The Sins of Viscount Sutherland (19 page)

W
hile Claire willed for peace between them, it remained elusive. Gray hated the awkward silence that cropped up—hated it but knew not how to breach it.

So continued the divide.

Each night, Gray escorted her to their room. He often returned downstairs to his study. A maelstrom of longing swept through him.

Almost desperately he wished he could make her love him. Motherhood became her. She was lovelier than ever. There was an air of maturity about her. Sometimes he came close when she was nursing the babe, his gaze hungry. Her skin was creamy white and smooth, except where it was traced with veins. The naked expanse of her breast laid bare made desire burn inside him. The blood rushed to fill his loins. The need for fulfillment scorched his veins. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

He knew Claire was embarrassed, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. At other times he came up behind her while she worked at her sewing. He stared longingly down at the fragile skin of her nape, so fair and feminine. He wanted to kiss the velvety spot that flowed into her shoulders.

Awareness pounded through him. He had only made love to her three times, but once to completion. He chafed inside. At night sometimes he pulled her softness into his arms, her bottom sweetly cradled in the valley between his thighs. How he managed to restrain himself, he didn’t know. Did she know? He already knew that if he turned her, she would fit him perfectly.

He also knew that Claire had never expected that a baby would be conceived during their night together. Nor had he. A part of him used to wonder if she would hate their baby because he was the father. Not so now. She was entirely devoted to her daughter.

He thought of Lily. His soul burned inside whenever he did. And then it was as if his mind had been tainted. Guilt pricked him deeply. He’d loved her so much.

Loved her . . . while hating her for killing his son.

And what about Claire?

He wanted Claire past bearing. He yearned for her beyond measure. He wanted to plunge deep inside, to her very soul. He wanted her more than ever.

Did he love her?

The days that followed were far from easy. Each night, he gave Claire a chaste kiss on the cheek, hating that he’d insisted they sleep together. And so each night their bodies were warm and close. Each night he slept with her—

His heart in limbo.

What a fool he was.

Gray didn’t know how desperately Claire wanted to heal the breach with her husband. With each day that passed, she wanted it more. She wanted Gray to love her. To love their child and to carry another. She wanted a true marriage.

But she was afraid to love him. Afraid he might never give his heart again after his tortured past.

A part of her despaired.

Another part of her was determined.

At six weeks, Lexie began to take long naps in the late afternoon. Claire came down from the nursery after nursing her and rocking her to sleep.

One day, humming, she went outside to the rose garden to cut her favorite peach-colored roses for a bouquet. Their scent was particularly strong and sweet, and she wanted them for the bureau in her room.

In Gray’s room.

It struck her then that she had begun to think of the chamber as theirs . . . not simply Gray’s. Not simply hers, but theirs.

The thought made her pulse quicken.

What did it mean?

Her mind thus wondering when she returned, she crossed the room and placed the vase on the polished wood top, rearranging a few of them before she stepped back.

“There!” she said in satisfaction.

“Very pretty,” said a voice behind her.

Claire turned. Her husband surveyed her. He sat in the large wooden tub, his forearms extended along the sides, his shoulders wide, sleek and taut with muscle. Tiny droplets of water winked like jewels in the dark forest on his chest. The sight of him at any time was enough to shorten her breath.

The sight of him now, naked was enough to stop it in her breast.

Granted, he wasn’t totally nude. Well, he was, but not all of him was visible, thank heaven.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was breathless.

Gray arched a brow.

Her cheeks grew hot. “I mean, what are you doing here in the bath—in the middle of the afternoon,” she rushed to clarify.

“I was in the barn with the horses. I don’t think you’d want me at the dinner table smelling the way I do.”

“No.” She wet her lips, unaware how his gaze followed the tip of her moist, pink tongue. “I suppose not.”

She met his gaze, then averted her eyes.

“Oh, come, Claire, it’s no worse than the last bath we shared.” His eyes pinned hers. He leaned forward. “Will you wash my back? The sponge is on the table there.”

