The Sins of Viscount Sutherland (15 page)

T
here was a painful heaviness in his chest. Gray didn’t want to remember. It hurt—like a blade thrust into the heart.

He could never forget. Never. He had spent the last three years trying.

“Lily and I had been married a year before she conceived. She wanted a child more than anything.” A remnant of a smile curved his lips. “She was like that, vivacious and excitable. She was so convinced she was barren—and ecstatic when she found out she was expecting a child.”

Claire’s heart constricted. Clearly he had loved her deeply.

“It wasn’t a difficult pregnancy. Oh, she would take to bed at times, but all in all it wasn’t a difficult pregnancy.

“There was a thunderstorm the night William was born.” A sad smile curved his lips. “Dr. Kennedy couldn’t make it here through the rain.”

“So you brought him into the world?” Claire was gently encouraging.

Gray nodded.

So that was how he’d known what to do with Penelope.

“Lily was so happy. She tended most of his needs herself. Why, she could scarcely stand to let him out of her arms—even to me.”

Claire had the sensation Gray was purging himself. Perhaps he was.

“William was a good baby, a bit colicky at times. Nothing out of the ordinary, according to Dr. Kennedy.”

A feeling of helplessness grabbed hold of her heart. Had the baby taken sick?

Gray went on. “I had business in Kent one week. I don’t remember why . . . but I was eager to be back, so I rode hard. It was midnight when I arrived home.”

A shadow seemed to slip over him.

“William was four months old. He’d begun to sleep through the night. But that night . . . Lily was still awake.”

Her foreboding grew stronger. Gray stopped. She didn’t press him. It seemed he was gathering himself before he continued.

“Lily was in the nursery with him. Rocking him. William was quiet—asleep, I thought. But Lily continued to rock him. I remember thinking she rocked him almost frantically—”

Claire’s eyes were riveted on Gray’s face now. His voice was half choked. She hurt . . . as he was hurting. Never in her life would she forget his expression. His torment.

It was as if he was cutting his heart out.

“I tried to take William from her, to put him in his cradle.”

The muscles in Claire’s throat locked tight. No, she thought. Oh, no.

At some point she had taken his hand. He gripped it so hard his nails left marks on her palms.

“She fought me. She didn’t want to let go. She just kept rocking William . . . rocking him, rocking him furiously. And when I took him from her—”

It hurt to watch him. It hurt unbearably. She felt the exact moment his control began to crumble.

“William was dead. I held my boy in my arms . . . and he was dead.”

Nothing could have prepared Claire for what Gray said next.

“Lily said . . . he wouldn’t stop crying.
He wouldn’t stop crying
, she said over and over and over.”

And so was Gray now. He made no secret of it.

“She shushed him, she said. She put her hand over his mouth to stop his crying.”

His features reflected a helpless despair. It was as if she could see his heart breaking. He didn’t bother to wipe away his tears.

“Lily didn’t know . . . she didn’t realize what she had done until later. She was horrified.”

Claire couldn’t hold back her anguish. She couldn’t help but remember her dream.

“No,” she cried. “Never say that she—”

“She killed herself. She walked into the lake—and never walked out.

“I remembered other episodes,” he said. “Times when she was melancholy.” His mouth twisted. “It was my fault. I should have known. I should have realized what might—”

“No, Gray. No. You can’t blame yourself. How could you have known? No one could.”

Claire was beginning to understand. It still haunted him . . . Was this why he was so wild? So reckless? His tarnished reputation . . . Was it his way of blotting out the past and all he’d endured? His wife’s death? His son’s?

His mother’s voice tolled through her mind.

He wasn’t always like this. So harsh. So cold.

Now she knew what Charlotte had meant. Gray had loved his family deeply.

His pain reached all the way into her heart. Claire bled for him, for she, too, was no stranger to heartache. And yet a violent tug-of-war raged within her. She, too, had endured tragedy. Oliver’s death could never be erased; his death had come at this man’s hands yet! Was his loss any greater than her own?

Everything inside her was tied into a knot. Never in her life had she been so confused.

Her mind clouded, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her hands acted of their own volition. She drew his head to her breast and lay back against the pillow, stroking the dark hair that grew low on his nape.

In time, they slept.

Life fell into a pattern. Gray attended to estate matters during the day. Claire tended to household affairs. They dined together. After dinner, sometimes they played chess, or had tea and port together. She was not wan or pale, and continued to be in good health. But more often than not, Claire excused herself early. There were two months left before their baby was born and she tired early these days.

Oh, yes, indeed, on the surface they might have been any country lord and lady. But like the waters of a stream, calm and serene on the surface, beneath lurked a swirl of unpredictable currents.

