“Does it shock you to learn I was wed? That I, too, have been widowed? Yes, I see that it does. You see the man I am now. You’ve no idea of the man I once was.”
Stunned, Claire could only stare as he spun around and went for the horse.
“Come,” he said abruptly. “It’s time we went back.”
Claire’s mind was still reeling when he lifted her into the gig.
He’d been married. Good Lord, he’d been married.
Tension rode between them like a huge gray monster.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was very low.
“There was no reason for you to know.”
“And there was no reason for you to be privy to my marriage!”
“I suggest we come to an understanding, then.” He was tight-lipped and grim. “The subject of my marriage is closed. The subject of your marriage is closed.”
They lapsed into silence. Gray was furious with himself. A bitter darkness slipped over him. He had lost his temper. He discussed his wife with no one. Those closest to him—his mother, Clive—respected his wishes for the most part. It was rare that Lily’s name was mentioned. When such thoughts dared intrude, he had schooled himself to close his mind to her memory.
But Claire had managed to give him a shattering reminder of a chapter in his past that he would rather not remember. A part of him almost hated her for it. God knew he hated himself. There were some who said he had no heart. If only he didn’t! He couldn’t think of Lily without feeling as if his lungs had caught fire. His hands were like his soul, black and stained with blood. That was something that would never change. Something that could never be erased.
Such was his penance. Such was his pain.
Then there was Claire. Somehow, she had gotten beneath his skin. He had only to be near her to give rise to an erection that was almost painful.
Had he known what effect she would have on him, he never would have pursued her. Every inch of his body was taut, every nerve wound tight. Desire still gripped him. She was tempting as sin. He thought of her undressing him. He wanted to lay her down. He wanted her naked, writhing beneath him while he buried his rod to her very soul.
He wouldn’t let her go until he had what he wanted. And he was more certain than ever there was something she was hiding.
It was obvious it had something to do with her marriage.
He didn’t understand her reluctance. It made no sense. He’d felt her lips blossom beneath his. She’d returned his kiss, yet he was puzzled by her air of purity . . . her air of almost innocence.
The answer to his questions had only led to more.
At the wide stone steps of the manor house, he stopped. He leaped down and went around to her side to lift her down.
She nearly tumbled in her rush to be away from him.
Gray’s jaw knotted.
Inside, she went straight for the stairs.
And she didn’t come down to dinner.
The men went to retire with port and cigars. Gray stopped Clive.
“Where is Claire?” he asked.
Clive looked surprised. “She isn’t feeling well. She said something must have made her ill this afternoon.”
Not something. Someone.
“Didn’t you know? I thought the two of you were together.”
Gray’s expression told the tale all too well.
Clive hiked a brow. “Ah—”
“Don’t say it,” he growled.
“I see. Then you’ll probably not be interested in the fact that she’s planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”
The little cheat!
Gray didn’t plan on joining the other gentlemen. Clive raised a brow as Gray turned away.
“I suspect Lady Hastings would be eager to tend your wounds,” his friend said.
Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have hesitated. Lady Hastings had a way with her tongue and mouth . . . Now he found the thought of Lady Hastings’s full red lips almost distasteful.
“Just remember I’ve a house full of guests,” called his friend. “Unless you want to give them something to gossip about.”
If there was a cynical twist to his mouth, Gray couldn’t help it. But it wasn’t going to deter him.
He climbed the stairs to the guest wing and asked a maid which room was Claire’s. Thirty seconds later he stood before the door. He knocked firmly.
“The maid’s already collected my tray,” she called from within.
He knocked again, more loudly this time.
The door opened. Claire stood there. Apprehension chased across her face. But then her skin paled. The green of her eyes darkened to jade. Her gaze locked on him—
As if he was the devil.
Gray smiled tightly.
“You didn’t come down to dinner.”
“I’ve an early morning ahead,” she said quickly. “I received an urgent note from Penelope. She cut short her stay at the Northrups. I’ll be returning to London with her tomorrow morning.”
“How fortuitous for you.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Did I say that?”
“That’s what you meant! I received a note from Pen when we returned! Ask the duke!”
Gray did not speak. He stepped into the chamber.
Claire retreated a step, her eyes wide with dismay. She wore a dressing gown of white silk that lent her an air of purity, that virginal innocence that puzzled him even as it unnerved him.
“You can’t be here, Gray.”
“Nonetheless I am.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You allowed me in.” Deliberately, he closed the door.
“Gray, this isn’t proper—”
“Surely you know enough of me to be aware I’m not a man to be concerned with propriety. And I would remind you, nor have you.”
He took a step forward. Claire retreated a step. Nervously, she wet her lips.
His regard slid over her from head to toe. He sucked in a breath. Across the room, the moon had begun to shine through the windows. God, she was lovely. Her hair was shot through with amber and gold. Her dressing gown fell in soft folds, barely brushing her bare feet. It hid nothing of the shape of her breasts, her nipples round and pushing against the bodice in enticement.
