The Sins of Viscount Sutherland (10 page)

H
ow she made it to the baptismal font, Claire was never quite certain. Upheaval raged inside her. Penelope and Theo had stepped to the font, Merry in Pen’s arms. Penelope didn’t lift her eyes to her. Oh, but she knew why! If Pen had told her they asked Gray to godparent Merry, what would she have done? Refused? She would have wanted to, oh, most assuredly! But Penelope was her dearest friend. She could never have refused her.

Either way, it didn’t matter. The moment was upon her. She must make the best of it.

But she couldn’t stop her knees from knocking. For one perilous moment her legs threatened to betray her. Sheer will kept her upright. Sheer will—and Gray’s fingers cutting into the flesh of her waist.

When it was time for her and Gray to confirm their role as godmother and godfather to Merry, she managed to speak them, if not loudly, then at least evenly.

A final blessing—and it was over. Hugs were exchanged all around.

Except for the two new godparents.

The reception was due to begin immediately after the ceremony. Once Claire was in the carriage with the parents, Penelope passed Merry to Theo. Leaning forward, she took Claire’s hands in both her own.

“Claire,” she said, “it was terrible of me, I know. If you had asked after our choice for godfather, I should have told you. But you didn’t and . . . and I could not take the chance you would refuse if you knew we had asked Gray. We love you. Merry will love you. I always knew I would have you as godmother to our first child. We have much to be thankful for, and thankful to him as well.”

“Merry might not be here if it weren’t for the two of you,” said Theo. “You and the viscount. Penelope and I knew, almost from the start, that we would ask him to stand as Merry’s godfather. We wanted to recognize his part in saving Pen and Merry’s life. And, well, here we all are.”

Claire squeezed Penelope’s hands. “I’m not angry, Pen. You know I would never refuse you anything.”

The reception afterward was a joyous, happy affair attended by friends and family. Claire saw several startled glances slide to Gray. Undoubtedly his appearance was unexpected. One did not equate Viscount Sutherland with virtues like faith and family. Out of love for her friend, Claire had decided to accept his role. Out of love for her friend, she would be civil.

She stepped out to the garden and seated herself on a small stone bench under a tree. With her handkerchief, she blotted the moisture from her forehead and the back of her neck. All at once she felt overly warm, and a trifle light-headed.

She didn’t know that piercing blue eyes had seen her slip outside. Gray, watching her, debated himself for an instant, then followed her.

Claire feigned an expression of great surprise. “What! You are still here, sir?”

Gray’s jaw grew tight. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” he said almost curtly.

“Come now,” she said crisply. “You have put in the requisite appearance. Now that you have, I would have thought you’d have taken your leave already.”

Gray folded his arms across his chest.

“My leave to do what?”

She gave a trilling laugh. “Why, whatever endeavor a gentleman like you would pursue.”

“A gentleman like me,” he repeated. “And what might that be?” His tone was silky.

Claire’s chin came up. “Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

The little witch, he thought.

“Speculate.”

She stood. “I think not!”

One side of his mouth went up. God, she was beautiful. His pulse began to clamor. The mere sight of her did that to him. Her haughtiness—her spirit—kindled his own. And all of a sudden he felt . . . alive, as he hadn’t for weeks.

“Ah, Claire,” he said with a shake of his head. “After the intimacies we have shared, we can surely be honest with each other. What activities do you imagine I might be about at this hour of the day?”

He was enjoying baiting her.

Her chin came up. “Very well, then,” she snapped. “You would doubtless be pursuing whatever dissolute afternoon pursuits you pursue with your equally dissolute friends.”

“Are they the same as one’s morning pursuits?”

“I wouldn’t know—”

His eruption of laughter cut her off. “I beg to differ. Must I recount—”

She turned her head. Gray was but a hairbreadth away. “No,” she said, her voice low and choked. “There is no need. And now I would like to rejoin the others.”

Satisfaction glittered in his eyes.

Claire started to step past him. All at once she stopped. Something flickered across her face. A slender hand groped for his sleeve.

“Oh, my.”

Gray bit off an impatient exclamation. “For pity’s sake, Claire, let us both cry off! We’ve done this before, as you recall. So please, cease your histrionics.”

She did not answer.

Almost in slow motion, her knees began to buckle.

“Claire . . . Claire! What the devil—”

He caught her halfway to the ground.

The next thing Claire was aware of were strong, capable hands sliding beneath her and lifting her high.

“Can you hear me?”

It was Gray, his tone insistently prodding. She guided him upstairs to the guest chamber she occupied.

