Free The Stranger I Married by Sylvia Day Page A

paused, and stared at her mother, gazing into eyes of rich, dark brown. The duchess was still considered a great beauty, though her auburn hair was now liberally shot with silver strands. “I am not talking about this with you, Mother.”
“Why not?” Her Grace replied, affronted. “How delicious! You have a stunning lover, and a young husband who is even more stunning. I envy you.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Isabel sighed. “You shouldn’t envy me. This is a disaster.”
“Ah ha!” Her mother leapt to her feet. “Grayson does want you. About time, if you ask me. I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t a bit touched.”
He was touched in the head, in Isabel’s opinion. They’d known one another for years, and lived together for six months with nary a spark. Now it was a conflagration whenever she merely laid eyes on him. On second thought, perhaps she was touched too. “I need to find him a woman,” she muttered.
“You’re not a woman? I was certain the doctor told me you were.”
“Mother, good grief. Be serious, please. Grayson needs a mistress.”
Moving to the window, Isabel moved aside the sheers, and stared out at the small side garden. She couldn’t help but remember the morning he’d stood below the window of her townhouse, and begged her to admit him. Then begged her to marry him.
Say yes, Pel.
Another memory, one fresher in her mind, was from yesterday afternoon when Gray had stood behind her in this exact spot, and made her want him, which had ruined everything.
“What does his needing a mistress have to do with him wanting to bed you?” the duchess asked.
“You would not understand.”
“You are correct about that.” Her mother came over, and set her hands on her shoulders. “I thought you had learned something from Pelham.”
“I learned everything from Pelham.”
“Don’t you miss that passion, that fire?” Her Grace spread her arms wide, and spun around with the exuberant carelessness of a young girl, her dark green skirts twirling around her. “I live for it, Bella. I crave those indecent looks, and thoughts, and actions.”
“I know you do, Mother,” Isabel said dryly. Her parents had long ago decided to find their romances outside the marital bed, a state of living they both seemed quite happy with.
“I thought perhaps you had set aside those silly dreams of lifetime love when you began to take your own lovers.”
“I did.”
“I don’t believe so.” Her mother frowned.
“Just because I think fidelity is a sign of respect, does not mean I attach it to love, or the hope for love.” Isabel moved back toward her escritoire, where she had been working on menus and a guest list for her upcoming dinner.
“Bella, my sweet.” Her mother sighed, and returned to the chaise where she poured herself a cup of tea. “It is not in a husband’s nature to be faithful, especially handsome and charming husbands.”
“I wish they wouldn’t lie about it,” Isabel said crossly, shooting at glance at the portrait on the wall. “I asked Pelham if he loved me, if he would be true to me. He said, ‘All women pale in comparison to you.’ And foolish chit that I was, I believed him.” She threw up her hands.
“Even if they have the best of intentions, it is impossible for them to resist all the light-skirts who fall into their beds. Wishing for beautiful men to act against their nature will only lead to heartbreak.”
“Obviously I have no desire for Gray to act against his nature, or I would not be actively working toward procuring him a mistress.”
Isabel watched her mother drop three lumps of sugar and a ridiculous amount of cream into her tea. She shook her head when her mother lifted the pot in silent query.
“I fail to see why you don’t enjoy his attentions while he is willing to give them to you. Good heavens, the way Lady Pershing-Moore was going on about his appearance, I think I would take him myself if he were interested.”
Closing her eyes, Isabel released a