The Sins of Viscount Sutherland (12 page)

And Gray couldn’t know that Clive hoped he would finally confront his demons.

“Go home, Gray. Go home and tend to the business of your life. Little one on the way or no, many a man would envy your position. She’s a damned beautiful woman, my friend.”

Gray’s mouth tightened. He raised his glass high with false heartiness. “Well, then, to wedded bliss. Wedded bliss with the woman who despises her husband above all else.”

He drained his glass.

C
laire threw herself into her new life and home with resolve. In all but the main rooms, furniture had been covered with sheets. It was as if all had been held suspended—left in a state of limbo. Her days were busily spent instructing the staff and taking charge of the household.

It was also the holiday season. The Yule log was cut and carried in, lit on the twelfth day before Christmas. Brightwood was abrim with something the Sutherland household had not seen for many a month.

Laughter.

There had been too much pain this last year, so little to lift her spirits. But now it was enchanting, she decided, the house decorated with ribbons and wreaths and greenery. Fir boughs filled the air with the scent of Christmas. It lifted Claire’s spirits.

With the presence of a husband or not, she was determined to celebrate the holidays and welcome the new year with gusto.

And the wonder of new life.

For with the advent of the new year would come the birth of her child. Next year she’d be cradling her babe in her arms. She placed her hand over the growing mound of her belly.

“I’m waiting for you, little one. I’m waiting.”

A letter arrived from Lawrence, an inquiry as to her health. Claire wrote back, a very brief note to say she had happily settled into her role as wife and prospective mother.

She didn’t know when her husband would return to his country estate—or even if he would. Truth be told, she reiterated stoutly, she didn’t care if he ever did.

Hah!

There was a surprise visit one day from a physician, Dr. Kennedy, a bewhiskered man who walked with a cane.

It grated a bit, for Gray had surely sent him. If he wanted to know how she was, then he could come see for himself!

“Has all been well with you, my lady?” The doctor’s eyes and manner were kind.

Claire nodded.

He looked her up and down.

“You appear well, m’dear. Have you felt the child move yet?”

Claire blinked. She couldn’t imagine a life moving inside her.

“I confess I wouldn’t know even if he did.”

The doctor laughed. “Just so you are aware, many women say it feels like the flutter of a butterfly.”

Claire looked doubtful.

“It will doubtless be soon,” he said. “If this little one is like his father, he’ll be a fine, strapping lad. His mother was convinced he would be a giant—and from the look of her, it looked to be true!”

Claire was aghast at his frankness.

“Now then. I fully expect your well-being, madam, but I will return in a month or so. Summon me if you feel that all is not well.”

Later in the day, she was just coming down the grand staircase when Mrs. Henderson opened the doors. There was a sudden rush of air.

Claire’s heart lurched. For an instant she thought her eyes deceived her.

It was Gray. Considering that he said nothing about returning, she was surprised to see him.

And, heaven above, seeing him made her heart catch oddly.

He removed his hat, gloves, and overcoat and handed them to Mrs. Henderson.

He looked up. “Claire! There you are, my love.”

My love?
She almost rolled her eyes.

He was dressed in vest, jacket, trousers, and boots. Her breath caught as she took in his appearance. Of a sudden, the air seemed filled with his presence, vitality, and power.

His gaze had yet to leave her face. Claire was starkly aware of it. She stood near a table of flowers to the left of the stairway. Gray stood halfway across the entrance hall.

“It occurs to me I’ve been remiss. We’ve yet to share our first kiss as husband and wife, haven’t we?”

Claire’s chin came up. “Do not mock me.”

“I do not mock you. Now come. Kiss your husband.”

Her lips pressed into a straight line. She remained where she was.

“I’ll count to ten, Claire.”

Her stomach clenched. Doubt crowded her mind. What was this devil about?

Gray crossed to where she stood. “Time’s up,” he said softly.

Her lashes closed. Their lips touched. Did she lean forward? Or did he?

His mouth was warm. Not demanding, but persuasive. Oh, so persuasive!

She pulled back. Her breath came in soft pants.

His gaze settled on her lips. “You’ve also not yet welcomed me home, Claire.”

“Oh, stop!”

