The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (17 page)

Chapter 31

Later, Anthony entered his chamber and froze at the muffled sounds of Clairece’s sobs. He strode through the connecting door and into her room.

She sat huddled in the window seat, her forehead pressed to a pillow clutched in her arms, and wept. And he was to blame. The sight of her anguish tore at his heart.

“Ah, God, sweetheart, please don’t cry.” Anthony closed the distance between them and scooped her up to settle her on his lap. She buried her face in his shoulder and continued to weep. Fool that he was, he should have taken the time to explain.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. The desolation shadowing her eyes undid him. “What was I, Anthony, just another acquisition? Will you place me safely on a shelf to look at once in a while?” She turned her head away. “Have I made the same mistake again?”

He winced. Desperate to fix his mistake, he clutched her tighter. “No, love, no. I promise you won’t regret marrying me.”

She searched his features, uncertainty evident in her gaze. She’d placed her life into the hands of a man she barely knew, trusting him not to hurt, betray, or neglect her as had happened in the past. In his walking away, he had done just that.

She tilted her head. “If I’ve displeased you in some way—”

“No.” He kissed her forehead.

“It’s my wedding night, Anthony. I thought . . . I never had a
proper
one. I thought this would be different.”

Clairece had the right to expect love and solicitous attention from her husband, especially on their first night as man and wife. That he’d been concerned with inflicting more physical pain did not matter. The realization he’d caused a different sort of pain, made his chest constrict.

“I failed you, didn’t I? Upon my honor, it was not my intent.”

She glanced at him. “The night is not over, husband.”

With Clairece in his arms, he pushed his way through the doors separating the two chambers and carried her to his bed. “I want you, never doubt it. I stayed away because I questioned my ability to keep my hands off you. It would be more than I could bear if I hurt you.”

“Not being with my husband, hurt me.”

“Forgive my ignorance, Clairece.” Anthony closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, willing the control he’d learned to aid him now. “Will you do as I ask and let me make love to you?”

“Yes, yes I will.” The look of gladness on her face nearly sent him to his knees.

After placing her on the bed, he removed his coat and waistcoat, tossing them over a chair. As he worked to shed the rest of his clothing, his gaze locked with hers. He slowed his movements, releasing the top two buttons of his shirt and pulling the linen over his head, tossing the garment in an untidy heap on the floor.

Shoes and hose followed. He reached for the buttons at his waist, and Clairece sat up. Her avid gaze moved to the falls of his trousers while the tip of her pink tongue darted across her lower lip.

Anthony’s body reacted, his erection straining against the front of his trousers. Although he loved watching women undress, he’d never considered they might find the process of his disrobing just as stimulating. Truth be told, it hadn’t mattered as long as he and his partner exchanged mutual pleasure and satisfaction. But with Clairece, it mattered a great deal.

He slid his trousers and drawers over his hips and kicked them aside, letting his arms rest at his sides.

“You’re . . . beautiful,” Clairece murmured. “I know it’s not said of men, but you are.” With every flex of her fingers on the comforter, his shaft pulsed.

He turned down the light and joined her in bed, grasping her wrists in his hands when she reached for him. “You agreed to let me make love to you, remember? Which means, we take this slowly.”

Clairece frowned. “I’m not to touch you?”

“Above the waist, only.” At the disconcerted look on her face, he chuckled. “Just for now.”

He slid his hands up the satiny skin of her legs and lifted her hips to nudge the nightgown up her back. “Raise your arms, love. You won’t need this.” The nightgown hit the floor with a soft whoosh, and the scent of orange blossoms and warm woman surrounded him.

Anthony began a slow exploration of her body—kissing, stroking, licking—until he’d committed every curve and crevice to memory. He tasted a path down the side of her neck to the soft slope of her shoulder while he palmed the swell of her breasts and budded nipples.

She moved restlessly against him. “Anthony . . .”

“What do you want? Tell me.”

“All—I want it all,” she whispered.

“As you wish.”

He brushed his fingers against her damp curls and she bucked against him. “Easy, love, easy.” Her legs parted. “That’s right, sweeting.”

As he slid one digit inside, her sheath rippled around his finger. A second followed, and she arched, her head pressing back against the pillow as her climax took her. Surprised at the sudden orgasm, Anthony covered her mouth with his, swallowing her soft cry, and held her until the quakes subsided and she quieted.

“I need you inside me,” she urged.

