The Sins of Viscount Sutherland (18 page)

L
azy spears of sunshine tumbled through the draperies into the room, lighting a path of gold. Claire slept heavily. She couldn’t remember ever being so exhausted. She recalled being wakened twice to have the babe put to her breast. Stretching slowly, she realized she was still in Gray’s bed.

She bit her lip as she moved her legs. She was distinctly sore between her thighs. The babe lay sleeping in the corner, in the cradle she had found in the attic.

Rosalie fluffed up her pillows. The maid had no sooner finished than there was stirring from the cradle. Claire’s gaze homed in on it. The baby gave a forlorn little wail.

Rosalie picked up the baby, looking a little uncertain.

“Many ladies do not nurse their own,” she said as she changed the baby’s swaddling. “My lady, his lordship has engaged a wet nurse.”

“What!” Claire was already shaking her head, a vehement no. “I will see to her nourishment, Rosalie.” She was adamant.

Rosalie settled the baby into the crook of Claire’s arm. Joy lit within her. She experienced her first thrill of motherhood. With the baby nestled against her breast, her heart turned over. She cradled the baby’s tiny head as love poured through her, pure and sweet. Pressing her lips against the fine golden fuzz, she decided that nothing had ever felt so right.

A little awkwardly, she lowered the bodice of her nightgown. With the exception of observing Penelope’s little one, she had no other experience with childbirth.

This would be an adventure for them both, she thought.

Her daughter fussed, rooted around and found what she wanted. That tiny little mouth tugged at her mother’s nipple and quieted.

Another thrill of motherhood.

There was a knock and the door opened. Claire looked up eagerly, thinking it was Gray.

Charlotte peered inside. Claire motioned her forward.

Charlotte moved to the bedside and kissed her on the forehead. When she drew back, there were tears in the older woman’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Claire laughed, her own eyes misty. “You’ll have me blubbering as well.”

The babe slumbered at Claire’s breast. Charlotte let that tiny hand grasp her finger.

“You look beautiful,” she said. Her smile widened. “Both of you.”

Claire smiled up at her. She tried for an even tone. “Has Gray seen her yet?”

“My child, Gray was here throughout. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course. Now I remember. It appears he has taken on the role of midwife.” Claire explained how Gray had helped assist Penelope. Charlotte paused, then softly told her that Gray had been present at little William’s birth as well.

“Now,” Charlotte said crisply, “I beg of you, dear daughter-in-law, may I hold my grandchild?”

Claire relinquished her. Charlotte stayed a few minutes longer, and when her mother-in-law announced that she was returning to London, Claire was genuinely sad. She had come to love Charlotte like a mother.

“This is a time for new family, for mother, father, and child.” Charlotte was resolute. “But of course I’ll be back for the christening—should this precious little girl have a name by then.” Charlotte arched a brow.

Claire smiled. “I’ll let you know the instant we’ve decided both.” Another order of business would be the choosing of godparents.

She and Charlotte made their good-byes, a warm leave-taking.

Rosalie bustled in with a tray for her mistress. Claire wasn’t particularly hungry but knew she needed the strength. While she ate, Rosalie had her bath prepared. Still no sign of Gray. Claire was suddenly fearful. Where was he? Was Charlotte wrong? Perhaps he had merely put on a face for his mother. Was he displeased with a daughter?

Such was the bane of her thoughts.

Slipping into a hot bath, she winced as her torn flesh hit the water. With the next breath she sighed and let the waters soothe her aching muscles. Leaning her head back, she soaked until the water grew cold.

Rosalie brought a clean nightgown. Claire sat in a chair in front of the fire and combed her hair dry. She instinctively began to plait it, then suddenly stilled.

Gray liked it long and loose.

The thought had no more than crossed her mind that she heard a sound at the door. All at once he was there, standing on the threshold wearing breeches, boots, and loose white shirt. He looked so tall and starkly masculine, her knees felt weak.

She reached for a nearby table to push herself upright. She’d been a little unsteady when Rosalie helped her into the bath.

“Hold!” he ordered. “Those pretty little feet are not to touch the floor for at least a week.”

Striding across the carpet, he swept her up into his arms effortlessly. When he didn’t move, Claire raised her brows expectantly.

His regard was very solemn. It roved her features as if to take some silent measure of her.

His gaze settled on her mouth. Claire sucked in a breath, a little uncertain. She had thought, for one mind-spinning instant, that he was going to kiss her. She wanted it so much she ached inside.

And his eyes were still fixed unwaveringly on her mouth.

