The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (13 page)

Chapter 23

Anthony watched the departing entourage through a narrow slit in the draperies until the last carriage and wagon had moved away. The commotion provided enough fanfare to insure news of the Earl’s departure was well noted.

For the first time since he’d purchased the large mansion, Inniswood sat almost deserted. The shutters were closed and locked, the heavy draperies pulled, and the knocker removed from the front door. Holland sheets covered the furniture in all but the servants’ quarters.

Anthony turned as Clairece entered the room. If he’d questioned his decision to travel by train, those doubts disappeared with the signs of pain etched clearly on her face. Her eyes narrowed on him as she approached. It didn’t take a scholar to comprehend she was angry.

“Am I now your property to rant and rave at and order about in front of others?” she snapped. “Well, Lord Harding, I belong to no man and—” Clairece broke off as he stepped up against her.

“
You
may berate
as you will, but the answer to your question is yes. You are mine as assuredly as I am yours. We
both
know it, we
both
feel it, and dancing around the issue changes nothing. That connection gives me the right to become angry and frustrated when I hear you’ve risked your life in such a foolish manner. It is no longer just your life, it’s our life together.”

Clairece shook her head slowly. “Don’t say such things. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Want to or no, it’s there. Do you think not talking about how we feel changes anything?” He grasped her arm. “God, Clairece, quit running from what’s between us. Call it desire, lust, or making love, the emotion still binds us. But there’s more, and we both know it.”

He carefully released her. “You’re a brave woman, so why should caring for me, even just a little, be so damned frightening? Is the concept of being my wife so abhorrent, or is it just me?”

She cupped his cheek. “Caring for you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” She dropped her hand to her side. “I thought you understood what finding Roger’s murderer means to me. Avenging him is something I must do.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear. Why must what we have and avenging Roger represent a choice? You asked me for help, but if helping you means I must go against what I perceive to be in your best interests, I cannot. I once asked you to trust me. Now, I’m asking you trust your own instincts. Don’t shut me out, Clairece.”

Her expression softened and she pressed into him, gently kissing his lips. He returned the caress, settling his mouth on hers. If this was all she was willing to accept from him at present, it would have to do. Moments later, he eased back. What he had to say next might well end their tenuous relationship.

“Come and rest before we leave.” He led her to the settee and settled next to her. “We need to discuss something.”

“What?” The fine skin on her forehead creased.

He took her hands in his. “As an experienced man, I must apologize.”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”

“On New Year’s Eve, the second time we made love, I did not use protection and I spent inside you. Even now, you may be carrying my child.”

Her face paled. “Oh, God.” She jerked her hands from his and tried to rise.

“No.” He held her beside him. “We must talk about this. I would guess you’re experiencing many different emotions.”

Her eyes held panic, something he’d not expected. “You cannot begin to comprehend.”

He plowed on. “If you’re pregnant with my child, we will wed. I would prefer it be your willing choice, but I would not see the shame of bastardy visited upon any child of mine.”

Clairece wrapped her arms around her belly and began to rock back and forth. A keening sound, so full of pain it shook Anthony to his core, came from deep within her.

He pulled her against his side. “Talk to me, Clairece.”

She swiveled to face him. “I am sorry, dearest. You have done everything you can for me, and now I’m to repay your kindness by trapping you into something you never bargained for.

“Years ago, I did find myself with child. I did not love the father but I grew to love the little babe I carried . . . for seven whole months.” She trembled. “I was told she was beautiful, but small. She never took her first breath. I wanted her so badly, I even imagined I heard her cry. Perhaps losing her was God’s punishment for how she was conceived, I don’t know, but when she died, a part of me died with her.”

Anthony closed his eyes.

“And now there may be another babe, the child of the man I adore. What if the same thing happens again . . . only this time, I hurt you as well?”

He tightened his embrace. Clairece had suffered in ways he’d never imagined and would never understand. In her eyes, he saw heartbreak and more. From her expression, she expected him to pronounce judgment and find her lacking. He never would. He tried to think of something to help ease her pain.

“You despise me.” She covered her face with her hands as wracking sobs shook her.

“Darling, no.” He held her until her tears subsided, then handed her his handkerchief. “You’re right, I can’t begin to fathom what you’re feeling. This I do know. Losing your child was not a form of punishment for something you did, or was done to you. God does not do that. Sometimes, there are simply no answers for why tragedies happen.”