His hands had settled on her waist. Claire flushed. Her waist had thickened since they’d last seen each other.

His mouth closed over hers anew. This kiss was longer. It deepened until his tongue traced her lips. Her senses hummed.

Once again she was the one who pulled back.

His gaze had yet to leave her face. “Another,” he said softly.

Her lips parted. “What? Again?”

He gestured toward the ceiling. Claire looked up.

They stood beneath a sprig of mistletoe. It flitted through her mind that she must have it removed.

And then every thought fled as sparks showered through her. It felt so good, this kiss . . .
his
kiss.

She was acutely aware of the quickening rise and fall of her breast. His mouth still claimed hers. This was the longest, the best, the sweetest kiss of all. There was a spinning sensation; Claire instinctively clutched at his jacket.

“Careful.” His voice was husky in her ear.

Her throat was bone dry.

“Why are you here, Gray?”

“This is my home.”

“Oh, bother!” she said. “You gave me no indication when you would be back, if ever.”

“I apologize.” Those intensely blue eyes seemed to scour her features. “No more episodes?”

“Episodes?”

“Have you been well?”

“Yes.” She paused. “And what if I had not?” Stupid woman, why had she said that?

“I would have come straightaway.”

Liar.
Her gaze slid to his. He lifted a brow, as if in remonstrance. Beyond that, his expression gave nothing away. How could he be so composed?

“I confess, Claire, I thought you would have let me know how you fared.”

“And I thought you would let me know if you ever intended to return.”

“Touché. It seems I’ve not married a quiet little sparrow, have I?”

She trembled, still flooded with the taste of him, the woodsy smell of him. Oh, but it made no sense! All at once he made her feel safe and protected, in a way that had never happened before. She wasn’t in need of protection, dammit!

She mustn’t allow herself to be thus swayed. Only a fool would do so.

“The servants said you hadn’t been home in several years. I understand that’s when your wife died. I know such things can be difficult.”

Gray’s jaw went tight. He wasn’t ready to discuss Lily yet. And how dare she pretend to know what was inside him. How dare she pretend to know what he’d endured.

Claire had noticed his withdrawal. She sensed him closing her out.

“Today is Christmas Eve, Gray. I arranged for the servants to leave early, so they can spend it with their families.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“It was a tradition we upheld at ho—” She caught herself. “My family upheld every year.”

“You needn’t be defensive.” He smiled slightly. “We’ve always done much the same.”

She needn’t be defensive, he said. But she couldn’t help it. One month they had been wed. And she knew no more of him than she had the day they married.

Not surprising, considering the circumstances of their marriage. Claire ignored the nagging little voice in her mind.

His gaze scanned her features. Claire felt herself flush.

“You look tired,” he said softly. “Why don’t you rest for a while?”

“Oh, no,” she protested, “I couldn’t. That would be rude.”

He had already taken her arm and turned toward the staircase. “You forget, I’m not a guest. You hardly need entertain the master in his house. In fact, if you don’t go, Claire, I vow I’ll put you to bed myself. Yes. Why, perhaps I should carry you—”

Put her to bed!? Claire’s eyes widened. She stepped out of reach. “There’s no need,” she said quickly. “I am on my way.”

His gaze followed her all the way to the landing. Claire stopped there, unable to resist glancing back.

He was staring up at her with penetrating eyes. No sign of a smile broke his lips; it was somehow disturbing, that expression. She fled down the hall to her room.

She lay down on the chaise lounge near the window. She hadn’t thought to sleep at all, but drifted off almost as soon as she closed her eyes.

She woke much later to the sound of her name. “Wake up, Claire, or it will soon be morning.”

It was Gray. Her thoughts still murky with sleep, it gave her a start to find him sitting on the edge of the chaise.

There was a light coverlet over her.

Who had put it there? Gray? Rosalie? No. It was Gray. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did.

The thought of him watching her sleep was disconcerting.

She sat up quickly. Wisps of hair had slipped from her chignon. She tried to tuck them back with her fingers. No success. They escaped once more.

Gray reached out. He pulled out several pins and inserted them again, taming the unruly strands with brisk efficiency.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Perhaps I should hire on as your maid.”

Claire felt herself color, unsure of what to say.

Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. Memory flooded her, a scorching revival of the way Gray had touched her that night—and where he had touched her. There had been so much promise. But then came that rending invasion. She wondered if she would ever be able to face him without remembering.

Nor was she the only one who thought of that night with scorching intensity. Gray was all at once reminded how tight and small she was in that instant he planted himself deep inside her.

“Supper is awaiting us in the dining room.” He offered his arm.

A light supper was laid out on the sideboard. When both were finished, the dishes were removed. Gray summoned the servants, then dismissed them. They left, all but Mrs. Henderson, who had been granted the next few days off instead.

They moved to the drawing room. Claire poured tea for herself, while Gray had port. After stirring the fire, he set aside the poker and his glass, then moved to the sofa where she sat. He pulled a small, beribboned box from his breast pocket.

“Happy Christmas,” he said.

Claire blinked.

“Open it.”

She didn’t want to. Something bitter washed over her; she couldn’t help it. A gift? Was this his way of making up for Oliver’s death? Theirs was certainly no ordinary marriage.

With a fingertip, she opened the catch.

Nestled on a bed of red velvet was a diamond necklace. It was breathtaking, flashing and gleaming as it caught the lamplight in myriad colors.

“Do you like it?”

She touched the dazzling stones. Beautiful as they were, they felt . . . cold. Just as her smile felt . . . cold.

She couldn’t explain why—or perhaps she could. Throughout the day, she’d been keenly aware that this was her first holiday without her father and Oliver, now more so than ever.

“I have no gift for you,” she said.

“I expected none.” His eyes came up to catch hers. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. It’s quite the most striking piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen.”

“Let me put it on.” He reached for it.

Her hand touched her throat. “Oh, no, no. I fear I’m not dressed for it.”

For the life of her, she didn’t know why she said that. All at once her eyes were so dry they almost hurt. No doubt Gray would probably mistake her reluctance for disdain.

Claire touched it. “I . . . Thank you. I did not expect such a beautiful gift.” The mood had turned awkward. But all at once there was a commotion at the front doorway. She rose and followed Gray to the entrance hall.

A small, petite woman whisked through the door. “There you are, my darling!” she sang out. “Happy Christmas!”

“Mother.” Gray took her hand and kissed it. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Where else would I be? It’s Christmas. And I’ve yet to greet my new daughter-in-law.” She reached for Claire and kissed her on her cheek. “I do hope you’ll forgive me, child. I’d have been here much sooner, except I picked up the most wretched illness when I arrived back in London. But now I am here, and . . . welcome to the family, my dear!”

Claire thought Gray’s mother—who insisted that she call her Mother Charlotte—as beautiful as she was vivacious. There was a marked resemblance between mother and son. Her dark hair was the same color as Gray’s, streaked with only a small bit of silver.

“Just think, children, next year we’ll have a little one to light up our lives.”

So. Charlotte knew that she was with child.

A lump lodged in her throat. She didn’t dare look at Gray. At least someone in the family was glad of the baby.

“Come, children. I’ve gifts for both of you.”

There was a pair of ear bobs for Claire, a new chain for Gray’s watch—and a dozen tiny little caps and gowns for the baby.

Claire was about to express her regrets, for she had no gift for his mother either. But then Gray left and came back with a beribboned box for his mother. He presented it to her with a flourish.

“From Claire and I,” he said.

Charlotte opened the lid and exclaimed. “Oh, children, you shouldn’t have!” She lifted a mink hat from the box.

Gray directed his gaze to Claire. “You’ll find my mother likes to receive gifts as much as she likes to give them.”

“And that’s as it should be.”

“You’ll also find my mother is quite taken with hats.”

“A woman can never have too many gowns or jewelry or hats,” Charlotte announced. “When you are past your confinement, Claire, nothing would give me more pleasure than to take you shopping in London. I’ve just discovered a new milliner. You won’t mind, will you, darling?”

“So long as you do not garb my wife in peacock feathers,” Gray said dryly. “They look quite ridiculous.”

My wife
. How strange that sounded.

“You see?” Charlotte laughed. “You don’t fool me, Gray. You are just like your father. He was ever so generous when it came to opening his pocketbook for his wife’s pleasure.”