Claire lifted her chin. Her lashes drifted closed. She made it clear what she wanted.

But the kiss was not to be. Instead, there was a whisper of breath as he brushed his mouth fleetingly across her cheek.

Had he kissed Lily this way after the birth of William?

Claire despised the renegade thought that spun through her mind, hating herself for it. No. He would have kissed Lily long and lingeringly, a kiss that spoke of pride and love.

She ducked her chin. Her throat was hot. She didn’t want Gray to know what was in her mind. She had her own pride, too.

He lowered her to the bed, pulling the counterpane up and over her lap.

He sat then, reaching for her hand. His fingers began to toy with hers. Claire’s heart caught. His smile, that sudden smile—so rare and so precious—shot straight into her soul. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Gray caught her chin. Her tears speared him to the core. “Claire! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She could not say precisely where they came from. A sudden vulnerability flooded over her. Perhaps it was the irony of it all.

If not for Oliver’s death, if not for Lily’s and William’s, this beautiful child of theirs would not be.

Such was the burden of truth.

But she could never say that to Gray. “I’m fine. Truly.”

He stared at her intently. “Are you certain? I remember Lily sometimes—” He broke off. A strange expression flitted across his features. No doubt his memory had been stirred.

Claire sensed his difficulty. This wasn’t easy for her either. She didn’t want Lily to forever stand between them.

“It’s all right, Gray. We should be able to let Lily’s name pass between us with no awkwardness. Now tell me, please, what about Lily?” This was their first day as parents and she didn’t want a battle.

Gray acknowledged that she was right. “Lily was prone to crying spells from time to time after William was born.” His tone grew quiet. “They were there, then all at once gone. Perhaps I should have told Dr. Kennedy.” There was a pause. “Speaking of which, do you remember Dr. Kennedy’s visit?”

“What,” she muttered, “you mean he deigned to come?”

Gray chuckled. “Yes, for a time. He had another delivery to attend to.”

“I am immensely grateful that you were here, then.” Claire was still pale, but her eyes were pure topaz, a-shine with love for her daughter. Gray caught his breath, bringing her knuckles to his mouth.

“And I, too.” He meant it. “He pronounced both of you in good health.”

“We should name her, Gray.”

“Indeed.”

“What if I decide her first name, and you choose her second?”

“A fair bargain.”

“Then I choose . . . Alexa.” Claire paused. “Alexa was my mother’s name,” she explained. “And perhaps we might call her Lexie.”

Gray tipped his head to the side. “Then perhaps we should have Charlotte as her second name. My mother will be greatly pleased.”

Claire tried it out on her tongue. “Alexa Charlotte Sutherland.” She smiled. “What do you think?”

Just then Alexa Charlotte Sutherland gave a little cry from the cradle in the corner. The covers started to shift.

Claire laughed. “Let us take that as approval.”

When Lexie fussed at noonday, Rosalie was quick to change her. Claire readied herself, easing to a sitting position in the bed, her arms uplifted and ready to receive her daughter. When her maid carried the baby toward the door, Claire protested.

“Rosalie! What are you doing?”

“I am taking the wee one to her wet nurse.” The maid was nervous.

“We discussed this,” Claire said sharply. “I will nurse my daughter.”

“Yes, my lady, but . . . his lordship told me again that my instructions are to take her to her wet nurse.” Rosalie was clearly uncomfortable with her position. “Perhaps you should know, too, mum, he has ordered the little one be moved to the nursery.”

Claire didn’t know if she was more incensed or incredulous.

“Give me my child, Rosalie.”

The girl delivered the child into Claire’s waiting arms.

“His lordship will not be pleased, mum.”

Claire muttered a not particularly flattering remark aimed at “his lordship.”

Her hands were shaking as she tried to turn little Lexie toward her breast. But Lexie was impatient, frantic; she had been kept waiting long enough. Claire touched her cheek to direct that oh-so-tiny mouth toward her nipple. But as soon as the baby latched on, she lost it and cried the harder.

The more Claire tried to direct her to the breast, the more the baby fretted and wailed in earnest.

“What is going on?”

It was Gray. He stood on the threshold.

Lexie was still in her mother’s arms. His gaze swung to the maid. “I thought it was understood that Alexa should go to her nurse to feed.”

“No.” Claire clutched her baby. “I am her mother and I will feed her!”

“Claire, listen to her cry! A wet nurse knows how to deal with a hungry infant.”

“And I will learn. She is my baby, Gray!” No doubt sensing her mother’s discord, the little one’s cries had reached a fevered pitch.