Her senses clamored an alert. Melting heat spread low in her middle. He was a presence that made her quiver inside.

Claire picked up the sponge but remained rooted to the spot. Her heart was clamoring wildly. Her fingers still clutched the sponge.

Gray caught her wrist. “Every moment you stay,” he said quietly, “is a moment that costs you—another moment I want you. And you know where play such as this will lead.”

She stood frozen in place.

“I see,” he said softly. “If you run, Claire, I’ll catch you, though I daresay the servants might be aghast at seeing the master chasing after his wife.”

Claire swallowed but remained where she was.

“Lock the door, sweet, and come here.”

She did as he asked.

“Your gown, Claire. Remove it, if you please.”

She lifted her fingers to the ribbons at her bosom. Her hands were shaking so that she fumbled with the ribbon, unable to untie it.

“Kneel down and I’ll help you.”

She did as he bade her. Lean male fingers parted the material and swept it from her shoulders. It seemed that, all at once, she was naked. But she was afraid she would fall while climbing into the bath. She felt shaky inside and out.

“Gray, I don’t know if I can—”

Water rushed down his body. A hand gripped hers, the other her waist. The instant she was in the tub, she sank down. She’d had one fleeting glimpse of his naked body before he lowered himself across from her.

There was no hiding his nakedness. There was no hiding the power of his form. There was no hiding his rod, rigid and thick and thrusting from the dark hairs at his pelvis.

She knelt between his thighs. Gray handed her the soap, marveling at his control. Quickly she began to soap his chest, loving the slight abrasive feel of the hair against her palm.

His chest rose and fell more quickly. He gritted his teeth. The feel of her small hands running over his skin, stroking, kneading, was almost heart-stoppingly arousing. Unwittingly she touched the clefted head of his rod. It leaped beneath her touch.

Into it.

The soap slipped from Claire’s fingers.

Now it was Gray’s turn.

His palms slick with soap, they slid over the mounds of her breasts, taking particular attention to her nipples. She made a soft, sweet ragged sound of need.

In one fluid move Gray stood. Water rushed down his body. He caught Claire’s waist and brought her upright, his hands splayed wide against her buttocks.

His chest expanded . . . and so did the proof of his desire. Against the part of him that swelled more with every breath, with every heartbeat.

They still stood in the bath, the water swirling around their calves. He pressed her against his length, twining his fingers in her hair and turning her face up to his. He caught her leg and dragged it around his hip. There was something raw and possessive in the way he kissed her, the way he held her. Her arms crept around his neck, sending his heart soaring. Gray couldn’t remember a time when he’d wanted a woman as much as he wanted Claire.

At last he lifted her from the tub. She clutched at him. He made a halfhearted effort to dry them with a length of toweling. They tumbled to the bed. If there was doubt, he swept it away with the heat of his passion. She sensed the fierceness in him and thrilled to it.

“Claire,” he whispered. Their mouths were but a breath apart, touching as he spoke. They lay face-to-face. Her hands imprisoned within his, Gray brought them down. “Touch me, Claire. Touch me now.”

His voice was strangely thick. She felt the muscles of his belly clench—he was so hot! Her body hummed, matching and meeting his fervor.

Over and over he kissed her mouth. With languorous exploration. With bone-deep sweetness, with bone-deep tenderness that melted her heart . . . and melted her against him.

His lips caught the tips of her breasts. Claire felt them swell into his mouth. With his tongue, he traced lazy circles from one breast to the other, down the valley of her chest, down her belly, clear to the fleece at the apex of her legs.

He did not stop, but kissed the inside of her thighs.

“Gray!” She lay open to him. Bare and open and . . . almost breathless with expectation.

“Let me, Claire. Let me in.”

With only his thumbs, he parted her cleft, with its pink, womanly flesh. A tremor went through her. She wasn’t quite sure of his intent but every sense inside clamored a warning.