A primeval surge of desire heated his veins. He didn’t welcome it. No, he didn’t welcome it at all. But then came the strange awareness—
“Are you afraid?” He laid a hand on her shoulder, curled it around her nape. His thumb dipped into the hollow where her pulse betrayed her. It drummed wildly beneath his touch.
“You are,” he said, darkly amused. He gave a shake of his head. “Oh, Claire, you disappoint me. I thought you were braver than this.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“I know women, Claire. I know you.”
Darkness stole all through him. Something bitterly ominous had begun to burn inside him. Damn her! he thought. Damn her for making him feel like this! Damn her for making his passion rise to a fever pitch.
“I didn’t think you were such a coward.”
“I’m not a coward—”
Gray caught her up against him. A hand slid down her back. Almost fiercely he clamped her hips against his, letting her feel the swollen measure of his need. Making her feel it. Making her breath thin to a wisp of air as his mouth trapped hers.
His kiss was wild. Ferocious. He captured her lips beneath his, the ragged rush of her breath with his. His mouth was blatantly erotic and bold. He demanded; he took. He kissed her hotly—fiercely—until she sagged against him, supported only by his embrace.
He released her so suddenly she nearly lost her balance.
She stared up at him, her skin white, her mouth wet and red and trembling.
“There,” he said harshly. “Now run away, little girl. Run away. I’ve done my worst. Now you have nothing to fear.”
Chapter Nine
Shortly after dawn the next morning, Penelope’s carri
age arrived.
Claire had just finished breakfast with the duke. He was the perfect host, to see her off at dawn while his other guests still slept. And oh, but what a charmer! With his darkly handsome good looks, he’d probably made many a silly young maid swoon. He’d probably left many a lady with a broken heart.
Claire pressed her lips together. Just like his friend the viscount, she thought.
The knocker sounded just as they stepped into the entrance hall. Penelope stepped inside.
Claire took one look at her and rushed forward. “Pen!” she cried. “My word, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Penelope nearly collapsed against her.
Her voice was shaking. “A message from London arrived yesterday from one of Theo’s lieutenants. There was a battle . . . it went on for days . . . Theo . . . oh, my God, Claire . . . Theo—“
She dissolved into tears, unable to go on.
Claire slipped an arm about her shoulders. “Dearest, what is it? What’s happened?”
“He’s dead, Claire. I know it. Theo is dead! They—They couldn’t find his body!” She moaned. “My beloved Theo . . . He’s gone . . . dead. I know it. I know it! And now my little one will never know his father!”
The duke managed to guide Penelope into the drawing room. A maid brought tea while Claire calmed her. She urged her friend to try to eat a bite before they left, but Penelope was too distraught.
They left within a scant quarter hour.
Throughout the day, the carriage bounced along the rutted roadway. Inside, Claire sat across from Penelope. Exhausted, Penelope had finally began to doze, her head bobbing in time with the wheels.
Run away, little girl.
Claire cringed inside. She didn’t want to think of the viscount—but the events of yesterday never left the scope of her mind. The rawness of his kiss rushed back. She couldn’t banish the taste of him. She tried to close her mind to what came next. His hand, so warm upon her chest. The blazing path he had taken with his mouth, a trail of fire. Her nipples had thrust up, as if in anticipation of his kiss. Oh, how he had mocked her! She tried to close her mind against it. I’m no coward.
Foolish, foolish words, those! She was angry with herself, angry with her weakness. No doubt Gray had felt her trembling against him.
Who did she fool?
He was right. She was a coward.
She must buck up. She must!
No matter that he had nearly stripped her of her pride. This was too important. She thought of Oliver and her heart twisted. Poor Oliver had died alone. She would not abandon her cause. Not yet! Somehow she must lure Gray back to her. She couldn’t leave. The die had been cast. She must see it through, no matter what it took, no matter the cost to her pride.
She must find her way into his breast.
And then she would shatter his heart.
When Penelope’s carriage arrived that morning to collect Claire, she hadn’t seen Gray. The duke had told her Gray left for a morning ride. Claire was relieved that she didn’t have to face him.
A coward, indeed, she thought bitterly.
Once they were on their way, Penelope calmed. She pressed her handkerchief in her lap.
“I’m sorry, Claire. Here I am, going on and on! Tell me of the house party. Was it a success?”
Claire glanced down at her hands. “It was an enjoyable few days.”
Penelope peered at her oddly.
She didn’t tell Penelope what Gray had divulged—that he’d been married and was now a widower. Why, she couldn’t say. She owed Gray no loyalty. No trust. But he was so guarded about it that it somehow seemed a betrayal to tell anyone, though she couldn’t say why.
You see the man I am now. You’ve no idea of the man I once was.
Nor could she allow herself to care. And now rampant in her mind were a hundred questions. Who was his wife? How long had he been wed? How had his wife—whoever she was—died. When? Had he changed? Had he loved her?
You see the man I am now. You’ve no idea of the man I once was.
What the devil did he mean?
The subject of my marriage is closed.
That he had been wounded was something she hadn’t considered. Nor could she, reminded a voice inside. It didn’t change her cause. It could never change what he’d done.
No, she couldn’t abandon her cause. She would have her revenge.