And he wanted to feel her around him. “Turn toward me and slide your top leg over my hips. Yes . . . good.”

She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his torso, circling a flat nipple with her finger before giving it a light pinch. His body jerked at the visceral thrill. “Perhaps I should have said not to touch below the neck.”

Clairece snorted softly and nipped at his chin before scooting closer, pressing her belly against his heavy erection. He shuddered. “Relax, minx.”

In this position, she was open for his entry. Anthony probed her, noting the smile of encouragement she offered. With each flex of his hips, he inched deeper, adding words of encouragement when she rolled her hips in return.

He flicked the tip of his tongue against the little mark at the edge of her mouth, then kissed a path to the rapidly beating pulse in her throat, whispering of the things he would do when she was able, and felt her quake against him.

“Shall I tell you how I feel while I’m making love to you?” He ran a finger down her cheek, damp with her rising ardor.

She nodded.

“I can think of nothing else but you. Your body holds mine like a tight velvet glove.”
As you hold my heart in your delicate hands, did you but know it.

“Your skin is like the softest silk. I could nip and bite, suck and lick you all over and still not have enough.”
I’ll never tire of touching you.

“Your scent is of springtime and woman, something entirely yours alone. It draws me to you. I am like a bee to your honey.”
You are like sunshine and spring rain awakening what I thought to be dead in me.

“I have never wanted any woman the way I want you. You are in my thoughts from the time I wake until I fall asleep at night.” As he stroked deeper, she hummed in the back of her throat.

“Those little noises you make are the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard.”
Pray God your voice is the last I hear as I leave this earth.

Her sheath contracted, released and gripped again. Anthony tipped his head back and groaned with the need to find release. He opened his eyes and caught the twinkle in hers. Cupping her rounded derrière, he pressed her firmly against him.

“Yes, oh yes . . . like that,” she gasped. Her kiss was both wild and sweet as her tongue dueled and danced with his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, caught his tongue, and sucked.

His wits scrambled and he was lost. As his climax threatened to pummel him, he reached between them and found the little nub at her opening; swirled against it gently. She tore her mouth from his, arched. Screamed. He thrust once, twice.

And tumbled over the edge with her.

Chapter 32

Philippe sat in a straight-backed chair facing his bedchamber door. The tall-case clock in the front hall struck the midnight hour. The house had long since gone quiet, but still he waited.

At a light tap, he crossed the room and opened the door. “
Señor
Hodges, it has been a long time.”

Hodges straightened his shoulders and entered. “Are you here to—”

Philippe interrupted. “Lady Harding is a member of my family. I am here to protect her.”

The butler sagged as the tension left his body. “I care a great deal for these people and feared . . .”

Philippe reached out a hand. “You may hand me the gun,
señor
. Thumb and finger, if you please.”

Hodges eased the pistol from behind his leg and extended his arm. Philippe retrieved the firearm and laid it on the tallboy, then indicated a seat near the one he’d recently vacated.

Hodges dropped heavily into the chair. “All those years ago, I never had the chance to thank you for saving my life. You know I overheard what Lord Mansfield asked you to do?”

“
Si.
You also heard my answer.”

“I wanted to cheer when you threatened him should anything happen to his lady wife.” Hodges wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I could not stay and work for such a man. He had me followed with the intention of having me killed. I would be dead but for you.”

“A person such as he is predictable. Had you been a man of low morals, Mansfield would have let you be.”

“I understand Lady Mansfield returned to her family in Italy.”

“Her husband was not a man to be trusted. It was better to save her, than to kill him.”

“Lord Harding is a good man. I have been in his service for a long time and have watched him mature into the man he is today. Lady Clairece will be safe in his care,” Hodges entreated.

“I met his aunts earlier this evening. There seems to be an honest affection between them.”

“Yes, indeed. In truth, they are Sir Gerald’s aunts. Sir Gerald—a cousin to his lordship—has lived above his means for some time, to the extent his property is in jeopardy. Lord Anthony has helped him on numerous occasions even though, in my opinion, the man doesn’t deserve it. Sir Gerald’s debts became so high he could not afford to pay either his servants or the items necessary to run an establishment the size of Roxbury Abbey. He dismissed everyone, closed the manor house, and removed to London.” Hodges sighed. “I don’t make a practice of discussing my lordship’s business but I want you to understand.”

Philippe dipped his head in assent.