She couldn’t look away as he parted her with his thumbs.

She couldn’t look away as he parted her with his lips.

She jerked at the first wash of his tongue, down furrowed flesh already damp, slick and hot with liquid heat. Quivering inside, she stared down at his dark head poised between her legs. He raised his head and gazed at her, his eyes burning.

“Let me, Claire. Let me.”

His voice was taut and ragged. Her shyness receded. A strange dark thrill ran through her. She felt wanton. Wicked. And she couldn’t look away as his tongue pressed the pearl of sensation hidden within . . . pressed and kissed her in an incredibly erotic caress.

She gasped. Pleasure exploded.

It didn’t end there.

Gray’s breath was hot and raspy. He raised himself over her. Her legs fell wide apart.

He thrust inside her.

He couldn’t hold back. There was no hope for it. He could feel her hunger and it aroused his passion to a fever pitch. He plunged, fierce and almost wild.

“Claire . . . I don’t want to hurt you . . .”

She caught his head in her hands. “You won’t. You don’t.”

Something gave way in her as Gray lunged, again and again. Her flesh clung to his, tightening—contracting—again and again. Release came in a blinding rush of sparks.

His fingers combed gently through her hair. “Claire,” he said. “Claire.” His mouth exquisitely tender, he kissed her.

T
here was a subtle change in Gray’s behavior after that. He no longer seemed so foreboding, so remote. They made love at night . . . and in the afternoon. In bed. On the floor. At first the passion he aroused in her was almost frightening. His lovemaking was fierce and explosive. It thrilled Claire as much as it frightened her. At other times he was exquisitely tender and protective.

When they were wrapped in each other’s arms, it was a time of discovery, a haven from all the chaos between them.

Claire wanted him more with every day.

She loved him more with every day.

Yet even as passion flamed, no words of love passed between them. She would not yield surrender when it was not returned. Her pride would not warrant it. Was it wrong for her husband to want her in equal measure? Oh, the feelings were there! The lights in his blue eyes turned a soft silver when they were together. But she wouldn’t give up hope. Not yet.

She could point the way. But she could not lead him to it. She
would
not lead him to it.

Claire awoke one morning to find her husband propped on his elbow. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you sleep.”

Her lips quirked. “How exciting.”

A slow grin edged across his mouth. “Indeed it will be. I am going to kidnap you, you see.”

They lay facing each other, now palm-to-palm. Fingertip-to-fingertip.

“That sounds . . . intriguing.”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Claire felt giddy inside. “You sinful, sinful man.”

He pulled her up to her feet. “Shall we bathe together again?”

Just then someone knocked on the door.

It was Rosalie with breakfast.

After feeding Lexie, she joined Gray downstairs a short while later. She raised her brows when one of the maids handed him a wicker basket.

“What is that?” she asked him.

“You’ve a short memory, m’lady. If you recall, I did once promise to kidnap you.”

Claire laughed. “You did kidnap me,” she pointed out. “At Clive’s house party.”

“Well, then, fair warning. I’m about to kidnap you again.”

His smile made her heart turn over.

Outside, Gray tucked the basket and a blanket into the space behind the seat of the gig. With a snap of the reins, they rolled forward.

A peaceful contentment settled over them as the gig rolled forward. But all at once there was a pang in her heart. She wanted more nights like the last. More days like this one.

A lifetime like this.

They stopped at the top of a rolling hill. It looked down across the valley where a stream gleamed in the sunlight. Gray threw out a blanket for them to sit. He unpacked wine and cheese, bread and fruit. Claire discovered she was famished.

Afterward, they packed the basket away and Gray returned to the blanket. He stretched out, pillowing his head in her lap. Claire stroked the hair from his forehead and drew a long breath, poised squarely between heaven and hell.

She wanted more days like this. She wanted a lifetime like this. What would it take for him to see her? What would it take for him to love her?

