Gazing at his mouth with its full lower lip sent delicious warmth pooling in her lower abdomen and thighs as she recalled their kisses.
She studied his hands, recalling their gentle touch on her body. Large, strong, and calloused, they were not what one would expect of a nobleman.
This had been an impulsive act, one she couldn’t explain. She’d been called rash and reckless and at times she was, but only if she deemed it warranted, believed in it strongly, or wanted it deeply.
By rights, Anthony should have been with his guests. Her first impulse was to flee, then he’d spoken in his rich, deep-timbered voice and her stomach had quivered. He’d offered her the chance to leave and she’d refused. It had been years since she’d experienced the sweet stirrings of desire, but never this wild, almost-hunger as with Anthony.
She glanced around. Her sources had given his name as someone who wished to acquire a valuable artifact and was willing to pay handsomely for it. If the collar was in his possession, it would most likely be in this room where so many other collectables were displayed.
She searched methodically, replacing everything as it was. After checking the most obvious places, she’d still not found the artifact. Frustrated, she was running out of time. She needed to search his bedchamber and other likely places, but the longer she stayed, the more likely it was she’d be caught.
Anthony moaned and stirred, fighting the dose of laudanum. A strong man, the sedative’s effect would soon wear off.
Clairece plucked an afghan from the back of the sofa and covered him, then slipped from the room.
Anthony willed his eyelids to open and sat up—then wished he hadn’t. Somewhere a sadist beat on an anvil, the noise reverberating inside his skull. His mouth seemed stuffed with cotton. He licked his lips and looked around.
“What the hell?” He yanked the knitted blanket off and tossed it to the side, instantly regretting the hurried movement.
After several attempts, he managed to place his feet solidly on the floor and stand. The room swirled around him. He grabbed for a nearby chair, flailed, and toppled to the carpet with a resounding thud.
Swearing, he sat up and braced his hands in yet another attempt. Something pricked his palm.
A small white feather.
He cursed again.
He was going to be sick. Hell, he might even be dying. He gripped his head with both hands and waited for the vertigo to ease. As the dizziness passed, the enormity of the situation struck him.
Anthony tried again to stand and this time succeeded. After a quick survey of the library, he determined nothing of value missing.
He’d allowed his baser instincts to get the better of him and been duped as a result. But even as he thought of her, he felt the first stirrings of desire.
“Dammit.”
Anthony grabbed his waistcoat and coat and slipped them on, then retrieved his tie and headed for the door. A glance at the mantle clock showed it to be nearing one in the morning. There was little chance he would find her downstairs, but he might see James or Phillip.
Moments later, Anthony strode into the ballroom and began his search for a woman with hair the color of moonbeams. He swore silently. Soon he’d be waxing poetic over a deceiving, masquerading . . . He stopped his internal tirade. Of the many things she might be, she was not a whore. He would stake his reputation on it.
With a large number of people still enjoying the festivities, Anthony slowed his steps until he spied his friends at the far side of the ballroom.
“Who was she?” he demanded without preamble. “Who did you send?”
James appeared puzzled. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.”
Phillip frowned. “I sent no one and, to the best of my knowledge, neither did Stephen. We honored your request to choose your own company.”
“You disappeared and we assumed you’d changed your mind.” James set his empty glass on the tray of a passing footman. “What happened?”
“It’s not important.” Anthony wasn’t about to reveal the brief interlude.
James scrutinized the room. “I believe this may be the largest fancy-dressed ball yet,” he commented to Anthony. “By the way, I’ve heard from my cousin. She’ll be at my home for dinner around seven. Would you join us?”
Anthony scanned the remaining guests. “Seven? Yes, of course.” He’d prefer to begin the search for the beauty who’d slipped from his grasp, but James had requested his help.
“Are you able to attend?” James inquired of Phillip.
Phillip shook his head. “I’ve made other commitments. Please extend my apologies and tell her I’ll come around the following day.”
For the next hour Anthony played host, managing to keep a pleasant expression on his face. At two in the morning the ball was officially over. The pain behind his eyes made his vision blur and he wanted nothing more than to find his bed.
Why? Why? Why? The pointless question reverberated in his head. He would find her and he would have his answers, even if he had to shake them out of her. Right now, he would relish the act.
She might run, but find her he would.
Chapter 6
Ashley House, London
Anthony stood before the fire in James’ drawing room. Discreet inquiries had returned nothing of value. The woman he’d nicknamed Beauty was a complete enigma. Since his time with the elusive woman, he’d thought of little else. No matter how much he despised himself for it, he still wanted her.
Something vague floated at the edges of his memory. As James entered the room and approached him, Anthony fisted his hand against the mantle and straightened from the hearth.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Tony. Any luck finding your missing lady?”
