It passed through his mind to turn around. To head back to London. Face it, you fool, chided a voice inside. Claire won’t want you here.
Something dark stole through him. It was none of his affair whom Claire chose to wed. He felt suddenly ugly inside. Who did he fool? chided the voice. He admitted it—the thought of Claire with another man made fiery jealousy scald his insides. The thought of her lying naked in someone else’s arms, offering body and mouth in sweet surrender, made the edges of his world seem to blacken. He shut her away the best he was able. Now the pain was intense. Immense.
Penelope was wrong. He wasn’t a man of honor. Once, but no more. If he cared anything at all about Claire, he would turn around now, head back to London and to his own self-destruction.
But that was the coward’s way out, he told himself.
And he deserved to hurt. He deserved to be punished.
The church was small, set back from the road, constructed of stone, one wall covered with ivy. He saw a coach and several buggies outside. Gray guided his horse there and dismounted.
He was travel-stained and weary, hardly fit to attend a wedding. But would he stay until the vows were spoken?
He must. He must.
The church bell rang. Two o’clock.
Quietly, Gray stepped into the church and sat in the last pew. There were only a few people in attendance, seated at the front. Steeling himself, he raised his head and looked toward the altar.
It was true. She was getting married.
A man stood beside Claire, his hair shot through with silver. Claire was dressed in mauve. In her hands was a small bouquet of flowers.
The reverend spoke a blessing. The service commenced. Gray couldn’t take his eyes from the bride. She was smiling as she turned more fully toward the groom.
Gray’s eyes fastened on her. His gaze slid hungrily down her body.
Shock rippled through him. He was on his feet in a heartbeat.
A vivid curse exploded from his lips.
At the altar, the reverend looked up. “Young man, we are in God’s house! This man and woman are here to be joined in holy matrimony—”
“No,” he said.
The man beside Claire spoke up. “Sir! Now see here. We are about to take our vows—”
“No.”
“Why the devil not?”
“She’s marrying me,” Gray said fiercely. “She’s marrying me.”
Claire was shaken. Stunned. A jolt of shock went through her and she reeled. Gray was here at Wildewood.
She’s marrying me.
No. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t possibly have heard right.
Her blood roared in her ears. Voices buzzed. Male voices. Words, fading in and out.
Father.
Marriage.
Child.
Wife.
Awareness receded. Claire sank down on a pew, guided by a pair of hands. The air seemed charged with a hundred different emotions.
Shaken, stunned, a dam seemed to break inside her. It was too much. She began to sob. “I want to go home. I want to go home!”
They gathered in the reverend’s home adjacent to the altar. Gray was tight-lipped and silent. Lawrence was seated next to Claire, both of her hands clasped in his. The reverend had stepped outside.
Gray stood across the room near the window, powerful arms crossed over his chest. His posture, his countenance . . .
Clearly he did not plan to leave.
Claire swallowed. “I am fine, Lawrence. Please leave us. This—” She swallowed hard. “—this is between Gray and I.”
Lawrence squeezed her fingers. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “I will be fine.”
“Very well, then. If you need anything, you know where I will be.” Before he left, he cast a fulminating glance at Gray.
They were left alone.
Her eyes cleaved to Gray’s. His jaw locked, sending a cascade of uncertainty through her. It was Claire who spoke first.
“Why are you here?”
His eyes seemed to blaze like fiery blue torches. It was as if the fires of hell had leaped high.
She cringed inside. “Pen told you, didn’t she?”
“She told me about the marriage. She did not tell me about this.”
He pulled her to her feet. The roundness of her belly was slight, but her form was so slender it wouldn’t be long before she would not be able to hide it.
But Gray saw it.
He splayed his fingers wide across her belly.
“How far gone are you?”
A shudder racked her body. Her voice was low and choked. “I did not realize it was so obvious.”
“How far, Claire?”
His tone jabbed at her, rapier sharp. “Four months,” she said at last.
“And this is what you want, Claire? Another man raising my child?”
“What! You expect me to believe that you welcome this babe?” The question was fairly hurled at him. “That you will take care of him as a father should? You, a husband? What is this newfound morality? These newfound principles? You are the last man I would expect to do the honorable thing.”
“You doubt my morals? You question my intent?”
“Morals! You have none. You proved that when you murdered my brother! And if you think I will marry the man who killed him, you’re mad.”
Tears scalded her throat. The piercing score of his gaze was like a knife thrust deep in her breast.
“This child is mine,” Gray said fiercely. “Can you deny it?”
“You know I cannot.” Her tone was bitter.
“This changes everything. There is a child at stake.”
“It changes nothing. My child will grow, knowing he is wanted. Lawrence will be a far better father than you!”
“Do not fight me, Claire. You are going to marry me if I have to kidnap you.”
“You would not dare!”
There was a flat, stifling silence. “Do not test me.”
He meant it. Heaven help her, he meant it!
She hated his cold finality.
“I will see if the reverend is still here.” He started to leave the room.
Claire was stunned. “What?” she said faintly. “You mean to do it . . . now?”
