“Do you have smalls that will fit him?” she asked, her voice lower and huskier than usual. “This material is too coarse.”

“Yes,” the tailor said quickly, eager to sell as much as possible.

The jacket was whisked away, and Gerard pulled on the matching trousers. They stood behind him, the tailor and Isabel, and he was grateful. He was holding off a cockstand by dint of will alone. He could not help being aroused. Pel’s gaze was so hot, he felt it, and she continued to touch him and say admiring things about his body. A man could only take so much.

“Do not alter this,” she breathed, her breath hot against his bare back. Her hand cupped the curve of his ass. “Is it too tight back here, my lord?” she asked him softly, caressing him. “I hope not. It looks wonderful.”

“No. The back is fine.” Then he lowered his voice so only she could hear. “But you have made the front damned uncomfortable.”

The curtain moved to the side, and an assistant entered with the smalls. Gerard closed his eyes in misery. Everyone would see his condition now.

“Thank you,” Isabel murmured. “Lord Grayson will need a moment.”

He stood in surprise as she shooed the others out. Only when they were alone did he turn to face her. “Thank you, Isabel.”

Her eyes were riveted to the placket of his trousers. She swallowed hard, and hugged the smalls to her chest. “You should remove those before you burst the seams.”

“Will you help me?” he asked gruffly, hoping.

“No, Gray.” She handed him the smalls, and looked away. “I told you, I have someone.”

Gerard was tempted to remind her that she also had a husband, but that would not be fair, considering how he had coerced her into marriage. Selfishly, he had wanted her as his wife to irritate his mother, and save himself from overly ambitious mistresses. He had paid no regard to the censure she would face by taking lovers without first providing him an heir. This was his repayment for his narcissism-to desire what belonged to him, but was not his to take.