They did not sleep together.

They did not speak of that night.

They spoke but rarely of the impending birth of their child.

Nor did they speak of the future.

And when Claire’s dreams returned—and they did return—she cried alone, too proud to let Gray know.

A frigid February gave way to a rainy March. By mid-April bountiful flowers pushed through the earth. The countryside was vibrant with color. Wanting to enjoy the sunny day, she took her sewing basket out to the garden. She seated herself on a bench and lifted her face to the warmth of the sun. Remembrance touched her. Her mother had often taken her embroidery to the rose garden. If she were to stay here—

“There you are,” said a voice. “I’ve been searching for you.”

Gray stepped through a doorway on the verandah. He frowned.

“You should have a wrap on, Claire.”

“Oh, I’m fine. After such a dreadful winter, it’s wonderful to feel the sun shining down, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.” A tacit agreement.

He stepped close, so close that she had to look up to meet see him. Claire’s stomach lurched. Tight breeches tucked into his boots emphasized every powerful muscle in his legs. His loose white shirt was open at the neck, baring a tangle of dark masculine hairs.

“What is that you’re sewing?”

Claire flushed, remembering the day he’d taken the baby gown she was stitching and flung it to the floor. “It’s nothing,” she said, holding it tight in her lap.

“Of course it’s not. May I see?”

Before she could stop him, he took it and held it between both hands.

“It’s for the baby,” she said defensively.

“It’s—very tiny, isn’t it?”

Claire had the sensation he didn’t know what to say. “Dr. Kennedy says it appears as if the baby will be small.”

“You must take every care, then.”

Her cheeks grew hot. Concern? She wanted desperately to believe it. All at once sudden yearning took hold of her. She longed for all the distance and tension to disappear, to be able to know him as a husband and father—nothing else—no remnants of the past between them.

Quickly she tucked the cloth back in her basket.

“You said you were looking for me.”

“Yes.” He pulled her to her feet. “I wanted to tell you I’ve been called away. I have a small estate in Lincolnshire. The caretaker there has taken sick. I must secure a replacement until he recovers.”

He paused. “I would ask you to come with me, but I don’t think it would be wise for you to travel now.”

Claire nodded. She sensed a curious uncertainty in him.

She moistened her lips. “Are you coming back?” she blurted.

Gray looked at her sharply. “What?”

She wished she’d never spoken, but it couldn’t be undone. “I . . . are you coming back?”

He captured her chin between thumb and forefinger. “Do you want me to?”

Conflicting urges had taken hold. A part of her longed to turn and run. She hadn’t known she would say that until it was already out! And now—now she wanted to lay her fingers against Gray’s lean cheek, feel the slight roughness of his beard against her fingertips.

“Of course,” she heard herself say. “How long will you be gone?”

His pale blue gaze scoured her features. “A week. No more.”

His eyes suddenly darkened. His voice went very low. “Will you miss me, Claire?”

Before she had a chance to answer, a mask seemed to shutter his features.

“No,” he said almost harshly. “Don’t answer that.”

Powerful arms wrapped her close. His head came down. Their lips clung, an exchange both passionate and tender. Claire was breathless when Gray finally raised his head.

He ran a fingertip down her cheek. “Think of me,” was all he said.

When he was gone, she put a hand to her lips. “Hurry back,” she whispered. “Hurry back.”

C
laire missed her husband dreadfully. The days were long, but she tried to fill them with her usual activities. It had become her habit to take a bit of exercise daily, so one afternoon she bundled snugly into a warm cloak and hat and went outside. The cold was crisp and bracing, and the sun was out. It felt good. She didn’t venture far, but stopped at a spot that offered a view of the road—and the house.

It was beautiful, the house sitting amidst trees that had begun to bloom. Winter was definitely receding. She paused, a faint smile on her lips.

It was not quite spring yet, however, and after a while she decided it was time to return home before she took a chill.

On her way back she spied a carriage rattling down the road and assumed it was Gray. Her brows drew together. Why was he coming home in a carriage? He’d left on horseback.

Her heart lurched. Had he been hurt?

Claire set out for the house.

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the double doors as she approached, hurrying as fast as she could. She stopped then, surprised when it wasn’t Gray who stepped out.

It was Lawrence.

Disappointment flooded through her. She hid it behind a smile.

“Lawrence! How wonderful to see you!”

“It’s good to see you again, Claire.” He smiled back at her, his gentle eyes crinkling. “Your note said so little . . .”

“Here, come inside and warm yourself. It’s getting chilly, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

A servant appeared, and Claire ordered tea brought into the drawing room.

