The Sins of Viscount Sutherland

by Samantha James

  Claire shook her head. “You’re so brave, Pen. You’re doing wonderfully.”

  Penelope’s smile turned into a grimace.

  Gray was busy starting a fire and rummaging through the trunks to find something to use as cloths.

  The hours passed slowly.

  And Penelope’s labor intensified. Her breath came in half pants . . . oh, it seemed like hours!

  Claire’s gaze slid helplessly to Gray’s. She was afraid to reveal her worry in fear of alarming her friend further.

  By then she and Gray had switched places. She was at Penelope’s feet, while Gray had squeezed in next to her. Penelope’s gown was lifted over upraised knees, concealing her modesty from Gray, and she was crying. Claire didn’t know how to help her.

  With a handkerchief, Gray blotted the dampness from Penelope’s brow. She was struggling to be brave but her strength was flagging. Her spirit as well. She strained, holding her breath against the pain.

  “No, you must breathe!” Claire urged her. “Breathe, Pen!”

  Weakly, Penelope pushed herself up on one elbow. Another contraction and she fell back weakly, as if all the strength had drained from her.

  “I can’t,” she said with a sob. She was losing heart. “I can’t go on.”

  Claire despaired as well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have insisted that Gray stay. He might have been back with help by now.

  All at once Claire cried out. “Oh, Pen, I can see him! I can see him! He has red hair like Theo!”

  Penelope tried to surge up. She couldn’t make it. She fell back, her face dripping wet. “Help me,” she begged. “Help me.”

  Gray clasped her hand; it rested on her belly. He slipped his other arm behind Penelope’s back to bring her nearly upright. Her nails dug into his hand. She screamed and heaved mightily.

  Claire gave a joyous sob. “You have a daughter, Pen! A beautiful little girl who looks exactly like Theo!”

  She thrust the little one at Gray. “Here. Tend to her while I tend to Pen!”

  The cord was cut, the afterbirth expelled. Hauling in a breath, Gray wiped the slick wee body with a chemise. The baby let out a wavering cry, paper-thin eyelids screwed shut. Wrapping her tiny form in his coat, he looked down at the babe he held, snug in his jacket, still warm from his body.

  Memory revived, memory of the last time he’d held an infant—

  Memory that tore his heart asunder.

  Chapter Ten

  It was dawn when another coach approached. Gray waved it down. They were all exhausted, but by mid-afternoon Penelope held her new daughter in her arms as their rescuer’s coach stopped in front of her town house. The babe was very tiny, but very perfect. She slept in her mother’s arms until they reached London.

  At the Grove town house, Gray gently picked up Penelope and the baby and lifted them from the carriage. Just as they reached the top step, the front door was flung wide.

  It appeared the arrival of mother and daughter would not be the only excitement.

  Penelope cried out. “Theo! Oh, Theo!”

  Theodore Grove rushed to clasp his wife and daughter into his embrace.

  “My darling! I was just about to set out to the Northrups to fetch you.”

  Penelope clung to his neck. “How can this be?” she said over and over. “I thought you were dead. Your lieutenant said they couldn’t find your—your body.”

  Theo shook his head. He walked with a cane, but it appeared he’d suffered no other injuries.

  “A mistake,” he said. “A farmer took me into his home, where I stayed until I was able to travel.”

  Tears stood out in his eyes. Both mother and baby were clasped tight in his arms. “Oh, you’re here, my love. You’re here.” He gave a husky laugh. “I can’t believe I have you in my arms once again.”

  Penelope wore a beatific smile. “My love, meet your daughter.”

  Theo pressed his lips to his wife’s lips, then the babe’s fuzzy red cap. He was too choked up to speak.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said at last. “As beautiful as her mother.”

  Watching the tender scene, Claire felt a hot ache fill her throat. A pang of envy bit deep. She couldn’t withhold it. It merely brought home the truth—

  And her heart cried out in bitter loss.

  She would never experience such love as existed between Penelope and Theo—and their little one. Never in this world.

  Somehow they were all swept inside, husband, wife, and child. And she and Gray were swept along, too.