He turned on her with fire in his eyes. “You planned on being wed today. And so you shall be.”
Hers met his in fiery rebellion. “Such an eager bridegroom, then! Should I be flattered, Gray?”
His jaw clenched. He said nothing, but cast her a thin-lipped glare.
She lifted her chin. “I must speak to Lawrence.”
He was going to argue. But by God, she would remain uncontested.
Finally he gave a terse nod. “I will send him in.”
Claire sent a pointed glance at Gray when Lawrence entered. He didn’t retreat to the foyer but remained in the doorway. There was naught but haughty pride in Claire’s expression when she looked at Gray.
“Will you close the door please?”
Gray complied. Reluctantly, it was clear.
When they were alone, Claire turned to Lawrence. “I never meant for this to happen. I am so, so sorry.”
“He is the father of your child, isn’t he?”
She had never divulged the identity of the father, and Lawrence—kind, giving soul that he was—had not pressed her.
She nodded. “Yes. Do not blame him, Lawrence. Perhaps—perhaps I should have told him.”
In all truthfulness, she had not thought that Gray would care. She truly hadn’t.
“Lawrence, you are a good man. A good man and a friend. I hope in time you can forgive me.”
He smiled slightly. “Already done, Claire. I would have you make me a promise, though.”
“Of course.”
He clasped both his hands in hers. “If you are ever in need of anything, Claire, promise me you will come to me. And I promise you that I will always be here for you. Always.”
“You are too generous
, Lawrence. But I promise.” She squeezed his fingers.
A scant quarter hour later Claire returned to the chapel.
It was hardly the wedding of her dreams. But, argued a little voice inside her, neither would it have been so with Lawrence either.
Upheaval raged inside her. She was pale and quiet during the ceremony, her legs shaky. Beside her, Gray’s face was like a mask. She could discern nothing from his expression, not anger, not pleasure or displeasure. When he took her hands and spoke his vows, her hands were icy cold in his. She dreaded the moment he would kiss her.
It did not come. It might have been a dream, so preposterous was it.
The thought unveiled before she could stop it. She began this day expecting to end it as Lawrence’s bride.
Instead she was Gray’s.
Chapter Fourteen
They didn’t leave Wildewood until the third day of their marriage. Gray had decided he might as well see to changes of the estate management as long as he was there. A part of Claire resented him fiercely. This was her home, not his. She couldn’t stop the thought burning through her: it should have been Oliver taking over as lord of the manor.
Not his killer.
When night fell on the day of their wedding, Claire’s nerves were wound taut. She wondered almost frantically if Gray expected them to sleep together as husband and wife. She did not broach the subject when she announced her intention to retire. She left him in the study. She spent much of the night straining to hear footsteps coming down the hall. It was near dawn before she fell into a restless sleep.
Gray spent the night in a guest room.
Claire was on tenterhooks the next night as well. But again Gray did not join her. Perhaps, she decided cautiously, in light of her pregnancy, he wouldn’t.
The third day after their wedding, they left Wildewood. Gray told her they were going to Brightwood, his home in Dorset. The journey there would take about three days. Claire queried him about his home there, but his manner was stiff. If the oaf could not be civil, she decided, so be it. The less discourse between them, the better.
The morning of the second day of their journey, she woke miserable and tired; it was as if a boiling sea resided in her innards. By noonday she discovered that being jostled in a carriage did not set particularly well. Her stomach heaved. She had to ask the driver to stop.
Gray opened the door and pulled down the step. Claire barreled past him. Nausea welled up in her throat and she fell to her knees.
Her breakfast was lost in the bushes. To her utter mortification, it was Gray who held her and wiped her face. Claire leaned back against his shoulder, welcoming the enveloping strength of his arms around her. He slid a cloth down the slender grace of her throat. She was totally oblivious to the hunger in his expression as she turned her cheek into his neck.
“You should have told me you were a bad traveler,” he said gruffly. “I’d have set a less strenuous pace.” Gray was also upset with himself for not realizing it sooner.
“But that’s the thing! I’ve never in my life been a bad traveler.”
“You’ve never been with child before either.”
Claire sucked in a breath. There was something odd in his tone.
No. She was mistaken.
He helped her upright. “We’ll stop at the next town.”
“There’s no need for that, you silly man.”
A slow-growing smile etched across his face.
“What is it?” she asked.
He hiked a brow. “I have been called many things, Claire, but I don’t believe anyone has ever called me a silly man.”
By the time they arrived at Brightwood, her strength was sapped. She was drained, both physically and emotionally. Gray took in her weariness.
“Would you prefer dinner in your room?”
“Yes, please.” She was grateful.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Henderson, showed her to her room. It was huge, more than three times her room at Wildewood. There was a small sitting area in front of the fireplace. Claire sat with her head leaning back. She wondered vaguely if his room was next to hers. But no, there was a door beside the armoire. She tore her attention away from it.
A maid named Paulette brought her a tray, then helped her into her nightclothes. Rosalie was to follow later with the rest of her wardrobe. She climbed into bed, exhausted.
