Free The Sins of Viscount Sutherland by Samantha James Page B

battle of wits he wanted, by heaven, she would oblige him.
    Gray hadn’t lied. He’d meant it when he said he was fascinated by her.
    Most assuredly entranced.
    There was something about her, something he couldn’t put a name to—a vague restlessness that there was more to Claire than a pretty face. Something wasn’t quite right. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.
    Ah, but who did he fool? he thought with sudden, scathing self-derision.
    He wanted the lovely widow in his bed.
    And by heaven, he would have her. When Grayson Sutherland wanted something, he usually got it. When he set his mind to it, there was usually no escaping it.
    He didn’t see Claire until after luncheon the next day.
    Some of the other men had walked down to the rolling lawn to engage in various so-called manly games. Some of the women gathered there to watch beneath the shade of a large tent where tea had been set up.
    Gray was bored. Affairs such as these usually had that effect on him. It was why he usually avoided them like the plague. Indeed, he wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been hosted by someone other than Clive.
    It wasn’t always so. No, it wasn’t always so at all. He’d met Lily at just such an affair. Met her, courted her, and won her.
    Indeed, he reflected with a black-hearted smile, who did he fool? He was here because of the lovely Claire Westfield.
    So it was that he stood at the top of the hill, searching the rosy-cheeked faces of the women beneath the brim of their bonnets.
    She wasn’t there. He stayed a few minutes longer, then walked the length of the terrace, stopping where he’d kissed Claire the night before. The scent of hyacinth filled the air. Sunlight played hide-and-seek beneath the clouds.
    He turned—and there she was.
    “Mrs. Westfield, lovely to see you. Were you looking for me?”
    “Do not flatter yourself, my lord.”
    “You wound me to the depths of my heart.”
    “Have you a heart?” Her tone was light. “I’ve heard various accounts to the contrary.”
    “You mustn’t believe everything you hear, Claire. Frankly, you surprised me.”
    “How so?”
    “When Clive sent the invitation, I thought you might not attend.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The night of the play, I thought I’d frightened you off.”
    “Because you kissed me?”
    “Yes.” A cool smile touched the hardness of his lips.
    “I’m not so easily frightened, sir.”
    No, he thought slowly. She wasn’t. And he was more certain than ever that the lovely Mrs. Westfield was hiding something.
    It only intrigued him all the more. “When I said you wounded me, Claire, it was true.”
    Piquant dark brows rose aslant.
    “I cannot help but remember,” he said smoothly, “the other night at my mother’s. You didn’t give me a birthday kiss.”
    For a moment she appeared startled. Then, almost primly, she spoke. “Very well, then. Here is your birthday kiss.”
    Raising herself on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss on his cheek and drew back. “Now you have it.” A smile on her lips, she lowered herself to the ground.
    “And this”—she slapped him hard across the cheek—“is for kissing me the way you did last night.”
    In the instant between one breath and the next, Gray was too stunned to say a word. Then his eyes glinted.
    “It wasn’t the kiss, my lovely Claire. I submit it was when I touched your—”
    She would have slapped him again if he hadn’t caught her wrist. Gray was flooded with fury. Flooded with pride. So she thought to toy with him, did she? Her slap on his cheek left him bitingly angry. He wanted to crush her mouth beneath his. Ride her and ride her hard. It was time she discovered he was not a man who played games.
    “I have offended your sensibilities,” he said smoothly. “I can only offer my most sincere apologies. I am truly contrite.”
    She eyed him warily.
    “Allow me to kidnap you for the afternoon, my dear Mrs. Westfield. I believe some of the men are riding off to shoot. The women