The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (7 page)

Chapter 11

As Clairece’s lashes fluttered and lifted, Anthony murmured, “Hello, sweetheart. Are you thirsty?” At her slight nod, he slipped an arm beneath her shoulders and held a glass of water to her lips. After a few swallows, he eased her back against the pillows.

“Did I fall?”

“Almost, sweet, almost. Does your head hurt?”

“Dreadfully.” Her hand went to the plaster at her temple.

“The doctor left something for pain.” Without waiting, he tipped a little into her mouth.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s vile.”

“It’s supposed to be,” he grinned.

Clairece glanced down at her clothing and her gaping bodice and began to work one of the small ivory buttons through its fastener.

Anthony moved her hands aside. “Let me.”

She looked around. “Where am I?”

“In my bed at Inniswood Place.”

She huffed out a small laugh. “All you had to do was ask.”

Relieved she could joke with him, he chuckled. “Be advised, as soon as you’re able, I will ask.”

He drew the comforter up to her chin and extracted the remaining pins from her hair, using his fingers to gently work the tangles from the long tresses. Her eyes began to droop.

“The first time I saw you, I was reminded of a Christmas ornament. A fragile, exquisite angel. Now, seeing your hair spread upon my pillow like a thick veil of silver and pale gold, I am even more convinced you are a creation of spun-glass, one created by a master’s hand to seduce me and render me witless.” He leaned in toward her.

At a light clearing of a throat, Anthony jerked back.

“There is a Mrs. Philomena Dobbins to see you, my lord,” Hodges intoned. “She said Dr. Farris sent her.”

Anthony stood. “Yes, of course. Show her up and have hot water and towels brought in.” He straightened his waistcoat and cuffs. “And Hodges, please see the blue bedchamber is made ready for Mrs. Griffin.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

After Hodges withdrew, Anthony stepped closer to Clairece’s bedside. “In case you’re wondering, Mrs. Dobbins is a nurse and will also act as your companion.”

Clairece’s forehead creased. “I don’t require either.” Her speech held a slight slur.

“Humor me and let her stay for a few days.”

At the sound of hurried footsteps, Anthony retreated to avoid colliding with the woman—he guessed to be nearing sixty or so—who swept past on her way to Clairece. Meticulous in appearance, every strand of gray hair was tucked securely beneath a white cap. Her serviceable wool dress was clean and pressed as was the white apron tied around her ample waist. Obviously this would be Mrs. Dobbins.

A maid, carrying fresh towels, hovered in the woman’s wake, as did two large footmen lugging buckets of water.

“Don’t just stand there, bring those things in,” Mrs. Dobbins ordered. His staff rushed forward, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to do her bidding.

One of Anthony’s younger maids bobbed a curtsy. “Sally asked me to fetch this until such time as she gets her shoppin’ done.” She laid a white cotton nightgown over the foot of the bed and sent an uncertain glance at Mrs. Dobbins before she fled the room behind the two retreating footmen.

Anthony eyed the nurse as she patted Clairece’s hand.

“My poor little dear. Doctor Farris said you needed me so I came right on over. Now don’t you fret ‘bout a thing. Dobby will take good care of you.” She turned and acknowledged Anthony’s presence with a short bob. “Lord Harding?”

He barely had time to nod before ‘Dobby’ continued. “No need to worry about your lady. Run along and do whatever men do and I’ll make her nice and comfortable.” The nurse waved him away with a flick of her wrist.

And, without so much as a
by-your-leave
, Anthony found himself summarily dismissed from his own bedchamber.

After dinner, Anthony, James, and Phillip moved to the library to relax before a fire. Crystal decanters filled with a selection of various libations covered the top of a small tantalus.

“Do you think the nurse will let us see her?” Phillip asked somewhat doubtfully. “It’s getting late and we’ve been waiting for some time.”

“If it’s much longer, I’ll send a maid to inquire.” Anthony, sprawled in a large chair, sipped his port.

A noise at the door drew their attention. Hodges—his usual stoic expression giving way to red splotches—huffed, “My lord, Mrs. Dobbins has finally deemed it acceptable for you to see Mrs. Griffin.”

“
Uh, thank you, Hodges.” Anthony turned to find both James and Phillip staring after the butler’s retreating back. “Shall we go, gentlemen?”

Clairece sat propped up in bed with several large pillows behind her back. She offered an encouraging, if somewhat sleepy, smile as they ambled in. Her plaited hair hung over one shoulder in a long, silken rope.

Mrs. Dobbins sat ramrod straight in a chair near the fire, one eye on Clairece and the other on her patient’s visitors.

Although Anthony crossed to the window to allow James and Phillip time with Clairece, his attention remained fixed on the woman lying in his bed.

“How are you feeling, Ree?” James kissed her temple.

