Never in his life would Gray forget Claire’s stricken cry. Ice ran through his veins. Terror filled him, a frantic terror that he would never forget in all his days.

Claire was white as mist. She was bent protectively over her middle.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m bleeding,” she cried. “I’m bleeding!”

Gray had already noticed the growing pool on the carpet. Her knees gave way. Swearing violently, he caught her and swung her shaking form high in his arms. “Hold tight to me, love, hold tight.”

He called for the servants, who soon scurried to and fro. One dashed for clean sheets, another with a message for the stables. Rosalie spread a blanket over her bed and helped Gray to disrobe her. A messenger tore out the front gates to summon Dr. Kennedy.

“It’s too soon,” Claire sobbed. “It’s too soon. He should not come for over a month.”

“Ah, and what if this wee one is a girl?” Gray tried to tease as he helped Tina pull a nightgown into place. They wadded clean cloths and packed them between her legs to staunch the bleeding.

“It’s a boy. The firstborn is always a boy.”

Now was not the time to debate the point, Gray decided.

She flung out her hands. “Gray?”

“I’m here, sweet one.”

“Please. Don’t leave me.”

“I’m here, Claire. Feel me.” With one hand he stroked her cheek to quiet her, the line of her jaw. He squeezed her hand, cupped possessively in his.

When Dr. Kennedy arrived, he banished everyone from the room to examine Claire.

“All of you, out. Let me have a look at my patient.”

Gray didn’t budge.

The doctor peered at him over his spectacles. “My lord? It’s been my observation that husbands do not cope well in situations such as this.”

Gray set his teeth. “I’m the one paying your fee, Doctor, and I am not leaving.”

“Very well, then.” He frowned his disapproval. “You may stay, but sit across the room there and don’t interfere with my examination.”

Gray nearly lost his temper with the man but finally relented.

Dr. Kennedy nodded and stroked his mustache from time to time as he examined Claire. At the conclusion of his assessment, he patted her shoulder.

“The bleeding has nearly abated, my lady. A good sign. Now tell me . . .” He took off his spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. “. . . what were you about when this bleeding began?”

“Nothing—that is to say, I had just arisen”—Claire glanced at Gray—“and when I did, there was a peculiar . . . I do not know how to say it . . . heaviness . . .”

“A sensation of pressure?”

“Yes, yes. A feeling of pressure from within. Doctor, surely that was not the pains of labor?”

“No, child. I don’t believe so. If this child can come to within two weeks of when he is due, with the best of care I believe all will be well. However,” he propped his glasses on his nose, “there are certain things you must do, and others you must curtail.”

Gray reached for Claire’s hand where it lay on the counterpane. Her fingers curled tightly around his. He wondered if she was even aware of it.

“You must rest as much as possible. A nap in the morning. At least two in the afternoon. You must curtail your walking. And no stairs, by any means.”

“No, of course not,” Claire hastened to assure him.

“There are other things you must refrain from as well.” He glanced pointedly at Gray.

“What? What things?” Claire tried not to panic.

“My good woman, how shall I say this with regard for your tender ears—you must refrain from . . . conjugal relations.”

Claire’s mind was slow to respond. “Conjugal relations?” she echoed blankly.

Gray rescued the good doctor—and had a laugh at the doctor’s expense. “My love,” he stated smoothly, “I believe Dr. Kennedy means that we must refrain from the same marital relations that resulted in your condition.”

She shook her head. “My con—” she started to say. Her eyes went suddenly huge. Her face flamed.

There were a few more instructions, then the good doctor left.

Gray gripped both her hands within his own.

Very quietly he spoke. “You frightened me, love.”

“Gray, Dr. Kennedy is gone. There is no need for pretense, for silly endearments.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” An unexpected grin played at his lips. “But what makes you think they are silly?” He suddenly realized how naturally they had come to him.

Claire stared down at their joined hands. “Do not jest with me,” she said, her voice very low. She paused, then lifted her eyes to his. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

Gray frowned. “What?”

“I know why this is happening. This is our fault, Gray. Our penance. For all the lies. He punishes me for my desire to avenge Oliver’s death. He punishes both of us for Oliver’s death. For my sins. For yours.”

“Claire, stop this at once.”

“You didn’t want this baby. Neither of us did. We have to pay for all the lies. We weren’t married when we lay together. Both of us are sinners.”

“You are distraught, Claire.”

“No! Don’t you see? This is what He intends. For my babe to die. Because I don’t have anyone but him. I don’t have anyone but my baby and that’s why He will take him.”

Her fingers twined in the front of his shirt. There was fear laden in her voice. Her mouth was tremulous. His heart twisted. She was wrong, he thought. She had him.

“I don’t want my baby to die, Gray. I don’t.”

Her agitation was growing.

The doctor had left a draught containing laudanum in case she needed it. Gray reached it on the bedside table.

“Drink this.” Coaxingly, he tipped the glass to her lips.

She sipped, and had finished nearly all of it. But suddenly her hand came out and she knocked it from his hands.

“No! It’s poison, isn’t it? You want my baby dead! You want me dead. Then you will be rid of both of us.”

Her accusation pierced him to the quick. “You are overwrought, Claire.”