“Lord Harding paid Sir Gerald’s creditors, at least those from the village who rely on The Sanctuary and Roxbury Abbey for most of their livelihood, and found employment for some of the servants who were let go without so much as a farthing. The rest, the older ones, he brought here to work or pensioned off. You won’t find a more loyal group of servants. They . . . we, would do anything for him.”

Philippe remained silent, guessing there was more.

“Sir Gerald turned his aunts out with no concern for their wellbeing. His lordship heard of it and sent for them. He asked if they would oversee the running of the Hall while he was in London tending to his various business ventures.” Hodges smiled. “Sanctuary Park is a well-run estate, Don Philippe, but even the least of us have our pride. His ‘precious jewels,’
for
example.”

“Precious jewels?” Philippe queried.

“It is how Lord Anthony refers to the aunts Pearl, Opal, and Ruby. As you can see, they are happy and extremely well cared for.”

“A man should care for his family,” Philippe agreed.

“Indeed they should, but in truth, they are no blood kin.” Hodges stood and crossed to the door. “Look around,
Don
Philippe. You will see much more.”

Hodges’ demeanor changed to that of head butler. “Should you require anything,
Don
Philippe, you have only to ask. It will be my pleasure to serve you.”

After Hodges departed, Philippe returned to his seat by the fire and stared into the flames. Lord Anthony was a man of unsuspected facets. While checking the lock on the windows and doors, he’d discovered a few interesting things. A large part of the mansion appeared to be recently renovated while a small section in one wing was not only unused, but unchanged.

Philippe had, at first, considered bypassing the upper floor where the servants resided, as those windows were usually inoperable. What he’d found was a revelation. The new casements were made to open and would allow much needed fresh air to enter in the heat of the summer. Where one might expect to find a bit of frugality, if not outright stinginess, the newly renovated servant’s wing was bright and cheerful.

In wealthier homes, four maids might share one small chamber. At Harding Hall, each room held only two beds with a quantity of linens and blankets to insure their comfort. In addition, each space held two chests of drawers, a mirror, a small table and chairs, and a stove for additional warmth. Most surprisingly, water closets had been spaced at intervals down the corridor for their convenience.

At first light, he would do as Hodges suggested and have a look around.

Clairece came awake with a sense of being watched.

“Hullo,” a small voice piped next to her ear.

Her eyes flew open. A pixie face, with a dusting of freckles, edged closer. Miniature spectacles magnified a pair of sparkling green eyes.

“You’re in Papa’s bed,” the child stated in a loud whisper.

“So I am. And who might you be?” Aware she was naked beneath the covers, Clairece tugged the quilt closer to her body and turned on her side to face the little girl.

“Sophie.” The youngster scrunched up her nose to push the frames back into place. Riotous, orange-red hair curled around the child’s heart-shaped face.

“What a lovely name.” A pain settled in the vicinity of Clairece’s heart. Had she lived, her own daughter would be about this age.

Sophie rested her elbows on the counterpane and peered at Clairece. “What’s your name?”

Clairece dared a glance at her robe draped across the foot of the bed, but quickly discarded the idea of reaching it without revealing her state of undress. “Clairece.”

Sophie gently touched Clairece’s shoulder. “Why do you have these marks?”

“They’re bruises.”

Sophie tilted her head. “Do they hurt?”

“A little, but not as much as they did.” Clairece tucked a ginger curl behind the child’s ear.

Sophie wiggled her way up onto the large mattress and pressed her bow-shaped mouth to the discoloration. “Papa always says a kiss makes
owies
better,” she pronounced cheerfully.

Clairece tried to speak past the sudden pain tightening her throat. “He does, does he? In that case, I’m certain it’s true.”

The bedchamber door opened a crack and Anthony peeked in. “So, my two girls have met.” He strolled toward them.

Sophie squealed and jumped from the foot of the bed into Anthony’s outstretched arms. “I am so-oo happy you’re home.”

Anthony kissed the child’s forehead and nose and each cheek—and Clairece thought she might cry. He glanced meaningfully at the robe and moved to a nearby chair with Sophie in his arms. With the child perched on his knee, he covered her eyes.

“You have a surprise for me?” Sophie giggled. “Hurry, tell me, what is it?”

Anthony chuckled. “You must first guess, poppet.”

Clairece eased from between satin sheets and slipped into the velvet dressing gown, tying the cord securely around her waist.

“Gumdrops. Did you bring me some gumdrops?” Sophie clapped her hands excitedly.

“No.”