Claire felt much recovered when she woke. The room was done up in yellow and white, a little too bright for her tastes.
She was aware of the maid’s puzzled look when she rose from her bath. There was no disguising the thickening of her waist and belly anymore. Her gowns were tight about her bosom as well. She sighed.
“I’ll settle the question right now. Yes, I’m carrying a baby.”
There would be gossip in the servants’ quarters that day, she decided.
Paulette flushed bright red. Quickly, she said, “I can let the seams out of your gowns if you like.”
Claire flashed a smile. She liked the girl. “Thank you. My maid Rosalie will be arriving soon with the rest of my clothing. She’s started with some others, but it would be much appreciated if you could sew the ones I’ve brought.”
Sitting at the dressing table, Claire let Paulette brush her hair. “Your hair is lovely, my lady,” Paulette said. “So thick and shining. Would you like me to braid it and twist it up on your crown?”
Claire smiled. “Certainly.” She liked the girl’s forthright manner. Paulette caught her hair up in her hand and separated it into three long ropes. While she worked, she told Claire the names of some of the servants.
“Mrs. Henderson has been the housekeeper back when”—was it a pause? Or did she stop short?—“for quite some time now.” Quickly she went on. “Edgar is her husband, and the estate manager for his lordship.” A host of other names followed. Claire decided she would have to meet everyone before she could remember who they were.
“We were surprised when we learned that the master was coming home.” Paulette braided her hair with quick efficiency. “We scurried to work to have all in readiness when he arrived.”
Claire was puzzled. “Why?”
“Oh, mum, he hasn’t been here for—oh, my word—why, it’s surely been three years now. Shortly after the accident.” She shook her head. “Oh, look at me, now. Mrs. Henderson would be most displeased if she learns I’m prattling on.”
Three years! He’d been gone for three years? How odd. What man would leave his estate for three long years? And what accident? Claire was puzzled—and curious, too. She sensed Paulette had been about to say more but caught herself before she did. She wanted to query her further, but another maid came in and announced that breakfast was served.
Gray was sitting in the dining room when she entered. He stood politely.
“Good morning, Claire.”
“Good morning to you, sir.”
“I trust you slept well?”
“Thank you. I did.”
Claire moved to the sideboard, where an ample breakfast had been laid out. She helped herself to eggs, plump sausages, and toast. The eggs were perfectly cooked, the sausage as well. But her stomach began to pitch.
“Are the sausages not to your liking?”
“They’re wonderful,” she said quickly. A flush crept into her cheeks. “I . . . um . . . I fear that . . .”
There was an awkward pause. “It will pass.”
Claire was annoyed. Who was he to think he had the knowledge of a physician?
“You must be curious about your new home,” he said.
“I am.”
“Then let me show you.”
They spent the next few hours strolling through the house and grounds. To Claire, the house was immense, much larger than Wildewood.
They walked through the grounds, well tended but brown and bare with the coming winter. When spring came, no doubt there would be a riotous explosion of color.
Spring. Spring would bring the birth of her child.
They e
nded up in the corridor outside her room. Claire opened the door but didn’t enter. Instead she turned to Gray, feigning an air of nonchalance. “Where is your room?”
She could clearly make out the suddenly tense line of his jaw. “The next room to the right,” he stated coolly.
“I see.” Claire’s heart had picked up its pace. She stepped across the threshold and pointed to the door next to the armoire. “There is a door locked in my room.”
Gray said nothing.
“Does that lead to your room?”
Was he offended by her bluntness? She could have sworn she heard his jaw lock. “Yes.”
His forbidding expression kept her tongue in check. But she couldn’t withhold the thought that sprang high in her mind. Was it to keep him out? Or to keep her out?
A ridiculous thought.
Claire linked her fingers together before her, marveling at her boldness. “I am unsure of my role here.”
“You are mistress here.” He was curt. She could still clearly make out the tense line of his jaw. “You will tend to all the duties that entails.”
Her chin rose. “All duties?”
His mouth was tight.
“I expect to be treated as a wife. More to the point—” She swallowed. “—I would like to make clear whether you will expect me to . . . to—”
“Share my bed?”
He seemed to take great pleasure in the words.
Claire swallowed. “I will if you wish it.”
Not that he would want to, she expected, given her condition.
“Gray?”
He looked at her with murder in his eyes. “Let us be quite clear, then.” His tone was clipped and abrupt. “There will be no need to come to my bed.”
His expression was glacial. Claire very nearly fell back. She found it difficult to believe this man capable of love.
“There is one more matter,” she said, forcing herself to go on. “This room. Was it your wife’s?”
“You are my wife, Claire.” His tone was edged with ice.
Her eyes flashed. “I believe you know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible I might know her name?”
Time spun out to a screaming silence. “Lily,” he said at last. “Her name was Lily.”
“Thank you.” Her chin lifted a notch. “May I have your permission to redecorate?”
The Sins of Viscount Sutherland Page 12