The Sins of Viscount Sutherland Read Free Page B

mother. Not Clive. Always, the pain remained. It never left him, no matter how he tried to close it away. And he did try to close it off. With drink. With women. But his pain left him in bondage. It put him in bondage to the past. And no matter how hard he tried, it never left. Why couldn’t he be numb inside?
    In that instant, he resented his mother—resented her fiercely!—for making him feel like this.
    “Gray! Oh, dearest! Where is the man you once were? I don’t understand—”
    “Precisely,” he said with lips that barely moved. “You do not understand.”
    “Then help me. Help me to understand! I want you to be happy. Oh, Gray, I know you lost what was so precious to you—”
    Gray’s tone was brittle. “I pray you, Mama, cease this lecture.”
    Charlotte’s gaze turned as icy as his. “You use cynicism to mask your pain, Gray. That I do understand, so you do not fool me. I know better.” She drew herself up to her full height. “Now, I shall take my leave.”
    Gray cupped her elbow. “May I have a footman call your coach for you?”
    “You may consider me old, but I remain quite capable.”
    With his mother gone, Gray’s gaze returned to the woman who had captured his attention. She was still there, standing by an ivory pillar. He found her intriguingly contrary. She was tall, but there was a delicate air about her. Slender, but he sensed a woman of fire on the inside. He found himself gripped by raw, physical desire. He imagined her naked.
    Her legs, he had already noted, would be slim and long, long enough to wrap around his waist. The thought made his rod swell. And beneath the neckline of her gown, her breasts promised an enticing fullness. He imagined what they looked like, smoother porcelain flesh filling his palm. A dark stab of desire settled in his gut. The prospect of finding her beneath him, his legs parting her wide as he settled over her, made his rod tighten; he relished the idea of finding out for himself. And when he did, he would pleasure her again and then again.
    Her profile was exquisite as well, small, perfect nose and long-lashed eyes. She turned his way then, and Gray sucked in a breath. Christ, she was beautiful. His reaction was immediate. Intense. Once again his eyes slid over her.
    She did not shirk. She did not flinch from his scrutiny. Indeed, the chit evaluated him with an appraisal just as bold as his.
    Precisely the response Claire wanted.

Chapter Two
    H is gaze was so intense she felt scorched by it. Something burned in his eyes, something that nearly stopped the breath in her chest. She fought back a swell of panic, feeling a blush heat her cheeks. She couldn’t help it. Her heart pounded a rhythm so fast she feared she might swoon.
    All around was the chatter of guests. Lights shimmered overhead. Jewels flashed. But all that faded into nothingness when he stepped up before her with a bow.
    “Madame, do I know you?”
    Oh, no doubt he considered himself clever. The question gave him segue to engage her in conversation. He did not swagger, but moved with effortless grace.
    He wasn’t what Claire expected. He was so exceptionally tall that she had to tilt her head back to meet his regard. His nose was long and thin—and arrogant, she decided. His eyes—blue, they were, like pale frost—were a stark contrast to hair and brows as dark as a night with no moon.
    She’d not anticipated a man with looks like a god. A man so striking he surely surpassed every other man present. Damn, damn, damn! How she wished he looked a troll. Indeed, she had imagined a troll.
    Indeed, she had thought Oliver’s killer would look like the monster he was.
    “I don’t believe so, sir.” She felt as if she were shaking inside, yet her voice was composed. She mustered her dignity, marveling that she had so readily summoned the ability to speak. “Why do you think we are acquainted?”
    “Yours is a face not to be soon forgotten. On the contrary, in fact.”
    “You flatter me,