“My head hurts, but otherwise I’m well. Apparently, I’m not allowed out of bed for a couple of days which I find vexing. But Dobby is taking excellent care of me.”

All three men turned toward Mrs. Dobbins to find her beaming back at Clairece.

After a sparse few minutes, the nurse rose from the chair. “Not too long tonight, my good lads. Best you run along so she can get her rest. You can come ‘round tomorrow.”

Both Phillip and James gaped at Mrs. Dobbins while Anthony, clasping his hands behind him, watched their reflections in the darkened window. He peered over his shoulder to find Phillip and James had edged their way toward the door, an identical look of astonishment on their faces.

Mrs. Dobbins lifted a brow at Anthony.

“I’ll see you out.” Anthony hastily skirted the foot of the bed, exiting the room.

“Good Lord, Tony. I’d be off to Bedlam within a day,” James mumbled.

“She reminds me of my old nurse. Hadn’t thought to feel the hair rise on the back of my neck in such a way again,” Phillip added.

In the entry hall, a waiting footman handed James and Phillip their coats and hats.

“What are your plans, Tony?” James asked, drawing on his gloves.

“Tomorrow, I’ll stop at Scotland Yard to see if anything untoward has happened in the last few days. I also want a bit of time to speak privately with Clairece. Perhaps she can think of something we’ve missed.”

“It’s Clairece now, is it?” Phillip scowled as he buttoned his coat.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Anthony gritted out. “If you’re going to accuse me of something, do so, and be done with all this carping. There are more important things to worry about than my use of her given name.”

James raised a hand. “We’re all a little on edge. I suggest we call it a day.”

Anthony signaled his footman to open the heavy front door. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow afternoon at White’s.”

After seeing the two out, Anthony returned to his library. The more time he spent with Clairece, the more he wanted her. Not just intimately, although lust played a large part in the attraction. It was the woman herself; her laughter, her intelligence, her lively sense of humor. Even her loyalty to a dead man spoke volumes about her.

He sank into a chair near the fire and leaned his head back. There had to be something she knew or had seen to provoke an attempt on her life. With growing certainty, he believed someone had tried to do away with Clairece.

It couldn’t be just her appearance in England, and he doubted it was her contact with whatever sources she had. He’d missed something. To find out, he needed to talk to Clairece without interruption by an overzealous nurse.

A furry head pushed beneath his hand. Anthony ruffled the wiry coat affectionately. “We have company, lad. You’ll need to have a care with her.” The dog dropped his chin on Anthony’s knee and gazed up at him, tail wagging.

“Want a short outing before bed, do you? I could deal with some fresh air myself. Come along and I’ll get my coat.”

Anthony strolled down the stairs to the kitchen where he kept a heavy tweed jacket and cap for this purpose.

Caesar bounded through the open kitchen door, headed toward the side gardens. Abruptly, the canine’s head lowered. An ominous growl rumbled in the dog’s throat as he focused on the back gate leading to the mews and stables.

“What is it, lad?” Anthony scanned the perimeter. He caught a furtive movement before a dark figure disappeared through the opening. Anthony broke into a run with Caesar bounding alongside, to find the mews empty and the man nowhere in sight.

Although it could have been a thief, the number of servants on duty would surely have acted as a deterrent. There was only one reason for someone to watch his home. Anthony found his gaze drawn toward a lighted second-story window.

Clairece.

Chapter 12

Clairece’s appreciative gaze encompassed the beautifully appointed room, one obviously decorated with a woman in mind. Pale wainscoting covered the bottom half of the walls, while blue-and-cream, hand-painted silk filled the space above.

The Chippendale bedstead portrayed flowers with tiny birds perched among the branches. A counterpane in shades of cream, blue, and touches of magenta concealed the pristine sheets and thick mattress. Pillows, in varying shades of fuchsia, magenta, and purple, lay propped against the headboard.

Clairece eased her legs over the side of the bed and stood, mindful of the throbbing ache in her head. Sensing someone’s presence, she swung her gaze to Anthony leaning against the doorjamb. The action brought on pain. With a moan, she clutched her head in both hands and closed her eyes.

Anthony’s palms settled on her shoulders. “Easy. I didn’t mean to startle you. The rooms are connected by a bathing chamber.” He released her and reached for the tisane.

“No. I won’t take it.”

He raised a brow. “It will help with the discomfort.”

“It makes me nauseous.”

“As you wish, then.” He moved to the windows and pulled the heavy draperies closed.

“Must we shut them? It’s such a lovely night.”

“I’m afraid so.” As he extended an arm toward the chaise longue by the hearth, a large dog rushed through the door and bounded toward her.

“Caesar, no,” Anthony commanded, grabbing for the animal as he sailed past on his way to Clairece.