  Theo spoke to the servants, who hurried to do his bidding. While a bath was prepared for mother and child, they were safely ensconced on a chaise downstairs. Theo turned and wrapped Claire in a giant embrace.

  “Claire, my wife’s greatest friend. If anyone would protect my heart’s desire, it would be you. I thank you from the depths of my heart.”

  The viscount had held back, but Theo turned to him and extended a hand.

  “Theo,” Claire hastened to say, “this is Viscount Sutherland. If he had not happened upon our coach, I don’t know what we would have done.”

  “My lord, I have no words to thank you.” Theo’s grip was firm as they shook hands.

  If Gray looked a bit uncomfortable, Claire was too tired to notice. When Penelope and the baby were ushered upstairs, it was Gray who escorted her home. Gray, on whose arm she leaned as they climbed the stairs to her town house. She sighed once they were inside. She hadn’t planned to be home until several days later, so Rosalie was gone. Her maid had asked permission to visit her sister in Kent. The girl wouldn’t be back for several days yet.

  Claire draped her shawl over a chair, fatigued almost beyond measure.

  Gray’s eyes fixed on her face. “Would you like tea?” he asked.

  “Yes, that sounds wonderful. Here, let me—”

  He caught her elbow and tugged her around.

  “Sit,” he commanded. “I’ll fetch it for you.”

  “You, sir?”

  A devilish smile crept along his lips. “My domestic abilities might amaze you, Mrs. Westfield.”

  Claire rolled her eyes heavenward.

  Gray was surprised to find his lips curved up in a smile.

  It wasn’t long before he returned from the kitchen. He carried a tray with two daintily flowered cups and matching teapot. He slid it onto a mahogany side table near the divan and straightened.

  Claire was leaning back against the cushions—

  Fast asleep.

  Gray stood for a moment. In but a half breath, a dozen emotions chased through him.

  Slowly his gaze traced the ivory column of her throat, slender and delicate and exposed. Her cheek gleamed in the lamplight, smooth and silken. Her hair was half up, half down, which made his mouth turn up on one corner. One long silken rope of dark hair trailed over her shoulder.

  His stomach clenched. He sucked in a jagged breath. Temptation spiraled within him; he felt his rod swell thickly, marble hard.

  What would the lovely lady do if he dipped his tongue into that delicate hollow there at the base of her throat? he asked himself. Laved that tender hollow and felt the beat of her lifeblood pulsing strong and steady beneath his mouth.

  His stomach tightened. He sucked in a jagged breath and fought a searing battle for control. He should leave. Now. Before he succumbed to the heated rush that burned through his veins.

  Clenching his teeth, he bent to pick her up, bearing her upward as if she were weightless. She was not frail, not weak, yet felt slight in his embrace. Up the stairs to the landing and down the hallway he bore her, glancing into several bedrooms until he saw one with double doors that was undoubtedly hers.

  Crossing the room, he lowered her to the bed, then fumbled with the oil lamp. When it was lit, he reached for her. Unfaltering, his fingers at her back, he undid the buttons of her gown and tugged it free of her form.

  Her chemise might well have been sheer. The outline of her nipples was round and dark. He watched them rise ag
ainst the night air as he tugged her gown free. In the lamplight her skin was like honey. Her cheeks were flushed the soft pink of sunset. Long lashes curled thick and dark against the curve of her cheeks.

  Claire stirred but didn’t wake. His brazen gaze took an unhurried path down her body. How long he stared at her, his jaw clenched hard, he couldn’t have said. His blood pooled hot and thick inside him. Unbridled hunger surged hotly, pounding through his blood. His shaft surged, pulsing with the tempo.

  The night closed in. Some dark, still emotion slipped over him. Slowly, as if he could not help himself—as indeed he could not—he pulled the pins free from her hair and tugged them out. For the space of a heartbeat, he threaded his fingers through her hair, letting it sift through his fingers, feeling its warmth, its life, its softness.

  One slender hand lay beside her on the pillow, palm up. There was something in the pose, a vulnerability that caught at his heart. Her lips were parted and dewed with the moist warmth of her breath.

