The Sins of Viscount Sutherland Read Free

vowed. He would pay for Oliver Ashcroft’s murder.
    She would see to it.
    It was time to begin in earnest. Time to put her plan in motion.
    By heaven, the game was on.
    Two men stood next to each other on the fringes of the ballroom. One possessed hair as dark as blackened ink, the other but a shade lighter. When standing, they were evenly matched in height and build. The pair had been friends since attending Eton together. And now here they were, two of the so-called four Lords of Sheffield Square.
    They were womanizers, all, but the duke was indeed a particularly coveted prize. Despite his horrid reputation, matchmaking mamas steered their daughters toward Clive Fielding, Duke of Braddock, eager to gain the prize of marrying a rich, handsome duke. It seemed they would overlook his reputation.
    Which quite suited Viscount Grayson Sutherland. Many a miss thrilled to a glance from the viscount, but their matchmaking mamas were quite horrified. They shooed their daughters far distant. Gray cared not that his manner was called beastly. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest that he was not considered a “suitable” match. Once . . . once he had been a coveted prize indeed—
    So much had changed since then, for now with the women he sought out—and the women who sought him out—there existed a mutual understanding. Each sought the carnal pleasures of the flesh, no more, no less.
    All sought amusement in the arms of each other.
    And now two male gazes had fastened appreciable eyes on the woman who stood near the edge of the dance floor. A beauty he’d never seen before.
    Gray couldn’t take his eyes from the lovely lady in pale green silk. Her hair was a rich chestnut, gathered in a chignon that set off the slim length of her neck. The sweep of her shoulders rose bare and creamy and silky above her neckline. He watched as the woman raised a hand to tuck back a stray hair that had escaped from her chignon. He caught the flash of gold. A ring.
    On her right hand.
    One corner of his mouth curled up. His eyes flickered in satisfaction.
    Clive followed the direction of Gray’s regard.
    “The lady has captured your attention, I see.”
    A smile creased Gray’s lips. She had indeed.
    “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her,” said Clive.
    “Nor have I,” Gray murmured. He hadn’t yet taken his eyes off the lady. “I believe she warrants closer examination.”
    “Well, then, if you do not take the first step,” Clive said softly, “then I shall.”
    “I think not, my friend. You have a weakness for blondes. And I should hate to see us quarrel over a woman.”
    “Ah, never that,” Clive said with an arch of one black brow. He paused. “Well, man, what are you waiting for?”
    “Indeed.”
    He advanced. Halfway across the room, he felt a hand on his arm. Glancing down, he saw that it was his mother who waylaid him.
    He stopped and gave a low bow. “Mama.”
    Despite her fragile demeanor, her pale-perfect complexion, Charlotte Sutherland could be an intimidating presence. Still strikingly attractive, her hair was dark as her son’s, shot through with only a smattering of gray.
    Vivid blue eyes the color of his flashed. “I know your intention, Gray. I saw you and Clive eyeing that young woman.” She waved a hand toward where the lady stood.
    His mother was nothing if not direct.
    She pulled him to an outside wall. “She is young, Gray, too young for you.”
    “What,” he drawled, “have I joined the realm of the ancients at the age of three-and-thirty?”
    “I will not countenance your ruination of that woman.”
    One black brow climbed high. “I but admire a woman who has been blessed with nature’s beauty. And you don’t seem to have noticed, Mama, but that woman is a widow. She wears her ring on her right hand, but I would wager she’s broken many a man’s heart before she ever wed.”
    “Where are the rest of your profligate friends?”
    “Ah. I assume you mean the duke?”
    “You know very