Clairece searched his face as if testing the validity of his statement.

“As to my feeling trapped”—he kissed her palm—“nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. I’m not saying I fell in love because I don’t understand the emotion, but I did want to see where our relationship might lead. I have never had those feelings for any woman.”

He lifted her chin. “It’s my turn to be honest with you. There are some things you should know about me.”
Lord, please let there be no disgust in her eyes.

“The late Earl Harding was my legal father, but not by blood. I have been spared the label of bastard because my mother was married to him at the time of my birth. My biological father was Duncan McLaren, a Scottish Laird my mother met while visiting family in Scotland.

“The old Earl was ashamed to admit he couldn’t get his young wife with child, and there was the succession to consider. Rather than throw us both out and be branded a cuckold, he made our lives a living hell. No child of mine will ever go unclaimed or uncared for. Neither would I blame a child for the way it was conceived.”

He laid his hand on her belly. “If my seed is growing inside you, I will care for and cherish you both. Never doubt that.”

She pressed her hand atop his. “Did you ever meet your real father?”

“Yes. Although he spent time with me, he never mentioned my existence to his wife or legitimate sons. As a child, it felt like another rejection, yet one I understood.”

Clairece tipped her head quizzically. “Do you have children?”

Anthony faltered. “There is a little girl, a sweet cherub named Sophie. You will meet her at Harding Hall.”

“And the mother?” Clairece asked quietly.

“Sophie’s mother left her with me six years ago. I’ve not heard from her since.”

The tall-case clock chimed.

“We must go.” Anthony rose and helped Clairece to her feet.

“Anthony, this discussion is far from over,” Clairece stated. “I did not agree to your demand.”

He hadn’t meant for it to be a demand, but there was no time now to discuss it further. “We’ll leave by the back door. A hackney should be at the gate in the mews. We don’t want to draw attention by making the conveyance wait.”

After helping her with her cape, they slipped quietly out the kitchen door. They stayed in the shadows until they reached the gate and the waiting black cab. Anthony opened the door and lifted Clairece in, following with the portmanteau.

Mort had been right to wait. Harding was a right smart bloke, but Mort was streetwise. He’d grown up around the docks, mostly staying out of the way while his mum serviced the Jackies as they came ashore.

He stepped from the stables as the carriage moved off, moonlight illuminating his face and the scar on his cheek. He’d paid good chink to see the nob snuffed. How was he to know Harding was handy with his dukes?

Mort ran his fingers along the disfigurement, the result of a mugging gone wrong. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his heavy coat and set off after his prey.

Chapter 24

Clairece rubbed a clean circle on the hackney’s grime-covered window and peered out as London’s Paddington Station loomed into view. She edged nearer, taking care not to touch the filthy pane with her face. “What a magnificent structure.”

A warm chuckle reached her from the other side of the coach. Anthony sat propped in the corner, an amused smile playing across his lips. “I agree with your assessment. Paddington is a feat of engineering with an extraordinary interior.”

The hackney rocked to a stop and Anthony stepped down. With a swift look around, he paid the jarvey and reached up for Clairece.

She whimpered. The heavy clothing added pressure to the painful bruising, making nausea an ever-present possibility.

“Not much farther, sweeting.” Anthony tucked her arm through his and assisted her through the station door and across the broad expanse of tiled floor.

She glanced up at the towering, hammer-beam roof. Although beautiful, the glazed dome cast large areas of the interior into shadow, providing a perfect setting for anyone wishing them harm.

Her arm linked with Anthony’s, Clairece found herself ushered through a tall arch leading out onto a long wooden platform lining twin rails. As she watched the other travelers rush by on their way to the waiting train, she labored to keep pace.

“We’re almost there, love, just a little farther.” Anthony’s stride faltered. Clairece flicked a glance in his direction to see him look over his shoulder and tug the collar of his tweed coat up around his neck.

A blast of steam and smoke disgorged from the locomotive. Clairece cannoned into Anthony’s side, seeking safety, and felt the slide of his arm around her waist as he drew her closer.

The iron platform of the sleeping car loomed ahead, an affront to a body suffused with pain. Her steps slowed. As if sensing her distress, Anthony lifted Clairece onto the platform.