Gray frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She ducked her head, then gathered herself and summoned a smile. Reckless abandon came back in searing remembrance as she thought of the shockingly erotic way he sometimes made love to her.

She had wondered what it would be like to touch him in that way.

To taste him as he had tasted her.

When he would have swung up to face her, Claire stopped him with a slender hand upon his chest.

There was a faint puzzlement on his brow. “Claire . . . what are you doing?”

She gave a shake of her head. “You’ll see.”

Small hands wrested the buttons of his shirt. With her hands she parted it wide.

His breeches were next.

His belly clenched. He jerked as her hands slid beneath the waistband. Cloth parted at the urging of her fingers.

She knelt between his thighs.

Gray went very still. All but his rod—

Swollen stiff and erect.

Brazenly, she brushed the very tip of him, circling it with a fingertip.

Again. Yet again.

Slowly she leaned down.

There was a jagged intake of his breath. His heart surely stopped.

“Claire,” he said thickly.

Small fingertips closed around the root of him, a gentle but insistent guidance.

Gray couldn’t look away. She swirled her tongue on the inside skin of his thighs, as he had done with her.

He gritted his teeth, holding back a groan. How long would she taunt him? How long would she tease him?

Her hair slipped from its knot atop her head, trailing down over him, over them.

“Now,” he grated out. “Do it now.”

And she did. She laid her tongue against the most acutely sensitive part of him.

Warm, sweet breath swirled around his helm, that boldly arching tip of him, clear to the very root of him. She waited . . . waited endlessly, it seemed—

Air rushed from his lungs.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down at her. He watched the circle of her tongue, watched her fill her mouth, watched her tongue scale his length, gliding hot and slick over the cleft of his member. Licking. Tugging. Sucking.

He’d never dreamed she might indulge such blatant eroticism. But he couldn’t bear it if she stopped.

He liked it, indeed he whispered it over and over.

Powerful arms dragged her up and above him. “I want you in the dark. I want you in the day. I want you now.” He spoke the words that made her come all undone, a dark heated whisper.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he directed.

His gaze roved the delicate features upturned to his.

He kissed her with naked possessiveness. Her lips parted as she began to pant. The ivory column of her neck. Loving the tight feel of her passage as he lifted her, then plunged into her, again and again. Fierce. Explosive. The wet heat of her passage clamping hold of his flesh.

The world seemed to give way. Again and again he thrust into the sleek prison of her channel. Her breasts bobbed with every fiery plunge of his hips.

His features were strained, taut with need. His hands locked on her hips, lifting her ever higher, lunging ever deeper, ever frenzied and torrid.

She buried her face against his neck and cried out her release, a second after his. Her name trembled on his lips. “Claire,” he said hoarsely. “Do you know what you do to me?”

Claire was beyond speech.

One slim leg entwined between his. He caught her chin between his fingers. With lazy amusement, he echoed the sentiment that she had proclaimed earlier. “You sinful, sinful woman.”

Later they would both wonder how such a perfect day could possibly turn so brutal.

It was early evening, time for Lexie’s bedtime feeding. Claire usually fed her first, then went down for supper. Gray stood in the hall just outside the nursery door, looking in. Lexie was fussing in her cradle.

Gray didn’t move.

Claire shook her head. “What, sir! Are you afraid to pick up your own daught—”

She broke off. Her laughter died.

The strangest sensation crept through her. Everything inside her seemed to freeze.

Her tone turned very quiet. “Your daughter is crying, Gray. Will you not pick her up? Will you not hold her?”

Something surfaced in his eyes, something she couldn’t decipher. Something almost beyond comprehension.

No, she thought. No. She glimpsed half pain, half plea.

“You should feed her,” he said.

“Yes.” Claire walked toward the chair in the corner. There was a violent tug-of-war going on inside her. It was as if she were being pulled apart inside. “Will you bring her to me?”

He didn’t move.