“None. I—”
At the sound of a female voice, soft and throaty, his head whipped around. The woman who swept into the room was nothing short of magnificent. Wearing a gown of pale blue watered silk, she was the epitome of elegant sophistication. His heart hammered in his chest. Even though she’d worn a mask, he knew this was the woman he sought. There could be no two alike in all of England.
He stood in the shadows and watched James cross the room to greet her. Anthony growled deep in his throat when she held out her arms for James’ embrace and leaned to kiss his cheek.
“James, I have missed you so. It’s been . . . heavens, two years since I last saw you, much too long.” The tenderness she held for James was obvious. Her hands, encased in blue silk gloves, rested on his shoulders. Anthony remembered the feel of those slender fingers as they skimmed through his hair.
“Indeed, Ree. We’ll make up for lost time now you’re here. Come, there is someone I would like you to meet.” James took her elbow and directed her to the center of the room where Anthony now stood.
Her eyes widened in stunned disbelief, then she blinked and fixed a cool smile on her face.
No, I am not mistaken.
Hair the color of spun silver was arranged in a simple chignon at the back of her head. On some women it would seem severe, but not her. The style only emphasized the slender curve of her neck. A neck he remembered well.
James smiled at the lovely creature beside him. “My dear, may I present Anthony Wade, the Earl of Harding?”
She curtsied, not meeting his gaze. “Lord Harding.”
Too late, dear heart, I’ve got you now.
“Tony, my cousin, Mrs. Clairece Griffin.”
“A pleasure, Mrs. Griffin.” He sketched a bow. “James mentioned you’ve just arrived. Had I but known, I would have personally invited you to my New Year’s Eve ball. I think you would have found it pleasurable.”
Her smile wavered fractionally but then she spoke, her voice perfectly modulated. “You’re most kind, my lord.”
Ant
hony fought the urge to throttle her. Without the mask to inhibit his view, he studied her face. Large, luminous eyes placed below enticingly arched brows enhanced a face which would have made Botticelli weep. High cheekbones gave her a delicate appearance. His perusal dropped to her mouth—the kind of mouth to send a man to his knees. And it had.
James patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “I imagine you’re fatigued after your journey.” He glanced at his butler who hovered near the door. “I believe dinner is ready.”
“Yes, my lord.” Daniels bowed.
James smiled broadly. “I’ve planned a quiet evening for the three of us. My chef has prepared some of your favorite dishes.”
“How thoughtful.” She shot a covert glance at Anthony. “Some things are far too rich for my taste.”
So the vixen has teeth. Anthony lowered his gaze and prepared to follow them from the drawing room.
“My lord.” Daniels met them in the hallway. “Chef would like a word with you, if you please.”
James glanced from Daniels to Anthony. “Tony, would you be so kind as to escort Ree into the small dining room? I won’t be but a moment.”
Perfect. “It would be my pleasure.” He all but snatched her hand from James. Tucking her gloved fingers in the crook of his arm, he clamped his free hand over hers, anchoring her to his side.
Anthony squeezed.
Clairece jerked.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed under her breath, her smile fixed in place.
“Escorting you into dinner, of course.” They continued down the hall. Anthony reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small white feather. “I believe this is yours.”
She flicked her gaze to the plume. “It—it’s not mine.”
Anthony slipped the tiny quill back in his pocket. “My mistake, Mrs. Griffin. I must admit to a desire to keep it. I have such fond memories surrounding its acquisition.”
She stumbled. He tightened his arm to steady her.
Again, she tried to pull away. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Not as much as I enjoyed last night, at least part of it. I want some answers from you and I shall have them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t. I suppose there’s no love bite on the side of your neck, one I put there.”
Clairece raised her hand to her throat, circled by a wide satin ribbon holding a brooch. “Please, I don’t want my family to hear of this.”
“Then I suggest you tell me what I wish or we can call James back in here and hash this out with him.”
Her eyes widened and she visibly paled. She ceased her struggling and he loosened his hold, but continued to propel her forward.
“Mrs. Griffin, whatever else you may think,” Anthony said, throwing her words back at her, “I’m no bounder. I do not kiss and tell. Neither do I wish to involve James in this.” He ushered her into the dining room. While a footman seated Clairece, he took his own across from her.
As he watched, she bit softly on her lower lip. She was nervous, and well she should be. Anthony studied the beauty mark at the edge of her mouth; natural, not artifice.
Then he thought of James. God! I’ve betrayed my best friend.
Clairece glanced furtively at Anthony. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes glittered. A finger tapped slowly on the table. She could only guess what the man thought of her. Then again, from the expression on his face, she was fairly certain she knew.
He demanded answers and he had a right to them. However, she wasn’t about to explain her presence in his library. It was preferable to let him think what he would of their encounter. She’d already said too much. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember.
Clairece wished he wouldn’t stare at her so. Seeing him again had been a shock. Even now, his nearness had her pulse racing. Dressed in formal black, the expensive material of his dinner jacket superbly cut to accommodate his broad shoulders, it was difficult not to think of the taut muscles hidden beneath the coat.
