The Stranger I Married Read Online Free PDF Page A

How had he forgotten that, too? He’d liked to sit in that bastion of femininity and watch her prepare for her evenings out. As he climbed the stairs, he thought back on what time they’d spent together and admitted it had been filled with very little meaningful discourse. But he knew he had liked her, and that she had been a confidant to him.
He needed a friend now, since he no longer had any. He determined that he would rekindle the friendship he had once enjoyed with his wife, and with that expectation in mind, he lifted his hand and knocked on her door.
* * * * *
    Isabel took a deep breath at the sound of the soft knock, and then called out permission to enter. Gray came in, pausing on the threshold, a telling moment of hesitation she’d not seen from him before. Lord Grayson never waited. He leaped into action the moment he thought of something, which is how he often landed into mischief.
    He stared at her, long and hard. Enough to where she regretted her decision to receive him in her dressing gown. She had debated internally for almost half an hour, and in the end had decided to act as much as possible like she had before. Surely, the sooner they settled into their usual routine, the more comfortable they both would be.
    “I believe the water is most likely cold by now,” she murmured, turning away from the gilded vanity to sit on the nearby chaise. “But then I was always the one who drank tea.”
“I preferred brandy.”
    He closed the door, giving her a brief moment to savor the sound of his voice. Why she should notice its slight rasp now, when she hadn’t before, puzzled her.
    “I have it here.” She gestured toward the low table where a china tea set, brandy decanter, and goblet waited.
Gray’s mouth widened in a slow smile. “You are always thinking of me. Thank you.” He looked around. “I am pleased to find the space exactly as I remember it. With the walls and ceiling draped with white satin, I have always felt like I am standing in a tent when I am in here.”
“That was the effect I wanted,” she said, relaxing into the low back and curling her legs next to her.
“Is that so?”
He sat across from her, tossing his arm across the back of the settee. Isabel couldn’t help but remember how he used to do the same to her shoulders. At that time, she had thought nothing of it. That version of Grayson had merely been exuberant.
He also hadn’t been quite so large.
“Why a tent, Pel?”
“You have no notion of how long I’ve waited for you to ask that,” she admitted with a soft chuckle.
“Why didn’t I ask before?”
“We did not talk about such things.”
“No?” His eyes laughed at her. “What did we talk about then?”
She moved to pour him a brandy, but he shook his head. “Why, we talked about you, Gray.”
“Me?” he asked with raised brows. “Surely, not all the time.”
“Nearly all the time.”
“And when we weren’t talking about me?”
“Well, then we were talking about your inamoratas.”
Gray grimaced, and she laughed, remembering how much fun she used to have in simple discourse with him. Then she noted how he looked at her, as if he could not quite put his finger on something about her. Her laughter faded away.
“How insufferable I was, Isabel. How did you ever tolerate me?”
“I quite liked you,” she said honestly. “There never was any guessing with you. You always said exactly what you meant.”
He looked past her shoulder. “You still hang Pelham’s portrait,” he mused. Gray returned his gaze to hers. “Did you love him so very much?”
Isabel turned, and looked at the painting behind her. She tried, truly tried to dredge up some remnant of the love she’d once had for him, but her bitter resentment was too deep. She couldn’t reach below it. “I did. I cannot remember the feeling now, but once I loved him desperately.”
“Is that why you avoid commitment, Pel?”
She turned back to face him with her lips pursed. “You and I did not discuss