Pen soon tired. Her back ached, so Claire massaged it gently. Claire didn’t want to hurry the journey, but Penelope insisted. Not wishing to upset her friend, Claire made the decision to continue traveling.
It was near midnight when Claire glanced out the carriage window. The moon was full, casting enough light that Claire saw some creature dart across the road in front of the coach.
One minute they were rolling along at an even pace, the next they were going faster and faster, as if racing with the wind. The creature must have spooked the horses. A jarring bump sent Claire tumbling to the floor of the coach; she cracked her head soundly. They zigzagged from one side of the road to the other, Penelope screaming shrilly.
The horses’ tack broke free of the main compartment. Claire felt the moment it separated. There was a jarring sound and they tumbled over an embankment and crashed through the trees. There was a thunderous roar—
The world went dark.
She regained consciousness slowly. Her head was spinning. It ached abominably. She struggled to focus. It took a moment for the fuzziness of both mind and body to clear. Down the hill a man’s figure lay prone. It was the driver.
But her heart lurched. Pen was moaning.
Claire surged upright. She’d been thrown free of the coach, Penelope was still inside.
Fear lent her strength. She managed to grab hold of one of the doors and yank it free of the hinges so she could crawl inside.
Penelope was curled up on her side. She tried to roll, then winced. She began to cry. “Claire! Oh, Claire!”
Claire crawled up beside her. “Here, now. Let me have a look at you.”
Pen began to weep. One hand came to rest on her belly.
Claire stared down at her friend. Awareness closed in. No, she thought in horror. Oh, no . . .
Gray, too, had made the decision to return to London. It was late morning when he bid Clive and his guests good-bye. Restless, he decided to ride his horse back instead of his carriage. Thoughts of Claire kept intruding. He was impatient with himself. He needed to clear his head.
On horseback, he made excellent time. After stopping for a meal, he continued on. Evening shadows streaked the horizon. He slowed his mount to a trot. Pondering thoughts of Claire intruded anew. His lips thinned. The little witch! Did she have any idea what she did to him? She both infuriated and enthralled him.
Not since Lily had a woman so compelled him. Gray steeled himself, as he always did when he thought of Lily. He steeled himself against the stark, sudden shadow that blotted his soul.
Lily. Claire was nothing like her. Lily was softness and light, while Claire was fire and passion. With Claire, it was as if desire ruled both body and soul and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
She was nothing like the women he’d been with since Lily. She wasn’t a worldly sophisticate. She was so young to be a widow . . . too young to be a widow.
And that nagging little thought persisted. Wed for a year, she’d said, her husband dead for two.
His jaw thrust forward. They had not seen the last of each other, he vowed.
All at once he stopped. What was that? A scream? He reined in his horse and turned in the saddle, every fiber in him intent. What the devil . . .
The sound came again. Definitely a scream, but fainter this time.
He urged his horse ahead and down an embankment. There were ruts in the damp earth. Something had come through here. The brush was trampled, he noted, following the tracks. It was then he spied it, a carriage overturned, resting against the trunk of a tree. And a figure calling and waving at him.
; It was Claire. His heart pounding, he reached her.
She collapsed in his arms.
“You’re hurt.” He smoothed her hair, touched a cut, bruised lump on her forehead. “Here, let me—”
“No, I’m fine. But Pen—” She gave a half sob, pointing inside the carriage.
A quick assessment. Penelope was laying on her side. She gave a low moan.
“I’ll make a fire, then go for help, Claire. You’ll be fine—”
“No, Gray, don’t leave!” Frantic, she clutched his arm. “Pen’s having her baby.”
In that moment, in Gray’s sudden presence, Claire saw the broadest shoulders in the land. The arms that closed around her were strong and powerful, the touch of lean fingertips almost tender. She longed to cling to him. The near desperate fear she had glimpsed on his face made her heart catch.
Her trunk had landed a short distance away. Gray went over and confirmed that the driver was dead.
Claire had rummaged through the trunk and found her cloak. She spread it over Penelope. Wadding up a gown, she placed it beneath her friend’s head.
Gray’s eyes found Claire’s. “Do you know anything about birthing?”
She hesitated. “A little.”
Gray’s expression had turned grim. “Well, we’ll have to sort our way through it, eh?”
Penelope’s face was streaked with tears. She tried to summon a smile. “You forget, I’m here, too. Of course we’ll muddle through it.”
Whatever the reason, Gray’s presence lent Claire courage. “She hasn’t felt well all day,” she told him. “Her back began to ache shortly after we left.”
“I didn’t think it could possibly be the baby. It’s too early.” Penelope gave another half sob. “It’s too early, Claire.”
Claire shook her head. “Oh, he’s a brave one, Pen,” she tried to joke. “A fighter just like his mother and father.”
There wasn’t room for two of them inside the carriage. Penelope lay on the back cushion. Claire slid in and knelt at her side.
Penelope took Claire’s hand and laid it on her belly. “There. It’s drawing again.” Claire felt the womb tighten beneath her fingers. “Every few minutes now.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
The Sins of Viscount Sutherland Page 8