Claire’s senses were swimming. Her belly protested the luncheon she’d eaten. When Gray laid her down on the chaise near the window, she very nearly lost it.

“Claire!”

Gray was leaning over her.

“What’s wrong with you?” He was scowling fiercely. “I don’t know what you’re about, Claire, but if this is a ploy to invoke my sympathy—”

Claire gasped. “What!” she cried.

“I’m not a fool. This may have worked once, but it won’t a second time.”

She knocked his hand away, so furious she was shaking.

“I don’t want to see you again, Grayson Sutherland. I don’t want you near me. Not ever again.”

Gray’s entire frame had gone rigid. He got to his feet, his mouth curling. “I see we understand each other then, don’t we?”

“Go to hell!” she cried.

His mouth twisted. Dear God, he thought, he was already there.

Claire’s illness was brief. By the time she arrived home at Wildewood, it was as if she’d never been ill.

Yet before the week was out, she sickened yet again.

Like the other time, it was short-lived. She was on her feet the next morning. And then it happened again.

Lawrence brought bread his cook had made, still warm from the oven. He brought fresh vegetables from the garden, fish from the stream.

And heaven help it—the sight of several fish still on the line reminded her of the day at the duke’s estate when she and Gray had gone fishing. She recalled how cocky Gray was about his ability to teach her his skill—

Something pierced her breast. How she had laughed at him!

She saw Lawrence daily now. He made no demands of her—he had yet to kiss her again, but she knew what he was doing.

Courting her.

She couldn’t help it. One day a part of her cried out . . . What if it was Gray instead of Lawrence who was courting her? She recalled the night of the play, how Gray had taken her back to his town house, the way he’d filled his drawing room with flowers. They drank wine . . . and they talked about seduction. What was it he’d said?

God,
he’d muttered against the corner of her mouth.
I’ve been waiting to do that all day.

He hadn’t disguised his intent. And somehow she couldn’t imagine Lawrence employing such seductive ways. Somehow she couldn’t imagine Lawrence embracing her in that hot, masterful way Gray had. Gray’s kiss had gone on and on and on—

No. She couldn’t allow herself to think of Gray.

Yet she knew the time would come when she had no choice.

Lawrence escorted her home one day after church services. “Claire”—they had grown comfortable enough to freely call each other by their given names—“my cook makes the best Yorkshire puddings in the county. I do believe it’s true. Come join me for Sunday dinner today. I hate taking meals alone.”

Claire, too, was aware how lonely meals could be.

She protested one day when he insisted on her riding on his gig back to Wildewood. “Lawrence,” she told him as he lifted her from the gig, “I’m not an invalid.”

“I want to take care of you, Claire. I want you to lean on me.” His hands remained on her waist. “You know that, don’t you?”

She sucked in a breath.

“I know we have not known each other so very long, but I grow impatient. I feel in my heart that this is right.” He took her hand in his. “Will you marry me, Claire?”

There was a huge lump in her throat. She knew she must be honest with him.

“Lawrence, you are a dear, dear man, and I enjoy your company. Indeed, I have come to treasure it. But I must be truthful . . . Lawrence,” she said gently, “I am not in love with you.”

“Perhaps love will come later,” he said. “I will give you time after we wed. I will demand nothing from you.”

Claire bit her lip. “There is more,” she said, her tone very low.

“I doubt you will change my mind, Claire.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Lawrence, I am expecting a child.”

When she had slept with Gray, there was no thought as to the possibility. At first she didn’t want to believe it. But when her belly began to swell, she could deny it no longer.

She was surprised, in fact, that Lawrence had not guessed. If one looked closely, the mound of her belly was small—but it grew more with each day.

For the first time, she made the admission.

She was carrying Gray’s child.

“Ah,” said Lawrence. “I sensed that something in your past had hurt you. I accept you as you are, Claire. I think we can provide each other friendship and camaraderie through the years to come. I will raise your child as if it were my own.”

Perhaps it was better this way, she thought later that night. At least her child would have a father.

She gave him her answer the next day. “You are a dear man, Lawrence. And . . . I will marry you.”

Lawrence leaned forward and kissed her. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, longer than their first. Claire kept her eyes closed, waiting—praying—for something akin to longing.

There was nothing. Neither pleasure nor displeasure. Perhaps it was better this way.

So began her plans to be wed.

P
enelope and Theo were having breakfast in the morning room when Penelope opened her latest letter from Claire. They corresponded often.

My dearest Penelope,

I hope this letter will find you, Theo, and little Merry in the best of health. The weather here is bright with sunlight, but soon all the leaves will come down. Already it begins to grow ever so cold . . .