“Be reasonable, Claire.”

“Reasonable! I know what you want, Gray. You want to take her from me. You would take her!”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Claire fought to keep hold of her senses. “You already are!”

“Claire, of course I am not. Well-born ladies do not nurse their own.”

“To hell with well-born ladies!”

Lexie had at last caught hold of Claire’s nipple and began to suck. Claire adjusted her gown, trying to cover her flesh, unwittingly baring more of her smooth, milk-white flesh. She didn’t realize how Gray’s eyes fastened hungrily on the sight.

“If you think you can take her from me, you—you will not! I will take her where you cannot find her.”

He showed no sign of allowing her privacy. “Is that a threat, Claire?”

“It is a promise. Now allow me to feed my babe!”

He fell silent. His gaze had fastened on the fullness of pale, pink flesh, open to his gaze. He made no attempt to hide it, to give her privacy.

When the babe finished with a gentle hiccup, with trembling hands she pulled her nightgown up over her bare breast and covered herself. The babe was already asleep.

“Claire,” he said quietly, “you will not take this child. You forget, I know where to find you.”

The insolent bastard! “Not where I will go!”

“Do not threaten me or you will regret it, Claire.”

She ignored him. “Let me be!” Her baby cradled in her arms, she made as if to rise.

She was still trying to climb from the bed. She almost made it to her feet when Gray caught her beneath the arms. “Sweet, you cannot stand. You’re too weak. Let me help you.”

“No!” Her voice was choked. She was wild, almost hysterical, trying to pound his chest. “Don’t you see what you’re doing? She’s mine. Don’t take my baby from me. I won’t let you. I’m not mad like Lily, Gray. I’m not!”

She sobbed wildly, her mind blunted by fear. Gray held her shaking body close and smoothed her tumbled hair.

“Of course she is yours, Claire. I merely thought to see to your health. You’re still weak. Let me help you.”

You forget, I know where to find you.

Little by little her sobs eased. Drawing back, she peered at him. “You won’t take her from me?” Her voice was thready with tears. Faith, she was so confused! His sudden tenderness made her come all undone.

He wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. “No. Trust me, Claire. Believe in me.”

C
laire was young and healthy, and quick to recover. Several weeks after Alexa’s birth, she brought up the subject of godparents at breakfast one morning.

“I would like to have Lexie christened soon, Gray.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Have you anyone in mind as godparents?”

“I thought perhaps Penelope and Theo.”

He was silent for a moment. “You and Penelope are like sisters, are you not?”

“Indeed.” She wiped her fingers on her napkin and smiled, thinking of Penelope and Theo and little Merry. How lovely it would be if Merry and Lexie grew to share such closeness.

She looked at Gray. “Do you object?”

“No. I, too, think Penelope a good choice for godmother. But as godfather, I would prefer to ask Clive.”

“The duke?” Her voice was clipped.

“Just as Penelope is your greatest friend,” he said quietly, “so is Clive to me.”

Claire didn’t want to argue. “Pray do not be difficult, Gray.”

“Difficult? I’m being difficult because I prefer Clive?” He confronted her with a cool stare. “One might say you were being difficult by refusing my choice.”

“I do not refuse. I merely prefer to have Theo.”

“Claire”—his tone was implicitly polite—“it is only fair that you should choose Alexa’s godmother. Therefore, I think it equally fair that I should choose her godfather.”

“Gray, I do not want to argue—”

“Then do not.” His jaw was tight. He looked at her. “Why do you object to Clive?”

She glared at him. “Since you ask, I’ll tell you. I do not like the man. He is arrogant. He is a rake and a womanizer.”

“The very kind of man that I was called. How very revealing. I expect it’s good for one to know what one’s wife thinks of one.” She heard the bite beneath the words.

“He is not the kind of man I want to godfather my child.”

“Yet Penelope chose me as godfather to her child.” His tone was less than pleasant. He dropped his napkin on the table. “I might point out, Claire, it’s quite a privilege for an infant to have a duke stand as godfather.”

She couldn’t quibble with that. And it appeared that Gray was set.

“Very well, then. May I have your permission to set the date the Sunday after next, provided it is agreeable to Penelope and the duke?”

His tone was short. “Certainly.”

It was not a good way to begin the day. Claire rose to her feet. “If you will forgive me, I am going to look in on Lexie.”

“Perhaps I should mention, Claire, I think she should be moved to the nursery.”

“What! Why?”

“I don’t believe that a child should occupy the parents’ bedchamber beyond the first few weeks. I think it’s best for the child.” He sat back.

