“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.<
br />
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.
Chapter Twenty-One
Spring settled in and the days grew warmer. That night was foremost in Claire’s mind whenever she saw Gray. She could not rid herself of the vision painted high in her mind’s eye—the lean strength of Gray’s naked body, poised against her own. Had he stopped out of concern for her? Concern for the baby? She longed to ask—
She didn’t, for fear of disappointment. Fear of being hurt. He had already rejected her. She couldn’t blame him, she supposed, with her ungainly presence.
There was so much between them. Words, both spoken and unspoken. Deeds, which could never be erased.
Would she ever be truly his wife? Would his heart be forever buried with Lily?
She both longed for and dreaded each night Gray walked with her to her room. Both were polite. But distance yawned between them. She longed to cry out her yearning. Though she despaired of her weakness, she couldn’t find the courage to step beyond it. She didn’t want to shatter the fragile state of affairs between them.
Nor was that the only thing between them. Awareness sizzled. Whenever Gray was near, her mouth grew dry. Her heart stopped when she discovered those ice-blue eyes following her every move. Sometimes she would turn—and he was gazing at her in that disconcerting, impenetrable way he had. He was adept at shielding his feelings.
Claire was not.
In the night there was nothing between them. No resentment. No pain. She had been sleeping heavily at night. She did nothing and yet she was exhausted at day’s end. Refuge? she wondered. Or curse?
But there was something Claire did not know.
Her husband lay beside her hour upon hour. And he knew if she discovered it, she might well kick him out!
He crawled from her bed at dawn.
He crawled from her bed with bittersweet candor.
The one thing that bound them together . . . could also tear them asunder.
Temperatures had warmed to hint of the approach of summer days. After being closeted inside for most of the winter, it became Claire’s habit to take the buggy out each morning. Sometimes she rode the entire circuit. Sometimes she stopped and walked, simply enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. Once she stopped at the lake, but didn’t venture down to the shore.
On one such day, she stopped the buggy beneath the sheltering branches of a huge oak tree. She walked away, making a sound of pleasure when she spied half a dozen strawberry plants. Sinking down, she plucked one fat strawberry and popped it into her mouth. Another followed, and two more. They were sweet and ripe, oozing with juice. She put her finger in her mouth and licked it clean.
Pushing herself to her feet, she heard a noise that came from the direction of the cart. Frowning, she looked down the incline.
It was Gray.
She watched as he dismounted and tied the reins to the buggy. A hand upon his brow, he squinted toward the little hill, then began to climb.
Claire ducked behind the massive trunk and scooted down. Something came over her then. Her eyes danced. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. She picked up three plump berries. Half rising, she flung one toward his back.
It landed with a satisfactory splat! squarely in the center of his back. Red juice stained the white of his shirt. He turned abruptly.
The next glanced off his shoulder.
Two more sailed through the air, in rapid succession.
These last two landed on the front of his shirt. With a rather black curse, he strode forward. Claire ducked to the other side of the tree.
She couldn’t help it; she bent down and began to laugh. Gray’s boots stepped into her line of vision. Claire was laughing too hard to straighten upright. When she was finally able to rise, she discovered Gray looking anything but pleased.
A dark brow climbed high. “I have a question for you, my lady. Is turnabout fair play?”
Claire laughed harder. “I can hardly run away and escape, now, can I?”
“No, you cannot. You’re mine now.” His hands closed over her shoulders. “Tell me, Claire. I’ll wager you were quite the imp when you were young.”
“Only because I was forever trailing after Oliver.”
She spoke before she thought better of it. Gray’s smile faded. An awkward silence ensued. Claire decided a change of subject was in order.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
“To find you.” He took her hand and tucked it into his elbow. “Claire, I’m not so sure you should be off on your jaunts alone. What if your time comes?”
His concern made her feel warm inside.
“But now I have you, don’t I?” he said.
“So you do, sir.”
Claire chuckled. “Yes, we’re starving, both of us.” Her hand rested on her belly.
Gray said nothing. He walked her down the hill, lifted her into the cart and handed the reins to her.
“Thank you, kind sir. Onward home it is, then.”
She nickered at the horse.
“Oh, and Claire?”
Eyebrows raised, she glanced back. “Yes?”
His grin was decidedly roguish. “You might want to wipe the juice from your cheeks, my love.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. His chuckle was low and deep. Deep inside, she realized this was the first time she’d seen him smile with genuine mirth. Her breath caught and her heart turned over.
As it happened, they didn’t have luncheon together. The estate manager waylaid Gray. Claire was on the verandah finishing tea when Gray strode up.
“Will you stay and have tea?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m hardly fit to be seen. Come, we can talk upstairs.”
He took her hand and walked beside her up the wide staircase—
Into his room.
Joseph, one of the house boys, was pouring one last pail of steaming water into the large tub in front of the fireplace.
Gray’s boots hit the floor. His shirt followed. Now his hands were at his breeches.
Blast her foolish naiveté! She hadn’t realized quite what Gray had meant.
It appeared he intended to bathe before her.
Wrenching her eyes away, she inspected the window and every diamond-shaped pane within it. From the corner of her eyes there was a flash of impossibly long—impossibly naked—limbs as he climbed in. When the splash stopped, she cleared her throat.
“It’s quite safe now.” His low tone reflected his amusement. “I believe all pertinent parts are safely out of view—at least all that should satisfy my prim little wife.”
A hot tide of color surged into her cheeks. Summoning the courage that was proving to be so elusive, she looked at him.
His arms were stretched out on the top of the bath, literally covered with a dark netting of hair. The plane of his chest was covered with that same thick, dark forest of hairs. It spun through her mind to wonder what their child might look like. A boy would be a handsome child indeed, if he resembled his father. And a daughter? She would be an exquisite beauty, with Gray’s ice-blue eyes and shining black hair.
The Sins of Viscount Sutherland Page 17