“She’s crying, Gray. She wants to be held.”

He remained immobile.

A halo of pain began to encircle her chest. It was as if the strength of that emotion was strangling her.

Reeling, Claire searched her mind. “I just realized . . . I’ve never seen you hold her, Gray. Not once. I’ve never seen you touch her. Not once. You call her ‘the child.’ But she has a name. Your daughter has a name. Why don’t you use it?”

Perhaps Lexie sensed the discord between her parents. In her cradle, she cried harder. Claire snatched her up and sat in the chair in the corner. She began to rock forward and back.

“You’ll hurt her,” Gray said sharply.

Claire clutched her even closer.

Rocked her faster.

“You’ll smother her!”

“I told you once before I’m not like Lily!” she cried. “And I’m not! I would never harm my baby. Never!”

All that would quiet Lexie was her breast. With trembling fingers she loosened her bodice. Lexie latched frantically onto her nipple and began to suck.

The sudden silence was overwhelming. She was aware of Gray moving, standing over her.

How could she salvage her pride without risking her heart? Nothing in the world could ever hurt like this.

“I don’t mean to be cruel, truly I don’t! But William died at Lily’s hands. Not yours. You aren’t to blame for either of them. Don’t you know that?”

Lexie had fallen back to sleep, now oblivious of the battle between her parents. Claire deposited her in her cradle and turned back to Gray.

“Haven’t you blamed yourself long enough? Haven’t you punished yourself enough? You have to forgive yourself. You have to forgive Lily! I can’t make you. I—I can’t give you anything because you will take nothing. You want nothing! You turn me away, Gray. You push me away!”

His countenance was like a thundercloud. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Claire. Aren’t you forgetting Oliver? Aren’t you forgetting I took your brother’s life?”

“You’ve given me another life in return, Gray—our daughter. Don’t you see that?”

The silence seemed never-ending.

Wrenching pain tore through her. “We cannot live like this. I won’t. I don’t want Lexie cheated of a father’s love. I—I think it’s better if we go away now.”

“Don’t leave me, Claire.”

“Don’t make me!” she cried.

Her throat was thick with tears. Bitterness stole through her. All her angry hurt flooded out.

“You loved Lily and William. Why can’t you love me? Why can’t you love Lexie? Why can’t you love us?”

They were shattering, those words—

Just like her heart.

And agony for both of them.

“Gray! Don’t you see, you’re tearing me apart! I can’t live with ghosts between us.”

She meant Oliver. She meant Lily. She meant William.

An icy shroud of despair descended. There was so much tumult inside her, she could scarcely bear it. She understood his pain, in an anguished kind of way. But it didn’t eclipse her own, and the rawness of her heart etched a bitter scar upon her soul.

“I will not live with only a part of you. I want all of you . . . or none at all.”

Gray’s mouth twisted. “What do you see when you look at me? At the man who killed your brother?”

Claire did not speak.

“Answer me!”

“I no longer see the man who killed my brother. Once—once I did. Once that was all I could see. But not any longer. I’ve let go of Oliver. But so must you. Let go of Lily and William, or they’ll haunt you forever.”

His voice was gritty. “You didn’t answer, Claire. Tell me. What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see the man I married. The father of my daughter.”
The man I love. Oh, don’t you know you have another child,
she longed to cry!
You have Lexie! You have me.

A burning ache stung her throat.

“I want more nights with you, Gray. I want more days like today.”

The cords in his neck stood taut. He spoke not a word.

“How can you do this?” she almost screamed. “You don’t love me. You don’t even love Lexie!”

“That’s not true. Of course I love her.”

“I want to go home,” she sobbed.

“You are home. This is your home. My home. Our daughter’s home.”

“It’s a prison—and you’re trapped here with Lily and William!” The truth was like a stab in the heart.

“I want to go home,” she said again. “Home to Wildewood. I cannot live like this. I won’t! Let me go, Gray. Let me go!”