“Please, sit down,” she invited. She waved him to a chair in front of the fireplace. Lawrence held his hands toward the fire, warming them.

When the tea arrived, Claire poured for both of them.

Lawrence blew on the surface to cool it. “Is the viscount here?”

“Actually, no.” She felt awkward. “He’s gone for several days at one of his properties.”

“Good. We can speak freely, then.”

Her guard went up. She inhaled sharply. “Lawrence—”

“Claire, please don’t be alarmed. I’m on my way to visit my sister in Essex. I won’t stay long, I promise.” He paused. “You are well?”

“Yes. Very well, in fact. Thank you for asking.” She thought of her babe. Her condition was readily apparent now.

“I’ve thought of you often, Claire.”

She didn’t know what to say. She decided to be frank. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.” She fell silent for a moment. “Lawrence,” she said finally, “I don’t mean to hurt you, but I don’t believe marriage between us would have worked out.”

“So you are truly happy with the viscount?”

“We are both looking forward to the arrival of our child.” She laid a hand briefly on her belly.

Did he see through her? There were still so many uncertainties. Stupidly, she felt a rush of tears sting her throat.

“Ah,” he said.

It appeared she wasn’t a very good liar.

But what she said was true. She wouldn’t have been happy with Lawrence. And he was a dear, dear man. He deserved a woman who loved him, who could offer more than companionship.

It was Claire who changed the subject. They finished their tea, chatting about several goings-on at Wildewood.

In the entrance hall, Lawrence donned his coat then took both of her hands. “I want you to make me a promise, Claire. Should you ever need me—for anything—will you let me know?”

Her eyes softened. “I promise.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Farewell, my friend.”

Gray rode hard to get home. He’d missed Claire. He’d missed being home. But did she truly think he wouldn’t return? Thoughts of his wife had been with him nearly every moment he was gone. He was eager to see her. In some deep-seated part of his soul, he knew something was happening inside him. Something he couldn’t control.

He leaped down from his horse and tossed the reins to a groom. He bounded up the stone stairs to the wide, double doors.

At that moment the front doors opened wide.

Never in this world did he expect the sight that met his eyes.

Lawrence stood there, his hat tucked beneath his arm, gazing down at Claire, a smile on his lips.

At that precise instant, Claire leaned up.

And kissed him, damn her hide!

Gray saw red—and Claire saw him. He felt like an intruder—in his own home!

“Gray,” she said breathlessly. “Lawrence was just leaving.”

“Yes. I trust you are well, my lord?” Lawrence offered his hand. Gray ignored it.

Aware of Gray’s eyes burning into her back, Claire descended the stairs in front of the house with Lawrence and bid him good-bye.

Inside, Gray followed her into the drawing room. Seething, he removed his hat and tossed his gloves on a table.

Claire set her jaw. “What the devil is wrong with you? You look as if you’d like to challenge Lawrence to a duel.”

“Perhaps I damn well should. The last thing I expected was to come home and see my wife kissing another man.”

“A kiss between friends,” she said coolly.

“Friends?” His laugh was brittle. “You planned to marry the man.”

Claire wet her lips. “He was on his way to visit his sister in Essex. Is it so wrong for him to stop and inquire as to my welfare?”

“How long was he here, Claire?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How long was he here?” The harsh line of Gray’s mouth matched his voice.

“Not long. I asked him to tea.” She raised her chin. “I offered him the hospitality due a guest.”

“What else did you offer him?”

Claire’s look hardened. She couldn’t believe what he was suggesting.

He gazed at her with an intensity that was almost frightening. “Did he lay with you in your bed?”

“I will not dignify that with an answer.”

“Did he lay with you in my bed?”

He presumed. She would not capitulate. He demanded. She refused.

He considered himself blunt. She considered him rude.

Most of all she despised his imperious air.

“Is he the father of your child, Claire?”

“I will pretend you did not say that,” she said between her teeth. “Now please leave my room.”

His jaw came together with a snap. “I will not. Need I remind you the lies came easily to your lips when we first met, didn’t they?”

Her eyes flashed. “You foolish man. You accuse blindly, and for what?”

“I am a man of passion,” he said tautly, “and you are my passion.”

“You have no passion!” The words were snatched from deep inside her. “You have no heart!”

Desperation filled her. Moored in her breast was a cold reality. Almost from the start she had sensed his pain, his wounded soul—

There was a painful catch in her heart. Heaven above, was she falling in love with him? No. She could not. To love this man would be to betray her brother.

“Do you truly believe that Lawrence would seek to share my bed?”

Gray’s lips were drawn into a thin line.

“You do.” Claire was incredulous. “For pity’s sake! Do you imagine any man would desire me with the way I look?” Her hand came to rest on the burgeoning swell of her belly.