While the conductor checked their tickets and Anthony made additional arrangements, Clairece studied the pavilion. Darkened shapes danced along the walls as clouds moved across the moon. Soon, she’d be jumping at her own shadow.

Anthony picked up the portmanteau and guided her inside the narrow compartmented car. Windows filled one side of the tight corridor while small sleeping compartments lined the other. He checked the numbers on the row of identical doors as they passed, coming to a halt midway down the passage. He raised a hand in a staying motion, swung the door open, and stepped inside, before signaling her forward. Anthony slipped by her to draw the curtains over the single window.

“Do you think someone followed us?” She eased the glove off her bandaged hand, gritting her teeth at the sharp tug to her wounded palm.

“The plan was to make certain they didn’t, but one should never assume anything.”

The cubicle held a wooden chair, and a padded bench, which could be let down to make a somewhat questionable bed. Though undoubtedly not the most comfortable, the accommodations would allow her to recline for the journey. After the short trip from Town, she’d gladly lay on a pallet on the floor.

Anthony studied Clairece. Her face was pale and pinched, her eyes ringed with black circles. As she worked to unhook her cloak, her hands shook. She gave an exhausted sigh and lowered her arms to her sides.

“Let me.” With a few deft movements, the carved ivory button slid through the braided opening in the frog. He laid the wrapper across the small chair.

Clairece sank onto the padded seat. “It’s warmer in here than I expected.”

“Heat is piped in from special cars with boilers. Even so, I’ve asked for an extra blanket and a foot warmer.”

At a knock on the cabin door, Anthony flicked open the latch on the portmanteau and withdrew a pistol, laying it against the outside of his thigh. He nodded to Clairece who turned to face the window.

“Bellmen, sir.”

Anthony swung the door open, startling two young men dressed in uniforms of the Great Western Railway. One held an armful of quilts while the other carried a heavy crock of hot coals.

After the stewards deposited the bedding and warmer inside the compartment, Anthony dropped some coins into each of their palms and sent them on their way.

Clairece turned to face him. “Would you help me out of this dress? I cannot manage on my own.”

He worked on the row of buttons down the back. “Are you in pain?”

“The weight and feel of the clothing makes me nauseous, and I ache all over.”

With the last button, Anthony eased the dress down her arms and over her hips, leaving her clad in a cotton chemise and single petticoat. He released a few hooks and the petticoat followed. “If you would, my robe is in the portmanteau.”

He retrieved the velvet housecoat and held it while she slipped her arms into the long sleeves. Her perspiring face now bore additional evidence of pain.

Anthony settled Clairece on the padded bench and covered her with one of the quilts, moving the heavy warming crock nearer her feet.

She settled the edge of the blanket over the pot and closed her eyes. “This feels wonderful.”

After shedding his overcoat and hat, Anthony slipped in beside her, easing her against his side in the narrow space.

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I brought you into this, but I’m selfish enough to be thankful you’re with me.”

“Hush. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He should tell her of his arrangement with Scotland Yard, but after the way she’d reacted to James’ announcement, he couldn’t risk it. Not yet. As she snuggled closer, every protective instinct he possessed surfaced.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetheart.”

“That’s not a promise you can keep. If something should happen—no wait, let me speak—if something should happen, it won’t be your fault. I know what it’s like to live with guilt, and I don’t wish that for you.”

“Nothing will happen.” He closed his eyes against the soul-wrenching fear her words conjured.

The train’s whistle blew. With every rotation of the metal arms on the wheels, they moved farther away from London.

The whistle shrilled as the train entered Swindon Station, the halfway mark to Bristol. Although the stop to pick up coal and water for the engine would take only minutes, it was long enough for Anthony to check the dining car for something to eat. He shifted to an upright position.

Clairece opened her eyes and blinked.

“Hungry?”

She sat up, her face flushed from sleep. “Famished.”

“I won’t be long, but I want you to lock the door behind me.” He shoved his arms into his jacket and reached for his cap, tugging the bill low on his forehead. He waited in the hall until the bolt clicked into place.

With his mind on Clairece, he strode along the dimly lit hall toward the dining car. From his position on the iron grid separating the cars, he could see a few travelers seated at various tables. Assured there would be some offering of food, he reached for the door handle.

A slight noise was his only warning.