The Sins of Viscount Sutherland

by Samantha James

  “No!” she cried. “I haven’t changed my mind, Gray. I told you I don’t want you here. Go away! Go back to London!”

  Gray paid no heed, but continued past the landing. At the top, he extended a hand.

  Claire knocked it away.

  “If I could travel,” she told him, “I wouldn’t be here. I’d be home at Wildewood. As soon as we are able, the baby and I will be gone.”

  “Do you think I wouldn’t find you?” He took her by the shoulders. “Claire,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

  What little control of her senses shredded. All at once she was trembling. Two fat tears rolled down her face. “You leave me no pride. You leave me nothing!”

  He drew her shaking body into his arms.

  She wrenched away. “Don’t touch me,” she said.

  “I’m a fool, Claire. I should never have left.”

  “But you did, Gray, you did. Do you truly think you can come home and pretend that nothing happened?” It was the naked truth.

  “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Gray could see her vulnerability. He could feel it.

  Claire’s exhaustion gave way to despair. It seized her heart like a clamp. “Why did you have to come back?” she sobbed. “Why?”

  He brought her shaking body close.

  Her fists were poised upon his chest, as if to push him away. “Release me, Gray.”

  “Claire, please listen.”

  “No!” she screamed. “You didn’t want me. You didn’t want us!” She pushed back from his chest.

  Then she felt it—a gush from inside her. She stared down, puzzled by her wetness, the puddle on the floor.

  Above her, Gray sucked in a breath. “It’s the baby. The birth waters . . . The baby is coming. The baby is coming!”

  She was in Gray’s bed, she realized. His face swam above her. How strange, to be here in his bed, not hers. He stood near the foot of the bed. But his expression was most odd; he appeared almost frantic. But there was pain in her belly—her back—pain that squeezed, then receded.

  It was the baby, she realized. Everything came flooding back. It was too early. Too early, and she couldn’t erase the choking fear inside.

  Pain seized hold of her once more. Tightening her muscles, she held her breath, as if she could hold it back.

  “Claire! Let it come, child. You will lose your strength.”

  It was Charlotte. Her image danced before Claire’s eyes. Gray said something to her. Charlotte hovered near while Gray sat next to her. A hard arm supported her, pulling her clothes from her shaking body. He was ever so careful as he pulled a clean nightgown over her head and thighs, letting it settle over her knees. Her womb tightened once more.

  He took her hands. “Don’t fight it, Claire. Trust me.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her voice was half stifled. His name trembled on her lips. “Why are you here?”

  Gray’s eyes darkened. Her cry tore at his soul. It struck him then . . . “You didn’t think I’d be back, did you?” Guilt enveloped him. Had she thought she must endure this alone?

  He cursed himself. With a cloth he wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead. “Claire,” he whispered. “Trust in me. Believe in me.”

  “No! I want my baby!” She pushed his hand aside and gave a half-strangled cry. “I will fight you, Gray. I won’t let you take my son.”

  She would have said more, but another spasm knotted her belly.

  Gray laid aside the cloth and gripped her hands. They were ice cold.

  Through a fog, Claire stared at her husband. Through a haze she heard him.

  “Breathe, sweet. That’s the way. There now. Rest while you can.”

  A painful wave of emotion broke inside her. Not a pain in the body this time, but an ache of the soul. His tenderness wrenched at her.

  There was another contraction, more intense this time. She heard Charlotte urging her, Gray coaxing her through the next spasm and the next.

  “You’re close, love, so very close.”

  From the foot of the bed came Charlotte’s voice. “Yes, Claire, yes!” She was half crying. “Oh, darling, just one more contraction!”

  Claire gave a half moan. Her hips came off the bed. Her head came off the pillow. A tremendous pressure built between her thighs—

  A wavering little cry filled the air.

  Tears glazed her eyes. Charlotte held a tiny little body. She cried while Charlotte cleaned the baby, then she held out her hands.

  “Let me see him! Let me see!”

  Charlotte wrapped the little one in clean clothing while Gray helped his wife sit up. Claire was shaking with weakness. Charlotte placed the bundle into her waiting hands with a laugh. “Prepare yourself, darling. Your son is a daughter!”

  Charlotte departed to leave the new family to themselves.

  Claire undid the swaddling to unveil the tiny little form, needing to see that all was well. She uncovered ten fingers and ten wee toes and kissed every one of them.

  She stared raptly at the babe. “Isn’t she the most beautiful baby ever?”

  “Of course she is.” His tone was husky.

  A tremor of gladness went through her. Gray’s smoky blue eyes made her heart turn over. She fought exhaustion as long as she could, savoring the feel of that warm little body in the crook of her elbow. She tucked the baby at her side and slept.

  Gray swallowed. The babe was tiny, with a sweetly impudent little mouth—like her mother. Her head was perfect, covered with golden brown fuzz.

  Memory gripped him. The first time he’d ever seen William came rushing back. He’d been so proud, so very proud of his son—

  Darkness spilled through him. He felt locked in time. He couldn’t banish the remembrance of that horrible night when he held his son’s lifeless form in his arms. So limp . . .

  And he could not bear it. A tearing pain ripped through his heart. He acknowledged a bittersweet truth—a painful truth that must be faced.

  He was grateful the child was well. He loved her—how could he not? She was a part of him.

  But he felt trapped, his soul blistered with guilt. He should hold the babe, he knew. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to. It hurt too much. So much he wanted to scream his pain aloud.

  He stretched out a finger toward her face . . .

  It dropped to his side.

  His heart squeezed. He and Claire were forever joined together in blood now. The proof lay nestled at her side. But the birth of this child did not assure him of happiness, none of them. If only it could be so easy!

  The torment in his breast was beyond his control. It seared his very soul.

  And in that mind-shearing instant, he bitterly acknowledged that Claire must never know. It would tear her apart.

  No, he and Claire could not remain at odds. They had clashed too many times. They must find a way to live together.

  He would never walk away from her.

  And he would never allow Claire to walk away either.

  Somehow he was going to have to find a way to make her forgive him.

  A way to make her love him.

  Somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lazy 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.