  His insides twisted. Desire sharpened. Everything inside was screaming. How close he was to settling himself over her, parting her thighs with his knees and plunging his shaft between, she would never know. Gray did not deny his want. His need.

  Yet he did not succumb.

  No, he would not take her, not now. He wanted her hips thrusting hard against his, crying out, seeking a passion only he could give her. But he wanted at least a taste of her.

  His hand closed about her nape, bringing her face up to his. No sweet, tender caress was this. He cursed himself for wanting her. He cursed her for making him want her. He kissed her the way he wanted, hot and devouring. For one shattering instant she lay quiet—then her lips parted beneath the greedy demand of his.

  His body was shaking when he broke away. But Gray did not leave her. Instead he stripped—

  And slid into bed beside her.

  Claire woke the next morning, her limbs heavy, her mind clouded. Little by little the previous day came back. The accident with the carriage. Penelope’s fear—the baby, and then such joy at her reunion with Theo.

  Beyond that, her mind blurred. In all her days, she couldn’t recall such exhaustion. Even Gray—

  Her mind teetered. Her eyes flew open. Only then was she aware of something hard at her waist.

  She froze.

  Gray.

  He was here.

  Gray.

  In her bed.

  In her bed.

  She made a faint, choked sound.

  The fingers on his hand resting at her waist moved. In some distant part of her it registered that the span of his fingers bridged the width of her hips.

  Claire tried to speak. To tell him . . . what? She didn’t know. Words failed her. Her breath caught on a ragged sound.

  “Hush.” Gray’s whisper was low, vibrating past her ear. “Don’t say anything. Don’t . . . say . . . anything.”

  She was tempting as sin. Primeval urges rushed through him. Gray felt—he saw—the instant that awareness swept over her. Every muscle in her body tensed.

  Blood flooded his erection. He was rigid as stone.

  And Claire’s heart was suddenly pounding in her ears.

  He’d slept with her, she realized. The night through.

  And he’d kissed her. Again.

  It didn’t seem real. But now their mouths were so close. Her eyes locked helplessly on his. Her heart was in her throat. Eyes like blue fire moved slowly over her features.

  The air was suddenly leaping with currents. Tension radiated out like a spider’s web.

  And then his mouth covered hers. His arms engulfed her. Her body jolted as his tongue plied hers. She let him explore the depths of her mouth as he wanted. She couldn’t stop him. It was as if someone else had seized hold of her.

  “Claire.” His words were a low mutter against her mouth. “Don’t hold back. I want you, Claire. Let me touch you.”

  It was more plea than demand. She was never quite aware of him pulling her chemise from her. The next thing she knew, there was no barrier—none at all—between them.

  Something teased her nipples. A strange inner trembling seized her. Claire allowed her mind to roam, and in so doing allowed her gaze to roam.

  Gray was already naked. He’d slept with her naked—the knowledge raced through her veins. A part of her was aghast. A part of her shied away. The sight of him made it difficult to breathe. Her muscles grew weak. Yet she couldn’t stop herself, and her throat locked as she summoned the courage to look at him—at all of him.

  His shoulders were awesome, all sleek and burnished in the morning light. His chest seemed almost impossibly wide as well, covered by a dark mat of curly hairs. She tracked it the length of his chest, across the ridged muscles of his abdomen, clear to where an irrefutable male sex thrust from the bush grew darker and thicker. Her breath left her lungs in a scalding rush.

  She knew her face must be flaming. But somehow her hands now lodged on his chest. She loved the feel of the rough, masculine hairs beneath her fingertips. Buried within were the round disks of his nipples. Touching one, she felt him inhale sharply.

  And now it was his turn. There was no hesitation as he filled his hands with the fullness of her breasts. Her nipples burned like fire, springing taut against his palms. With a thumb, he traced the outline of one deep roseate center. Pure sensation shot through her. He teased her, toyed with her flesh in a maddening circle that stole her breath. Just when she thought she could stand no more, his mouth replaced his hands. His tongue touched one swollen tip. A jolt went through her. It seemed to thrust into his mouth. He began to suck.

