Had Isabel always been so beautiful? He could not remember. Certainly he had used the word “beautiful” to describe her in his thoughts, but the reality was beyond what the mere utterance could convey. Her hair had more fire, her eyes more sparkle, her skin more glow than he had remembered.

Over the last few years he had said “my wife” hundreds of times as he paid her accounts and handled other matters relating to her. However, until today, he had never actually put the appellation together with the face and body of Isabel Grayson.

Gerard ran a hand through his hair, and wondered at his sanity when he’d made this marriage bargain with her. When Pel had walked into the room, all the oxygen had left. How had he never noted that corollary before? He had not lied when he said she looked the same. But for the first time, he saw her. Truly saw her. Then again, during the last two years, he had begun to see a great many things he had been blind to before.

Like this room.

He glanced around and grimaced. Dark green with dark walnut paneling. What in hell had he been thinking? A man could not peruse accounts properly in this gloomy place. And reading was out of the question.

Who has time to read when there are drinks to be had, and women to woo?

The words of his youth came back to taunt him.

Rising to his feet, Gerard walked to the bookshelves and withdrew random volumes. Every one he opened creaked in protest at the bending of its bindings. None of them had ever been read.

What kind of man surrounded himself with beauty and life, and then never spared a moment to appreciate any of it?