Gray’s gaze stabbed into hers. “You are a fool if you think he would partake of no pleasure. You are a fool if you think I would partake of no pleasure.”

“You are mad!”

“Lawrence is not unaware of your beauty, Claire. No man could be unaware of your beauty.
I
am not unaware of your beauty.”

He moved to where she stood near the bed. His mood was black. He was pricked with jealousy, jealousy spurred into reckless anger.

She flung out her hands. Certain she was not desirable, she did not feel desirable. In but an instant her hands were imprisoned in his. He pulled her close, so close her slippers lodged between his boots. So quickly her breath was jarred from her lungs.

His arms closed around her. His features were searingly intense. She couldn’t look away. She’d accused him of having no passion. But the need reflected there stunned her.

“Come to me,” he whispered. “Come to me, Claire.”

She lifted her face to his. Her heart tripped. Desire grappled with reason.
He was not unaware of her beauty
, he had said. Was it true? Conscious of the babe she carried, she was shy about letting him see her.

His mouth covered hers. It was a kiss that carried with it the flame of desire escaped, a soul-shattering kiss between lovers.

She could do naught but yield her mouth. He stole her breath from her. And if she let him, he would make her yield her very soul.

It didn’t matter. Claire tried to slow her pounding heart—a fruitless effort. It felt too good.

And Gray betrayed no hesitation. He divested her of her gown, pushed her chemise from her shoulders. He bared her breasts, splayed his fingers wide across full, ripe flesh as her body prepared for the impending birth. Shivers of delight danced across her skin when he touched her nipples. Drawing, sucking, pulling, it was as if she’d died and gone to heaven.

Would she regret this? She didn’t care. In the heat of the moment, nothing else mattered.

Bold male fingers trespassed beneath the hem of her chemise, dragging it up to her waist. Unable to help herself, she let her legs fall apart. Her fingers tangled in the hair on his nape.

Gray had already shed his own clothing. He trembled inside. It was a heady sensation, knowing he was the only man who had touched her thus. For he did know, deep down inside.

A finger dragged up her furrowed channel. Protecting her modesty, Claire tried to push it aside. He persisted, tracing with the wet heat of his finger, first one side and then the other.

Again.

And again. A rhythm that drove her half mad. The air around them was scorching.

“I want you, Claire. Tell me you want me, too.”

It was tauntingly erotic, that touch. Her nipples were drenched with the wash of his tongue, dancing from first one and then the other.

His eyes were riveted to hers. Between her thighs, she felt herself grow damp and hot beneath his fingers. One slid within her cave, finding the spot and rhythm that would give her the most sensation. Her flesh closed around his finger, hungry and tight.

A jolt went through her. She sucked in a breath. “Gray—”

With unfailing intent, he took her hand and covered it with his own. The back of her knuckles skimmed the rough, curling hairs around his shaft. His fingers around hers, he brought her hand down between his thighs—

To close around his burning shaft. His fingers covered hers, showing her the tempo, faster and faster, pulsing in time with the throb of his flesh.

Her breath left her in a scalding rush. She was shocked—and pleased beyond all measure.

Sometime, he thought, he would feel her mouth—her tongue—circle and close hot and damp around his velvety head.

He brought her to pleasure—how could he not? He heard her cry against his mouth, felt her throbbing around his finger, every pulse and shiver.

The trickle of her breath began to slow. He knew Claire was confused. So was he.

For this was fulfillment replete in a way he’d never known. But Gray knew he had made love to her—no matter that he hadn’t yet received his own completion.

And now he would. Her thighs parted beneath the pressure of his knees. He spread her wide. His belly nudged hers—

Something stirred, there where her belly pressed his. It was unmistakable. As if he knew he was the subject under discussion, the babe moved within her, an unmistakable quickening.

Gray froze.

Gut-wrenching pain ripped through him, the most powerful wave of emotion he’d ever felt. Each breath was like fire in his lungs. This was his child. A part of him. A part of Claire. Nothing could ever change that. Nothing.

But he was torn, caught squarely between heaven and hell. Touching him—or her—feeling the life inside her . . . it was like tearing his heart out! He’d been dragged to the limit already . . .

Claire would never understand. Gray wasn’t sure
he
did.

And his hand didn’t leave her. Not yet. Pain ripped through him anew.

In time, Claire grew quiet, her eyelids heavy.

Gray’s knuckles caressed her cheek. He brushed a stray hair from her temple. His touch immeasurably gentle, he kissed the curve of her cheek, the sweetness of her lips.

There was no sleep for him. He lay awake long into the night, his heart in torment.