She opened her arms to the wolfhound and crooned softly, gently ruffling the dog’s coat. The hound gave a doggy moan, rolled to his back, and offered his belly for her attention.

Anthony chuckled. “Show a little dignity, lad.”

“He’s wonderful.” Clairece knelt to rub his chest. “Did you call him Caesar?”

“Yes, and he’ll be impossible if you don’t stop. Here, give me your hand.” Anthony reached down and brought her to her feet.

Clairece gasped as a shaft of pain shot through her head. His arm came around her. “Willow bark tea will help and shouldn’t make you ill.”

She caught the scent of sandalwood and bergamot mixed with clean linen and fresh night air. Clad only in shirtsleeves and trousers, his hair mussed from the winter wind, Anthony proved irresistible and she questioned the advisability of being alone with him in such surroundings. She trusted him but not herself, not even a little.

The dog padded off to lie on the floor near the hearth, dropping his head on his paws. Anthony tugged on the bell pull, which brought a scurrying maid. Within minutes, the tea arrived. He took the tray from the surprised servant and settled on a seat beside Clairece, handing her a cup.

“What happened in Hyde Park?” she asked, sipping the brew. “I remember a sharp pain in my head, and then nothing.”

“I believe someone used a slingshot and stones to strike both you and Calypso.”

“For what purpose? Such dangerous mischief could be lethal.”

He stared at her. “It wasn’t a prank. Just now, I found someone by the back gate watching the house.”

“The reason you closed the draperies,” she deduced.

He nodded.

She shivered at the thought someone meant her harm.

Anthony reached for a lap robe and placed it around her shoulders. “It’s too much of a coincidence to believe the man I saw was an ordinary thief. At the same time, I cannot fathom how someone would know you’re residing in my home. We’ve done everything we could to keep your whereabouts a secret.”

“Servants talk.” She set the empty cup on the small table and pulled the blanket closer.

His dark brows drew together. “You’re right, however, the attack happened this afternoon. Amazingly fast even for servants.”

“How would someone think to wait for us in Hyde Park? It was only last night we decided on the excursion.”

“In truth, it had been planned for a few days. It’s possible someone waited in the bushes to see if you would join us.” Anthony shifted his long frame to settle more comfortably on the lounge. At his graceful pose, Clairece found herself studying him appreciatively as the pain in her head slowly subsided.

“Now, let’s start from the beginning. How many people knew you would be at the museum in New York at that specific time? I would assume they don’t leave the depository open, even with a man on guard.”

Clairece nibbled on her lower lip, a little gesture Anthony had come to recognize. “The curator.” She thought for a moment. “His secretary who set the appointment after I notified him we’d arrived. The guard who stood outside the vault. Those are the only ones I’m aware of.”

He pulled his gaze from her mouth. “Didn’t the watchman go missing at the same time as the incident?”

She nodded. “We assumed the poor man was taken by the thief and killed.”

“Do you know how long he’d been employed by the museum?”

Her face paled. “Do you think he had something to do with it?”

“We need to consider every possibility, but, yes, especially if his body was never recovered.” Anthony hated frightening her, but if it would help them discover who was behind the theft, it might also save her life.

Clairece’s eyes grew wide with apprehension. “Will you help me?”

How could she think otherwise?
He took her hand in his. “We’ll do this together. Now, tell me what you remember about the guard.”

Her fingers closed around his and he experienced the now-familiar tightening in his chest.

She stared into the distance. “He was a brute of a man. Big arms, thick legs and trunk, the sort one would expect to find on docks.”

“What else?”

“Though not as tall as you, he towered over me. Brown hair, shaggy, like he cut it himself, and brown eyes. Oh,” she leaned toward him, “he had a scar.” She drew a line down his left cheek with her fingertip.

Anthony shuddered at the brief touch. “Can you think of anything distinctive about his voice?”

“Yes.” Clairece clutched his hand in both of hers. “He had an accent. British—but not like yours. His was coarse.”

While Anthony listened, his senses shifted to the soft, silky texture of her hands. Hands he wanted to feel on his body. He tugged Clairece toward him. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me hold you, nothing more.”

She shimmied from beneath the blanket and climbed directly onto his lap, squirming to get comfortable. Heat raced to his groin at the intimate contact.

“Best not wriggle, darling.”

She stilled, her cheeks flushing before she snuggled into his chest.

Anthony plucked the forgotten blanket from the floor and covered them both. It was unwise to stay this close, but he told himself a minute longer couldn’t hurt.

“You’d authenticated the piece before you left the vault?”

“Yes.” Her lips pursed. “Why would someone be interested in me after all this time?”

He tightened his arms around her. “I don’t know.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Even her hair smelled of orange blossoms. “The person you contacted here was the same one who let you know the collar had resurfaced?”

Clairece nodded distractedly.

“Who is your source?”