Penelope smiled, then read on:

I have news you may find rather startling . . . but you needn’t worry so about me, dearest Penelope.

Penelope’s eyes went huge. No, she breathed. Oh, it cannot be.

The letter finished:

The ceremony will take place at two o’clock on Friday, here at Wildewood. There is a need for haste, you see. Of course I do not expect you to journey to Wildewood on such short notice, and certainly not with little Merry. But I know you will be with me in spirit.

Your friend always,

Claire

The paper fluttered to the table.

Theo took one look at his wife’s pale face and leaped up. “Pen, good heavens. Whatever is the matter?”

“Order the carriage!” she cried. “Hurry, Theo! Every moment counts!”

“Pen, what the deuce is going on?”

Penelope shook her head as if to clear it. Her mind raced. “Claire is getting married. We must find the viscount. Oh, Theo, we must hurry!” There was a good chance that Claire would be furious with her . . . there was no certainty the viscount would even care.

At his wife’s request, Theo went to see if he could locate the viscount at his home in Sheffield Square. He was not. Despite the early hour, Theo found him at White’s, just leaving the gaming table for a table in the corner with the Duke of Braddock.

“Come!” he greeted Theo upon seeing him. “Come join us and I’ll buy you a brandy, man!”

Theo discerned that both Sutherland and Braddock had indulged in a number of brandies already. He shook his head. “No, Sutherland, do not sit down! I must implore you to come with me at my wife’s behest.”

“Your wife! Why should she should wish to see me?”

Theo didn’t tell him Penelope had received a letter from Claire. Doubtless, the news of Claire’s marriage was behind Penelope’s urgent summons.

“I have been instructed to bring you with me no matter what the means,” said Theo. He eyed the viscount.

“Well, at the very least, you’ve piqued my interest.” The slash of Gray’s eyebrows climbed high.

Half an hour later the two men climbed the stairs to Theo’s town house. Penelope was in the drawing room with Merry in her arms. She passed the child to her nurse when they entered.

“Please be seated, my lord.” Penelope waved the viscount to a chair. Theo moved to stand near the fireplace. “I hope you will forgive my hasty summons, but I have had word from Claire that I think you may wish to hear.”

“Mrs. Grove,” he said stiffly, “you are mistaken. There is nothing that concerns Claire that can be of interest to me.”

“You are wrong, my lord.” Penelope’s voice rang with conviction. She folded her hands in her lap. Despite his always impeccable dress, he looked horrible. Good! she thought.

Gray’s tone was cool. “My dear Mrs. Grove, aside from sharing roles as godparents to little Merry, Claire and I have no further dealings beyond that, nor will we.”

“You may change your mind,” she said levelly.

“I think not. You are no doubt aware that our last meeting did not end particularly amicable.” His tone was faultlessly polite.

“And you are surely aware that I know everything about the two of you—Oliver’s death . . . your part in it . . . Claire’s plan for vengeance. I am not proud of it, but I aided her.”

“Indeed.”

He had assumed a rather bored expression.

“I don’t think you heard me, my lord. I know everything about the two of you.”

He inclined his head. “Yes, I heard you.”

“Everything,”
Penelope stressed.

She’d given him pause. There!

“You should go to her.”

Gray gave a biting laugh. “If you know ‘everything,’ then you know that I am the last man in the world she will want to see again.”

“I would not interfere—”

“Pray, do not.”

“—only I think perhaps Claire may not be acting . . . in her best interests.” Or yours, Penelope thought. She had the feeling Claire would be furious with her.

“That is not my affair.”

Penelope felt like hurtling something at him. “You try to hide it, but you’re a good man. If I didn’t believe that, I would never have asked you to be a part of my child’s life. And . . . oh, it is not my place to tell you what to do! but I will say it again . . . you should go to her.”

The viscount got to his feet.

Penelope took a huge breath.

“She’s getting married,” said Penelope. “At two o’clock. On Friday.”

“I wish her well.”

“You stupid fool,” she said fiercely. “If you don’t go now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Do you hear me? Do you understand? The rest of your life!”

His eyes flickered. “I have obligations here,” he said stiffly. “Perhaps at some point—”

“No,” she said. “Now.”

Gray looked at her sharply.

“If you don’t, it’ll be too late.”

Gray was exhausted. He’d ridden all night in order to arrive here at the village of Wildewood by two o’clock. A farmer several miles back had given him directions to the Ashcroft home. As he passed the town square, he wondered again why Penelope had been so adamant. He shouldn’t have cared. He didn’t care.

So why was he on his way to Claire’s home?

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
dis
pleasure. 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.