The child pursed delicate lips. “Some books?”

“Not this time. Try again.”

Sophie’s face brightened and she began to bounce. “A pony! You’ve brought me a pony.”

Anthony laughed. “Silly. Mrs. Stedman would have my hide if I ushered a pony into the house. Besides, how am I to carry one in my pocket?” He eased his hand from her eyes.

“Your pocket?” Sophie surveyed Anthony’s attire. Her gaze came to rest on a lump marring the perfect fit of his coat. With a giggle of excitement, she withdrew a small velvet box. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a silent ‘O.’

Clairece watched them interact, her hand shifting to cover her belly.

“Are you going to open it?” Anthony teased.

Carefully, as if it might break, Sophie opened the lid and stared at the contents. She gave an excited whoop and wrapped her arms around Anthony’s neck. “It’s beautiful, Papa.”

Anthony removed a gold chain holding a delicate filigree heart. The child slipped from his knee and presented her back for him to fasten the necklace in place.

“A girl should have her own jewelry, don’t you agree, Clairece?” he said drawing her into the conversation.

Clairece moved forward. “Yes, indeed.” She bent down for a better look. “It’s lovely, just like you,” she declared, and touched the tip of the child’s pert nose.

Sophie grinned and spun to face Anthony. “Will I be pretty like Clairece when I grow up?”

“You will be a ravishing beauty. I’ll be forced to beat the men away with a stick.”

Sophie giggled. “Silly Papa.” Her smile faded. “Was Mama pretty?”

Anthony’s expression altered subtly. “Yes, she was.” He reached behind him. “Hmm, there seems to be something back here. I wonder what it could be.” From behind his back, he withdrew a length of velvet, opening the cloth as he presented the gift. Dressed in peach, with tiny flowers embroidered on the ruffled gown, the doll stared at them from eyes remarkably like Sophie’s, and from beneath a pile of curls the color of cinnamon.

Sophie carefully reached for the figurine. “Oh, she is perfectly wonderful,” the little girl whispered.

Clairece’s eyes filled with tears.

“Did you notice her necklace?” Anthony asked, his voice sounding a little rough.

“It’s just like mine,” Sophie trilled, hugging the dolly to her thin chest. “She is the best present ever, along with my necklace, of course.” The child smiled coquettishly at Anthony.

“Of course.” Anthony ruffled her curls and glanced toward the door where a woman in a blue uniform and starched white apron stood waiting. “Nanny is here to take you for a walk. Run along and I’ll stop in later.”

Sophie obediently slipped her hand in the nanny’s, waving as she left the room.

“She’s adorable, Anthony.” Sighing dejectedly, Clairece crossed to stare out the window.

Anthony followed. “What is it?”

Resolute, she faced him. “Sophie’s mother. Did you . . . love her very much?” As he stared in surprise, she held his gaze. “I’m your wife, and although your involvement with Sophie’s mother happened before we met, I would still like to know.”

Anthony had expected questions but he’d assumed they would come later, rather than sooner. Nevertheless, he owed his wife complete honesty.

He took her hand and led her to the settee, taking the seat beside her. “No, I did not love Sophie’s mother. In fact, I only met her on the one occasion when she brought Sophie to me.”

A frown creased her brow. “I don’t understand.”

“Sophie is a child of my heart, but not of my body. Her mother became pregnant after an encounter with a man I know.” If they were to build a life together, it was important Clairece understand. Without trust, they had nothing.

“The man refused to help and turned the mother away. She knew of my connection with him and came to me after Sophie’s birth.” Anthony ran his thumb over the back of Clairece’s hand. “She didn’t want the child and had attempted to place the babe in an orphanage, but it was full. She told me if I didn’t oblige, the infant would go to a foundling home. I couldn’t countenance such a tragedy.”

Clairece covered his hand with hers.

“Sophie would never have survived.” He took a deep breath. “I fully intended to contact the facility and request their assistance, but when her mother handed Sophie to me, and the infant wrapped her little hand around my finger . . .” He swallowed. “She was so tiny, so trusting, I couldn’t send her away.”

“She calls you Papa.”

“And to her, I am. It started innocently, and then it seemed so natural I let it continue. A child needs to feel loved. She’s mine, and those here who know the truth will never claim otherwise.”

Clairece leaned into him. “I’ve said this before but I feel it wants repeating. You, dear Anthony, are such a good, sweet man. I find you irresistible.”

“Is that so?” He nuzzled her neck.