham?”

“Nowhere near as furious as he was when I wed Grayson, but he adapted.” Stepping closer, Isabel set her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if you will find comfort in this, or pain, but it was quite clear to me that she adores you.”

He winced and held out his arm to her. “I don’t know how I should feel about that either. Come. Let’s return to the house. I must set my valet to packing.”

A depressive air hung about the Hammond party in the parlor that evening. Rhys lacked his customary charm and quick wit, and retired early. Abigail put on a brave face, and to the casual eye, one would find nothing amiss, but Isabel could see the strain that tightened the other woman’s mouth. Beside her on the settee, Lady Ansell was equally despondent, despite having won the treasure hunt earlier.

“Your necklace is a lovely piece,” Isabel murmured, hoping to cheer the viscountess.

“Thank you.”

They had known each other casually for years, though after her recent marriage to the viscount, Lady Ansell had spent a great deal of her time traveling abroad with her husband. Not quite pretty, the viscountess nevertheless was a handsome woman, tall and proud in bearing. It was clear to many that her match with Ansell was a love match, which gave the woman a sparkle to her eyes that more than made up for her lack of classical beauty. Tonight, however, that sparkle was missing.

Lady Ansell turned to face her, revealing a reddened nose and quivering lips. “Forgive my importunateness, but would you walk in the garden with me? If I go alone, Ansell will come and I cannot bear to be alone with him now.”

Startled by the request, and concerned, Isabel nodded and rose to her feet. She shot a placating smile at Gray before exiting out the open glass-paned doors to the terrace and leaving him behind. Strolling along the lighted gravel paths with the statuesque blonde, Isabel maintained her silence, having learned long ago that sometimes it was best simply to be present, no discourse necessary.

Finally, the viscountess said, “I feel dreadful for poor Lady Hammond. She is certain that despite her careful planning, her party is a crashing bore. I have tried my best to enjoy myself, I truly have, but I am afraid no amount of festivities can enliven my mood.”

“I will reassure her again,” Isabel murmured.

“I’m certain she would appreciate it.” Sighing, Lady Ansell said, “I miss wearing the glow you bear. I wonder if I will ever reclaim it for myself.”

“I have found that contentment moves in cycles. Eventually, we rise above the depths. You will, too. I promise you.”

“Can you promise me a child?”

Blinking, Isabel had no notion of what to say to that.

“I’m sorry, Lady Grayson. Forgive my curtness. I do truly appreciate your concern.”

“Perhaps speaking your troubles aloud will help ease your mind?” she offered. “I will lend you my ear, and my discretion.”

“I have regret. I do not think there is ease from that.”

From her own experience, Isabel knew this was true.

“When I was younger,” the viscountess said, “I was certain I would never find a spouse who would suit me. I was too eccentric, and eventually I became a spinster. Then I met Ansell, who loved to travel as much as my parents had. All of my originality appealed to him. We are quite evenly matched.”

“Yes, you are,” Isabel agreed.

A faint smile softened the other woman’s palpable sadness. “If only we had found each other sooner, perhaps we could have conceived.”

Icy fingers wrapped around Isabel’s heart. “I am sorry.” It was inadequate, but all she could manage.

“At nine and twenty, the physician says perhaps I have waited too long.”

“Nine and twenty…?” Isabel asked, swallowing hard.

A suppressed sob rent the still night air. “You are near my age; perhaps you understand.”

All too well.

“Ansell assures me that even if he had known I was barren, he would still have wed me. But I have seen the way he looks at small children, the longing in his eyes. There comes a time when a man’s need to produce issue is strong enough to be felt by others. My one duty as his viscountess was to bear his heir and I have failed him.”

“No. You mustn’t think that way.” Isabel hugged her waist to ward off a sudden chill. All the joy she had once felt in the day slipped away from her. Could happiness be hers when the age for new beginnings belonged to women much younger than she was?

“This morning my courses started and Ansell was forced to leave our rooms to hide his dismay. He claimed he wished to ride in the early morning air, but in truth, he could not bear to look at me. I know it.”

“He adores you.”

“You can still find disappointment in those you adore,” Lady Ansell argued.

Taking a deep breath, Isabel acknowledged that her time for childbearing was slipping rapidly through the hourglass. When she barred Pelham from her bed, she had ended what dreams she’d had of having a family of her own. She had mourned the loss deeply for many months, and then she’d found the strength to move past that dream.

Now, with her future filled with renewed possibilities, time was running away from her and circumstances forced her to wait even longer. Propriety and common sense dictated that she refrain from pregnancy until there could be no public doubt the child was Grayson’s.

“Lady Grayson.”

The deep, raspy voice of her husband behind her should have startled her, but it did not. Instead, she was assailed with a longing so intense it nearly brought her to her knees.

Turning, both she and Lady Ansell found their spouses and host rounding a corner flanked by yew hedges. With his hands held behind his back, Gray was the picture of coiled predatory grace. He had always carried his power with envious ease. Now, with his dangerous edge blunted by her ability to sate his desires, he was even more compelling. The sultriness of his stride and half-lidded eyes made her mouth water, as she knew they would most women. That he was hers, that she could keep him and bear children with him made tears well. It was simply too much after going so long without.

“My lords,” she greeted hoarsely, remaining rooted to Lady Ansell’s side by good manners and nothing else. Had she the choice, she would have moved into Gray’s arms immediately.

“We have been sent to find you,” Lord Hammond said with a tentative smile.

After a quick perusal of her companion reassured her of the viscountess’ renewed composure, Isabel nodded and was grateful to return to the manse where concerns of babies and regrets could be momentarily set aside.