Last night, the fine linen of his shirt had concealed little. She wanted him again and the realization stunned her. She must be mad to even consider . . .
Their eyes met. His expression altered subtly, then a wicked grin played across his lips.
Dreadful man.
That Anthony had correctly interpreted the path her thoughts had taken, was obvious. She lifted her chin and the smile left his face. He glared at the footman who immediately left the room.
“Why?” He fairly growled the word.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’ve been a widow for two years. Is it so hard to imagine I might desire a man’s attention?”
“Do not lie to me,” he ground out. “I was inside your body and I know you don’t make a practice of taking men to your bed. If, as you say, you crave attention, then you shall have mine, but only mine. Now answer my question. Why?”
“Why was I there, or why did I lay with you? Which is it, Lord Harding?” She heard a hiss as he released his breath through his teeth.
“Holy hell.” Anthony leaned forward as if to reach for her, just as James returned. Clairece nearly fell on her cousin’s neck in gratitude.
“I see you’re getting acquainted,” James said, obviously unaware of the tension between them. “Did I not tell you she was remarkable, Tony?”
“Remarkable indeed.” Anthony bit off the words with a smile that showed a lot of teeth.
The man had every right to hear the truth, at least part of it, but he would likely inform James and they would attempt to stop her. She couldn’t risk their interference. She looked up to find both men watching her. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
James smiled affectionately. “No need to apologize, Ree. I was saying, Phillip Michael had a prior commitment. If you’re free, he’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“I would love to see our cousin. Phillip must be quite grown by now.” She lifted her glass to her lips, refusing to meet Anthony’s gaze.
Throughout dinner, James reminisced about his youth in America. With her mind occupied on how best to avoid Anthony, she only half listened.
“Still walking every morning?”
Her head jerked up as she realized James had addressed the question to her. “Yes. It’s something I enjoy.”
James frowned. “You shouldn’t walk unaccompanied here and I have an early meeting.”
“I take a brisk stroll in the mornings myself. I would be happy to accompany her.” Anthony pinned her with an unrepentant stare. “If you wouldn’t mind, of course, Mrs. Griffin?” He lifted a brow, daring her to refuse.
Wretched man.
“James, I’m a widow and almost twenty-five. Surely, my walking alone would not pose a problem.”
Anthony leaned back, his eyes filled with amusement at her attempt to thwart him. “You’re also a lovely woman, a rare beauty in fact. Propriety is only one of the things about which to be concerned.”
Her entire body seemed to flush. “Oh, I see.” If she didn’t want James to become suspicious, she had no choice. With a sigh of resignation she capitulated. “I accept your kind offer, Lord Harding.”
“It’s settled, then.” James beamed at her.
Clairece shot her nemesis a mutinous scowl—and received a wink in return. Her face, as well as her temper, heated. She laid her serviette beside her plate and offered her best limpid expression.
“Are you all right, my dear?” James asked with concern.
Anthony merely raised a brow.
“Please forgive me, James. I’m more fatigued than I thought. Although the voyage took little over a week, the train ride from Houston to New York was tedious.” She rubbed her temple. “Would you ask a footman to send for a hackney? I wo
uld like an early night.”
“Nonsense. I’ll have my carriage readied and take you myself.” James started to rise.
“There’s no need,” Anthony interjected. “Mine is waiting outside. I would be more than happy to see her safely home.”
Beastly man. Clairece lifted her lips in a semblance of a smile. “How kind, my lord.”
His mouth twitched.
Clairece allowed Anthony to help her with her fur-lined cloak. As his hands lingered on her shoulders, she stepped back, her foot landing precisely on his highly-polished evening shoe. He uttered a grunt.
“Oh, I do apologize. So clumsy of me,” she demurred.
“No harm done, Mrs. Griffin.” He thrust his arm at her and she was forced to take it.
As they exited the house, she caught a glimpse of the black-lacquered finish on the coach and liveried footman before Anthony handed her into the waiting carriage.
“What are your directions?”
“My . . .?” She frowned, innocently.
“Your. Address.” His voice lacked further patience.
She hid a smile. “Number Ten, Waverton Street, Mayfair.”
After speaking with the coachman, Anthony climbed in and took the seat across from her, his back to the horses. The steps were lifted, the door shut, and Clairece found herself enclosed in an elegant, dimly-lit compartment with her antagonist. The carriage swayed as the footman climbed up on his perch, then the well-sprung conveyance moved forward.
Anthony’s long, lean form settled back against the deep squabs. Obsidian eyes, their expression impossible to read in the subdued light, observed her closely.
She turned toward the window. A quick glance confirmed they traveled away from Waverton Street. She jerked around to face him. “Where are you taking me?”
The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) Page 4