“Then I will have her in my room. In any case, I think it’s time I go back to my suite.”

“I think not.”

“I beg your pardon?” Claire couldn’t believe her ears.

Gray had risen to his feet now as well. He towered above her. She hated that it made her feel distinctly at a disadvantage.

“I’ve been meaning to discuss our sleeping arrangements, Claire. You’ve slept these many nights without me in my bed. It’s time that changed.”

“We didn’t sleep together before Lexie was born! Why should we now?” The words were fairly flung at him. There was no time to think, to reason.

“I don’t want the guests to know that we sleep apart.”

“The christening won’t be for several weeks, provided everyone is able!”

His jaw clenched. “Nonetheless, those are my wishes.”

“You are ordering me to sleep with you?” Claire began to tremble.

“I am not ordering you. I am asking.”

“Asking! You are not!”

His eyes narrowed. They shone like fierce blue fire, but his expression was glacial. “I don’t believe you found it as unpleasant as you pretend, my lady. If that were the case, we would not be wed. We would certainly never have conceived a child together.”

“Don’t do this, Gray.” Her eyes were huge, her voice half choked. “I beg of you, please do not. After Lexie is christened, let me go back to Wildewood. Surely you agree it would be best—”

“I do not,” he stated flatly.

Desperation filled her. “You do this only to spite me!”

“You are mistaken, Claire. There is no spite in my heart.”

“You have no heart!”

She turned away then. The last thing she wanted was for him to glimpse her tears.

The gulf between them yawned wider than ever.

Claire knew no peace. The first night that Gray walked into the bedroom, Claire was pulling on her dressing gown. She was sorely tempted to take a blanket and pillow and sleep on the chaise lounge. His closed expression nixed the idea.

An arm’s length was between them. They slept together . . . yet slept apart, and the distance between them was never greater.

Rosalie woke her when Lexie was hungry at night. Claire slipped out to the nursery to feed her. If Gray noted her absence, he said nothing.

They shared meals. Small talk was the only discourse between them.

Several days before the christening, Penelope, Theo, and little Merriweather arrived. The moment the carriage rolled to a halt, Penelope was out the door and running up the wide stone steps. Claire was already standing at the top.

“Claire!”

“Pen!” Claire was half laughing, half crying. “Oh, Pen, I’ve missed you dreadfully!”

“And I you.”

By now both Gray and Theo were observing the reunion between their wives. They shook hands. Theo laughed.

“They’ve been this way since they were a mere twelve years old.”

“Ten.” Penelope wrinkled her nose at her husband.

“I second that!” Claire raised a hand. “Now, let me see Merry.”

“And Lexie.”

“Lexie just woke from her nap.”

A nurse stood nearby holding Merry. Claire squealed and eased Merry into her arms. “I cannot believe how she’s grown!” Claire marveled. “Come, let’s be off to the nursery.”

The two men were left looking at each other.

“Time to adore the little ones,” Theo said dryly. “I doubt we’ll be seeing them for some time.”

“Indeed,” said Gray. “You’ve come a long way. You must be thirsty.”

“Parched, actually.”

“I have an excellent bottle of Bordeaux I’ve been saving. What do you say?”

“Sounds just the thing.”

As it happened, roughly an hour later Clive arrived—and Charlotte as well.

The next day, the men went out shooting while the women spent much of the day walking, talking, and playing with the little ones. Merry was a bubbly child who was learning to walk, and she put on quite the show. Claire decided she couldn’t wait until the day Lexie began to walk. She ignored the niggling little voice in her mind that asked where she would be on that day—here at Brightwood or at Wildewood?

Several other guests arrived the next day. Lexie’s christening was set for nine o’clock on the following morning.

Claire thought Lexie looked beautiful in her silk and lace christening gown and bonnet. She was a perfect angel until the minister blessed her with holy water. It seemed Lexie wasn’t fond of the little shower.

After the ceremony, Clive picked up Lexie. “I hope you don’t mind if I hold her,” he told Claire. “I think my goddaughter and I should get acquainted.”

“But of course.” Claire wanted to snatch her child back. She was cordial, hiding her distaste. It didn’t set well when Clive put her over his shoulder, quite content.

Oh, yes, Clive proved quite the charmer. Even her daughter seemed enamored of the lout!

Several mornings later, when Charlotte and Pen and her family gathered to leave, Claire genuinely hated to see them go. Charlotte kissed her with tears in her eyes.

“Invite me back soon, my child.”