The sound of crunching gravel alerted Rhys to the approaching figure. If he’d had any doubt that he was making the right decision, it was dispelled when Abby came into view, bathed in moonlight. The racing of his heart and nearly overwhelming need to crush her to him proved Bella’s words true-Abby was the person he wished to make his life’s journey with.

“I went to your rooms,” she said softly, as direct as always.

How he adored that about her! After a lifetime of saying what was expected and hearing equally worthless discourse in return it was a joy to spend time with a woman who had no social artifice at all.

“I suspected you would,” he replied gruffly, backing up when she stepped forward. The color of her eyes was not visible in the near darkness, but he knew it as well as he knew the color of his own. He knew how they darkened when he filled her, and how they glistened when she laughed. He knew every ink stain on her fingers, and could tell her which ones hadn’t been there the last time he saw her. “And I knew that if you did, I would take you to bed.”

She nodded her understanding. “You are departing tomorrow.”

“I must.”

The determined finality in Rhys’ tone pierced Abigail like a rapier thrust.

“I shall miss you,” she said.

Though the words themselves were the truth, the casual tone she used to impart them was a lie. The thought of the endless days before her without Rhys’ touch and his hunger, was devastating. Even having known it would end like this, she was still unprepared for the pain of separation.

“I will come back for you as soon as possible,” he said softly.

Her heart stilled before leaping. “Beg your pardon?”

“I travel to visit my father tomorrow. I will explain the situation between you and me, and then I will return to London and court you as I should have done from the beginning.”

The situation.

“Oh my.” Abby walked slowly over to a nearby marble bench and sat, her gaze lowering to her twisting fingers. The moment Grayson’s voice had interrupted their kiss, she had dreaded this result. What had been nothing but joy and love for her, was now a lifetime duty for Rhys. She could not allow him to make the sacrifice, especially considering how obviously he resented his craving for her.

She looked at him and managed a soft smile. “I thought we agreed to approach our affair pragmatically.”

He frowned. “If you think I have done anything pragmatically since meeting you, you are daft.”

“You know what I mean to convey.”

“Things have changed,” he argued gruffly.

“Not for me.” She held out her hands to him, then caught the gesture and clasped them back together. Any sign of weakness and he would note it. “Surely Lord and Lady Grayson will afford you their discretion if you ask it of them.”

“Of course.” He crossed his arms. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t want to be courted, Rhys.”

He gaped at her. “Why the devil not?”

She affected a shrug. “We had an agreement. I am not inclined to alter the rules at this point.”

“Alter the rules…?”

“I enjoyed our time together immensely and I will always be grateful to you.”

“Grateful?” Rhys parroted, staring at Abby in confounded wonder. He longed to go to her, to hold her and break through the wall that was suddenly between them, but it was too dangerous. Ravishment was a very real hazard.

“Yes, quite.” Her smile was a thing of beauty that shattered him.

“Abby, I-”

“Please. Say no more.” Rising to her feet, she approached him and rested her fingertips over his tense arm. Her touch burned through the velvet of his coat. “I will forever count you as a dear friend.”

“A friend?” He blinked furiously as his eyes burned. Releasing his breath, Rhys soaked up the sight of her-the tightly coiled dark tresses, the high waist of her pale green gown, the gentle swell of her breasts above the scooped neckline. All his. Nothing, not even her outrageous dismissal, would ever convince him otherwise.

“Always. Will you promise me a dance when next we meet?”

Rhys swallowed hard. There were a hundred things he wished to say, questions to ask, assurances to give…but they were all dammed up behind the lump in his throat. Here he had been falling in love, while Abby had merely been falling into bed? He refused to believe that. No woman could melt for a man the way she did for him and not feel something deeper than friendship.

A harsh laugh erupted without thought. If that wasn’t a perfect comeuppance for a seasoned rake, he had no notion what was.

“Farewell until then,” Abby said, before turning and walking away with undue haste.

Crushed and confused, Rhys sank onto the bench still warm from her body heat and dropped his head in his hands.

A plan. He needed a plan. This could not be the end. Every labored breath protested the loss of his love. There was something he was missing, if only he could think well enough to discover it. He had been with enough women to know that Abby cared for him. If what she felt wasn’t love, surely there was a way to make it turn into love. If Isabel could be swayed, so surely could Abigail.

Lost in the process of thinking while fighting abject despair, he failed to register his lack of privacy until Grayson stumbled out from behind a tree. Disheveled and sporting leaves in his hair, the Marquess of Grayson was an odd sight.

“What are you about?” Rhys muttered.

“Do you know that in the whole of this garden I cannot find one red rose? There are pink roses and white roses, even an orange shade of rose, but no true red.”

Running his hands through his hair, Rhys shook his head. “Is this part of your wooing of Isabel?”

“Who else would I be doing this for?” Grayson heaved out his breath. “Why could your sister not be the practical sort I thought she was?”

“I have discovered that practicality in women is exceedingly overappreciated.”

“Oh?” Grayson arched a brow and dusted himself off as he moved closer. “I take it the situation between you and Miss Abigail is not proceeding satisfactorily?”

“Apparently, there is no situation,” he said dryly. “I am a ‘dear friend.’”

Grayson winced. “Good God.”

Rhys rose to his feet. “So, considering the ruination of my own love life, if you reject my offer to help yours I would understand completely.”

“I will take all the assistance I can get. I’ve no wish to spend the whole of my night gardening.”

“And I’ve no wish to spend the whole of my night pining, so the distraction will be welcome.”

Together, they moved deeper into the garden. Thirty minutes and several pricks of rose thorns later, Rhys grumbled, “This love business is dreadful.”

Tangled in a climbing rose, Grayson growled, “Here, here.”