“I wanted to travel away,” he said dryly, his sidelong glance revealing his knowledge of his affect on her, “and spend some time with you and Spencer. I had no notion this would turn into a gathering of all the people we most wished to avoid.”
“Isabel!”
Rhys’ cry caught their attention. Walking backward with his gaze directed elsewhere, her brother nearly ran her over. Grayson, however, stepped in as a formidable buffer and saved her.
“Beg your pardon,” her brother offered quickly, then he looked at her with a tangible excitement about him. “Do you know who that woman is over there?”
Looking around his tall frame, she saw a small group of women speaking with Lady Hammond. “Which one?”
“The brunette to the right of Lady Stanhope.”
“Oh…Yes, I know her, although at the moment, her name eludes me.”
“Abby?” he prompted. “Abigail?”
“Ah, yes! Abigail Stewart. Niece to Lord Hammond. His sister and her entrepreneurial American husband have passed on, leaving Miss Stewart orphaned, though quite wealthy I’ve been told.”
“An heiress,” Rhys said softly.
“Poor thing,” Isabel said with a commiserating shake of her head. “She was hounded to death last season by every scapegrace and destitute man in England. I spoke with her briefly once. She is very bright. A bit rough around the edges, but charming.”
“I never noticed her.”
“Why would you? She hides herself well and she is not your type of female at all. Too smart for you,” she teased.
“Yes…I’m certain that is true.” He walked away frowning.
“I think you were correct,” Gray said, his voice low and near enough to make her senses leap to attention. “I do believe he’s ill. Perhaps we can follow his lead. You and I can feign poor constitutions and lie abed for a week. Together. Unclothed.”
“You are incorrigible,” she said, laughing.
With quiet efficiency, they and the other guests were settled in their rooms to freshen up before the evening meal. Gerard made certain that Isabel was well established and tended by her abigail, before excusing himself to meet with the other gentlemen below.
Despite the unfortunate choice of guests, he found some slight convenience in it. The odd menagerie created by the presence of his mother and Hargreaves allowed him to dispense with whatever remaining illusions they had about his marriage to Pel. His affairs were not to be interfered with. Foolish of them, really, to forget how few qualms he had. However, it was no great burden to remind them.
Entering the lower parlor, he took in the design of the room, noting the large windows framed with dark red, tasseled drapes, and the proliferation of burgundy leather chairs. A man’s retreat. Just the type of setting he required to say what needed to be said.
He gave a curt nod to Spencer, refused the cheroot offered to him by Lord Hammond, and then strode across the Aubusson rug toward the window where Hargreaves stood studying the view outside. As he approached, Gerard examined the proud bearing and impeccable attire of the earl. This man had shared two private years with Pel and knew her far better than he himself did.
He remembered how she had been with Markham, lit like a candle with confidence and sparkling eyes. The contrast to the purely mercenary sexual regard with which she held him was striking and disturbing. The casual friendship they had once shared was now marred by tension. He missed the ease he’d once felt with her, and longed to bask in the kind of affectionate attentions she shared with others.
“Hargreaves,” he murmured.
“Lord Grayson.” The earl turned cool dark eyes on him. They were almost of a height, with Gerard having only a slight advantage. “Before you try to waylay attempts on my part to woo back Isabel, allow me to tell you I have no intentions in that regard.”
“No?”
“No, but if she comes to me I will not turn her away.”
“Despite the hazard such an action would place you in?” Gerard was a man of action, not empty threats. By the slight nod Hargreaves gave him, he could see the other man knew it.
“You cannot cage a woman like Isabel, Grayson. She values her freedom more than anything. I am certain it chafes her to realize she married you to be free, and yet finds herself trapped.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Besides, you will tire of her eventually or she of you, and this desire you have to claim her so primitively will fade.”
“My claim,” Gerard said dryly, “is not merely primitive. It is also legal and binding.”
Hargreaves shook his head. “You have always wanted women who belong to someone else.”
“In this case, the woman I want belongs to me.”
“Does she? Truly? Odd you should discover that after five years of marital oblivion. I have seen you together since your return, as has everyone else. In truth, it appears you barely tolerate one another.”
Gerard’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “We definitely more than tolerate one another.”
The earl’s face flushed. “I do not have time to school you on women, Grayson, but suffice it to say that orgasms are not all a woman requires to be content. Isabel will not grow an attachment to you, she is incapable of it, and even if she were open to elevated feelings, an inconstant man such as yourself will never appeal. You are much like Pelham, you know. He, too, failed to see the prize that was his. I cannot count the number of times Isabel would tell me some humorous tale of your exploits and finish with, ‘Just like Pelham used to do.’”
A blow to his gut could not have struck Gerard harder. Outwardly impassive, his insides knotted with apprehension. Markham had said the same. There could be no worse mark against him than to remind his wife of her late husband. If he could not, at the very least, prove himself better than Pelham, he would never win Isabel’s affections.
But she had written him faithfully every week, and held on to that tenuous tie. Surely, there was some hope to be found in that?
Damn it! Why had he disregarded those letters?
“You say she is incapable of deep affections, and yet you think she may return to you, when she has never been known to revisit a paramour once finished with him?”
“Because we are friends. I know how she likes her tea, what her favorite books are…” Hargreaves straightened. “She was happy with me before you returned—”
“No. She was not. You know this as well as I.” Isabel would not have been tempted away if Hargreaves had been what she wanted. She was not a fickle woman. But she was a woman who bore wounds, and Gerard was determined to heal them.
The earl’s jaw tightened. “I think we understand each other. There is nothing left to be said. You are aware of my position. I am aware of yours.”
Gerard tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Are you aware? Be certain, Hargreaves. I am easily irritated and frankly, I will not have this conversation again. Next time I feel the urge to remind you of my marriage, I shall demonstrate the finer points of this discourse with the tip of my blade.”
“Gentlemen, can I regale you with my tales of India?” Lord Hammond intruded, his gaze shifting nervously between them. “A fascinating country, I must say.”