“You do not need an invitation to see your granddaughter—or me.” Claire laughed, then they embraced. “Hurry back,” she urged. “Your granddaughter will be eager to see you.”

Theo and Penelope were next. Claire kissed Merry, hugged Theo, and turned to Pen, whose eyes were overflowing.

“Pen! Don’t! You’ll have me blubbering as well.”

The previous day, the two of them had talked long into the night. Though Claire was guarded about her marriage to Gray, she was aware that Penelope knew her too well not to sense it. Penelope did not push her, and for that she was grateful. It was silly, but somehow it hurt to see Theo and Pen so happy and content.

“You know me too well, Pen.”

“Lovely as your home is, you won’t bury her here in the country forever, will you?” Penelope teased Gray. “You’ll bring her up to Town?”

Gray slid an arm around Claire. “You may count on it,” he said smoothly.

He kept his arm around her until the dust from the last carriage faded from view. Then his arm fell away.

An empty hollow filled her breast. All at once she realized she’d never felt so alone.

Clive’s departure was planned for shortly after luncheon. He had business at a nearby estate. Claire saw him leave the dining room, headed toward the stairs.

“Your Grace!” she called.

He turned. “Clive to you, my lady.”

“Very well, then . . . Clive, I would like the opportunity to speak with you for a moment.” Claire reached him and touched his sleeve. “May we? There’s no one in the music room.” She opened the door.

Clive followed, a bit wary. He was aware that new godfather to her daughter or not, Claire tolerated his presence. She had no liking for him.

Claire closed the door after them. She indicated a nearby chair. “Please sit.”

“I prefer to stand. This won’t take long, will it?”

“I expect not. No doubt you are curious.” She gathered her hands before her; she was nervous.

“I—would like to talk to you about the day my brother—Oliver—died. Were you Gray’s second?”

Clive was even more wary. “I was. What of it?”

“I want what happened to be clear in my mind. There are . . . several things I must know—”

“Perhaps you should ask your husband.”

“I have,” Claire said quietly. “We—my father and I—were never told that Oliver shot Gray. But I’ve seen the scars. When I asked him about it, he said only that shots were exchanged, first Gray, then Oliver . . . and, oh, I cannot explain it! But I think there is something more.” Wide eyes met his. “Will you tell me, Clive? Will you tell me what happened?”

Clive hesitated. Apparently Gray did not want his wife to know the truth of what happened. Yet he couldn’t lie either.

“Very well, then.”

“Gray said they chose seven paces,” Claire said. “Upon completing them, they each turned. There was an exchange of fire. Gray said that—he fired. That Oliver had no choice but to fire in return.” Her eyes never wavered. “Is that what happened?”

Clive hesitated. “In a manner of sorts,” he said slowly.

“So it happened exactly as Gray told me?”

Clive held silent.

Claire was beginning to tremble. “No, then,” she whispered. She clasped her hands imploringly. “Clive, please! Please tell me the truth.”

“You won’t want to know.”

“That’s what Gray said! But you’re wrong, both of you. I have to know what happened that day! I need the truth of it.”

“Very well, then,” he said slowly. “Gray chose seven paces, but Oliver turned early. He fired. Gray was hit. The shot took him down. It all—” He gestured vaguely. “—it happened so fast. I ran to Gray when he went down. He hadn’t even raised his weapon. He was talking about the code . . .”

“The code?”

“On the field of honor, there is a code. If one party fires, so must the second, or the first party will lose all respect from his peers. He will be shunned.

“That’s why Gray shot, Claire. I was on the ground with him when he reached for his pistol. He could hardly hold it! There was mist all around, and then rain began to fall. It was almost impossible to see—the second shot went off.”

“Killing Oliver?” Claire was still trembling.

“Yes,” the duke confirmed. His gaze met hers. “Oliver fired before the count was finished, Claire, at six paces.”

Claire shook her head. “Gray told me that he shot first. But it was Oliver—”

“Yes. Oliver got off the first shot, striking Gray. And somehow—Gray thought he shot high—it somehow managed to hit Oliver.”

Gray had wanted to spare her, she realized. That was why he’d told her he was the first to shoot.

“Thank you, Clive, for telling me. May I trust this will remain between us?”

Clive bowed his head. “Of course.”

Hesitating, she reached up and kissed his cheek.

Her eyes were swimming so that she could scarcely see. Clive had affirmed what she had begun to suspect.

Swiftly, she moved down the hall, dashing away a tear.

She didn’t understand the man she had married. She didn’t understand him at all.

But she loved him. She would love him till her last breath.