The tip of her tongue appeared, skating over her lower lip while she stared at his mouth. “I’ve never met him. We only correspond through missives in the paper.”

He shifted, attempting to ease the sudden pressure in his groin, only to have her nestle closer, pressing her bottom against his burgeoning erection. He gasped but managed a strangled, “Let’s add him to our list of suspects.”

One of her slender fingers made small circles across the linen covering his chest while her gaze traveled over his face, settling again on his mouth. His body thrummed with growing anticipation.

Anthony jerked his thoughts back to the issue at hand. “How were you first contacted?”

“It was after I placed a message in the
Evening News and Post
, the
personals
section, and told them to respond in the same fashion.”

“What was in the message?” He spread his thighs and she settled closer against him.

“I, uh . . . I asked for any information on a piece,” she slid a finger beneath the buttons on his shirt and brushed her nail across his skin, “stolen from the Metropolitan Museum in New York. And I offered a reward.”

“You do realize anyone could have responded and claimed to have information?”

Her eyes drifted shut. “I asked for one word to indicate what the item was. Nothing was ever written in the newspapers describing the collar.”

“Hmm, smart woman.” Anthony nuzzled her throat. “You said you corresponded through notices?” She tilted her head to the side and he couldn’t resist kissing a path along the edge of her chin.

“Notices? Yes.”

“So there’s at least a day’s delay between them.” He leaned her back against his arm and ran his tongue around the hollow of her throat.
So unwise.
“How did you hear about me?”

“Your name was written at the top of the
personals
on a copy of a newspaper at the house in Mayfair.” She gently nipped his neck.

“Are they signed, these notices?” he murmured.

“Only initials.” Clairece curled her arm behind his head and gripped the back of his neck. “Kiss me.”

Anthony covered her mouth with his. She responded immediately, opening to his exploring tongue. Lost in her rising passion, she tried to face him more fully.

“Stay still or holding you won’t be enough.” He reclaimed her mouth, stroking his tongue against the sweetness of hers in a simulation of what he wanted to do with her.

“It’s already not enough for me, Anthony. I want more, much more,” she whispered against his lips.

He eased back. “We have to stop.”

Confusion showed clearly on her face. “I thought you wanted me.”

“I do want you, more than you can possibly imagine. I let this go too far, Clairece, and I’m trying to do what’s right.”

She leaned against him and pressed her palm to the front of his trousers. He hissed through his teeth as her fingers stroked his length.

“Why can we not do what we both want?”

“Ah, sweetheart, it is not so simple.”
Not with you.
He might have continued had she accepted she would soon be his wife, but she hadn’t. To take her again would be a betrayal of both Clairece and James, and something he would not do.

But there were other ways to pleasure her.

Gently, he turned her body, until she lay in his lap. She sighed as he began to loosen the buttons on her nightgown, spreading the garment open.

“You take my breath away, Clairece.” He bent close and flicked his tongue across a rosy nipple, drew it deep, and suckled. She gripped his head and held him to her.

Anthony slid his hand under the hem of her gown and began an exploration of the smooth skin behind her knees. As his hand moved up, she eased her hold on him.

He shifted to the other breast to suckle and she threaded her fingers in his hair.

Delighted by the moist, soft curls nestled at the apex of her thighs, he ran his fingers over her silken skin. She moaned and lifted against his hand. He slid the tip of a finger inside her heated body and paused.

“Don’t stop,” Clairece gasped.

“Is this what you want?” He slid a second finger inside.

“Oh . . . yes. More, please.”

Anthony had taken his pleasure with numerous women, all of whom enjoyed bed sport, but none could compare to Clairece’s sensual abandon. She was hot passion under his hand. He closed his eyes at the memory of their coupling and continued to stroke her flesh.

Her breathing changed to panting gasps and Anthony opened his eyes. In her rising passion, she was even more glorious than he remembered. He longed to bring her to the edge of completion again and again, building her pleasure until she sobbed for fulfillment. At her entreaty of “please,” he covered her mouth with his, pressed deeply between her thighs, and let her soar.

She climaxed with a scream, one he swallowed while her wet sheath gripped and quivered against his fingers. For long moments, her body quaked with release before the tremors stilled. He lifted her to lie fully atop him, moving his palm in soothing circles along her back. “It’s all right, love.”

She drew in a shuddering breath and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He felt the brush of her lips and heard a whispered, “Thank you.” Within moments, she drifted off to sleep, the gentle huff of her breath lulling him into a light doze.

Later, Anthony slid from beneath Clairece and carried her to her bed. After he saw to the buttons on her nightgown, he covered her with a heavy quilt. Clairece snuggled deeper into the soft mattress and murmured his name. That strange sensation settled once again in the vicinity of his heart. He feared what it portended.

He’d not allow himself to love her if she could never feel the same. If he did, her eventual rejection would destroy him.