“No!” she screamed. “You never wanted him in the first place. You never wanted either of us!”

“This is not good for you or the child. Calm yourself, sweet.”

She fought him. Tears slid unheeded down her cheeks but she fought him with all the strength she possessed, until he had no choice but to wrap his arms around her and hold her until her struggles began to subside.

But all at once she twisted again. “I’m strong,” she burst out. “I’m not weak like Lily. I won’t kill my baby like Lily. I won’t!”

Gray froze.

I won’t kill my baby like Lily.

Pain ripped through him. He felt as if someone reached inside and squeezed his heart. Claire quieted in his arms while the laudanum took hold. He stroked her back, the shallow groove of her spine, the movement of his fingers monotonous. He held her, his mind beset by haunting images of the past.

Lily’s face spun through his mind. Shame pricked him deeply; he hadn’t thought of her for oh-so-long now. And William. His boy. His son. To this day he wondered what had gone wrong. How he could have changed the outcome. Somehow, he had failed her. Failed them both.

His child kicked. Kicked strongly against his father’s hand.

Claire was right. No woman could have challenged him as she had. She was strong and brave and he’d never known a woman so courageous.

She fell into a light sleep, her hair tickling his chin. But there was no such release for him. There was no peace. He knew only that he couldn’t lose her, too.

Because then he would be forever damned. Forever lost.

Forever alone.

Claire was not a good invalid. She disliked being treated like an invalid. To pass the interminable time, she read. She played cards. She played chess with Gray when he was able. She sewed for the baby, who surely had enough little blankets and gowns until he was ready for small clothes—she was still convinced she carried a boy.

By the end of two weeks she was at wit’s end.

Perhaps Gray and the household were as well.

He walked in one afternoon to find her sitting on the window seat, gazing outside.

His brows shot immediately up, his mouth down. “Did you summon Rosalie?”

“Whatever for?”

“Claire, do not test me. Did you summon Rosalie or Paulette?”

“I did not.”

“Did you summon anyone?”

“No, good sir.”

He glanced pointedly from the bed to the window seat. “Then how, pray tell, did you get there?”

“How do you imagine I got here?” she asked with amusement.

Gray scowled.

“Very well, then. The usual way,” she replied, wrinkling her nose. “No, wait. I have it. I ran as quickly as I could.”

He leveled on her a shrewd consideration. “Were you cheeky as a child, my love?”

“I daresay I was. Were you, sir?”

Her pulse had picked up its rhythm. She was rather enjoying the banter.

“I daresay I was, as well. Now, then, I thought you might like to go downstairs for dinner tonight.”

Gray had been taking a dinner tray along with Claire every evening thus far. Her eyes glowed. Her little trill of delight warmed him to his soul.

“A little persuasion might be in order,” he said.

“Persuasion?” Her tone turned breathless.

“Mmmm.” He was studying her mouth.

Claire’s heart began to pound. She wet her lips. “Please? May we have dinner tonight in the dining room . . . please?”

“That was not the kind of persuasion I referred to.”

“It was not?” Her cheeks were flushed a most becoming shade of rose, Gray decided. “What sort of persuasion did you mean?”

A slow smile crept across his lips. “Perhaps I should show you.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Perhaps you should.”

Bending low, strong fingers curled around her nape. His thumb beneath her chin, he brought her mouth to his. There was a low sound deep in his throat. He lifted her upright, enough so he could lean back, angling her against him, pulling her atop him.

Snug between the vee of his legs.

It was a kiss that began with melting sweetness. Only moments after their lips touched, it turned hungrily fierce. Claire’s lips parted—yielded—to the demand in his.

She shivered. Every fiber of her body clamored. She loved the scent of his cologne; relished the wide plane of his chest against her breasts.

It spun through her mind that she didn’t want to go downstairs. She didn’t want to ever leave his arms.

All at once he shifted. Her heart nearly stopped. His mouth demanding, almost wild now, he guided her against his rod, the rock-hard measure of desire.

It was Gray who broke away. His laugh was shaky. “I am hungry, Claire, so hungry that I think we’d best go down for dinner.”

Thus began their to-and-fro wordplay.

Gray encountered Claire one afternoon, halfway down the stairs.

She bit her lip. “I only meant to dash down to the library. Five minutes, no more.”

“You won’t be dashing anywhere,” he said sternly. “Most certainly not up and down these stairs. You should have rang.” An arm beneath her knees, he swung her up and into his arms.

Claire pouted.

One of his brows climbed high. “Is this a display of temper?”

Claire locked her fingers around his neck. He had stopped at the landing, halfway up the stairs.

She glanced pointedly to the top of the stairs. “Is this a display of strength, milord?”

“I am prepared, dear lady, to hold you this way forever.”

Her heart constricted. She wasn’t certain how to take that.

“And what if I said that I am prepared to let you?” she asked daringly.

The truth was, she loved being near him like this. She loved the feel of his chest, the power of his arms as he held her high, seemingly with no effort.

“I would tell you it’s not a test of strength, but a test of the strength of my desire.”

She was stunned at the fervor burning in his low declaration.

But far more thrilling was the hunger in his expression.