  Harder. Stronger.

  What little control she had splintered. She’d never imagined such a thing.

  Nor could she have imagined what further pleasure awaited.

  One dark, lean hand traced a shattering pattern across the soft plane of her belly. Claire’s mouth went dry as those daring fingertips threaded into the triangle of fleece at the top of her thighs. She inhaled a ragged breath of shock, then went utterly still, but only for an instant. One bold fingertip ventured deep within damp wet curls. He touched her at will, claiming velvet folds, his touch ever more brash. She jerked as he buried his fingers deep within the soft, weeping flesh that guarded the treasure deep within her furrowed channel.

  His breath was ragged. “Claire,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the night we met.”

  Her heart tumbled to a standstill. It was as if he ruled her senses. It wasn’t enough to kiss him. It wasn’t enough to touch him. Her hips began to move with the rhythm of his hand. His thumb circled a tiny kernel of flesh, a burning caress that turned her inside out. Every nerve inside her was screaming. Her breath came shallow and panting.

  With the pressure of his chest, Gray stretched out over her, above her. It was time. He made a sound deep in his chest. He could hold back no longer. With the pressure of his knees, he parted her wide. Her hands still curled around his shoulders. She lay open, wide and vulnerable before him. His thighs tensed. The turgid head of his organ probed damp, silken flesh.

  She couldn’t help it. Startled, unsure, her thighs tensed instinctively. A flutter of panic ran through her.

  “Let me in, Claire.” Gray’s whisper was low and ragged. “Please, sweet, let me in.” Over and over he kissed her, until her body melted into his once more, every sweet inch of her.

  With a single, burning thrust he plunged inside her. For one split second in time he marveled at the tightness of hot, feminine flesh clinging to his rod. He wanted to shout in pure, male triumph.

  But only for an instant. Time splintered. In some rational corner of his mind, Gray was shocked at what he felt.

  No, he thought, stunned by the frail resistance of her body. It could not be. Yet in that telltale instant when Claire twisted beneath him—when her nails bit into his naked shoulders and her dark, warm channel stretched to accept his burning rod, and when her jagged half cry echoed in his mouth . . .


  Truth lay revealed. Truth did not lie.

  It could only mean one thing.

  He could not stop. His need was overwhelming. It eclipsed all else. She felt so good. He felt her tremor; it only made him even more aware of the way he was buried inside the hot prison of her flesh. He tried to hold back, but his blood was scalding, there where dark, rough curls lay mingled with hers. The sight drove him half mad.

  He couldn’t look away. It was too wildly erotic. Too raw and elemental.

  His mind urged him to be still. He tried to. He tried, but there was no fighting the scalding urges that commanded his body. Need clamored in his veins. His hips had already began to pump. He tried to keep his plunge slow and shallow. But then—he could fight it no more. He felt his body lunge. Again. Almost frantically. Desperately. Deep into the silken chasm of her flesh. Ever deeper. He could do nothing but yield. He wished—prayed—for climax to claim him. He could feel it sizzling along his spine. But a part of him wanted it to never end. Claire was squirming beneath him, around him, sending him even more deeply into a frenzy of desire and need.

  Release claimed him. He cursed her. He cursed himself, even as an explosion of release sent him collapsing above her.

  Claire’s body was still burning, the world still spinning as Gray rolled from the bed and stood. A single glance downward confirmed the truth. His rod was stained with her blood and his seed.

  His movements taut and jerky, he pulled on his trousers, then turned to face her.

  Claire had rescued the sheet and her nightgown from the foot of her bed. She latched onto the sheet and held it tight against her breast like a shield, her head bowed low. She needed that moment to grasp the enormity of what had just occurred.

  Gray was swearing, blistering words that made her face burn with embarrassment.

  “No wonder you kissed like a virgin. You were,” he stated flatly. It was less a declaration than an accusation. “God, I should have listened to my . . . How? How can that be”—his lip curled—”Mrs. Westfield?”