The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  “My driver is to circle Hyde Park. He’ll keep doing so until I have some answers.”

  “This is ridiculous.” She glanced at the handle on the door.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growled. “Now, answer my question.”

  Clairece ran the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips and heard his breath hitch. Although she didn’t fear him, the passionate man of last night was now an angry one. Deeming it prudent, she asked, “What do you wish to know?”

  “Why did you come to my library last night? And, knowing what I thought, why did you stay?”

  “You have a tendency to ask more than one question at a time, Lord Harding, making it difficult to respond.”

  He inhaled audibly. “Why did you come to my library?”

  Chapter 7

  As Anthony saw it, there was only one way forward with their particular situation, one she hadn’t yet recognized. Though a widow, Clairece was a member of a highly regarded family—and James’ cousin. They had no choice but to marry. Strangely, he found the thought intriguing.

  “I was looking for something,” she began.

  “What would that be?”

  “A priceless artifact stolen from the Metropolitan Museum in New York.”

  “Why did you suppose I might have this priceless artifact?”

  “Your reputation as a collector of fine pieces is widely recognized, and you let it be known you wanted to acquire another.”

  “You do realize searching my home without my permission is illegal?” He frowned. “Did you think me responsible for the theft?”

  She swiveled to face him. “To your first question, yes. I understand entering the way I did is against the law, but I had no intention of being caught.”

  “Yet you were.”

  She ignored his response. “To your second question, no. I don’t believe you responsible.”

  Slightly mollified, he continued. “Had you found this artifact, would you have taken it?”

  She sent him an incredulous look. “Of course not. I’m not a thief. I planned to ask how you’d acquired the piece.”

  “Why not ask in the beginning?”

  She raised a delicate brow. “Can you imagine my saying, ‘Do you perchance have in your possession an extremely rare and valuable artifact stolen from the New York Metropolitan Museum?’ Really, now.”

  He stifled a grin. “I can see your point. What exactly was stolen?”

  He listened while she described in clear, concise words the collar once worn by Mary, Queen of Scots’ lap dog, the history behind the relic, and that she’d dated and confirmed the collar as authentic.

  She’s good. “Why are you interested in the relic or who might have the collar?” What will she say now?

  “Why isn’t relevant. Do you know of the artifact?” Her hands were clenched together and he could sense the tension in her body.

  “Not yet. The notice just went out.” He settled more comfortably in the seat. “I’m asking again, why is it important to you?”

  “The piece isn’t. I don’t care what you do with it. Keep it or turn the artifact over to the crown, the decision is yours. What I want is the name of the person who took it.”

  He sighed. “Mrs. Griffin, you could make this easier on both of us if you would simply talk to me.”

  “I will find the man and make certain he’s punished, or else . . .”

  “Or else?”

  “I will kill him myself.”

  He gaped. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am quite serious.” She leaned toward him. “Please, you must not speak of this with James.”

  Anthony raked his fingers through his hair. “This entire fiasco has placed me—us—in an untenable position. James is my best friend. Not only did I lay with his cousin, now you ask I keep something of this magnitude from him?”

  Clairece reached across and gripped his arm. “Don’t you understand? If James knew he would stymie my efforts. And after I found a way around him, he would believe he’d failed at what he deems proper protection.” She glanced at her hand and hastily withdrew it.

  She acted as if he should see the logic in her reasoning. Strangely, it did make a certain amount of sense. “Why would you think I won’t stop you?”

  “What I do is of little consequence to you.”

  Does she realize she’s insulted me? “I beg to differ. Do you honestly believe I would stand by while you get yourself killed?”

  “But—”

  “Now you listen to me.” He was the one to lean forward this time. “You and I are far from finished. Whether either of us likes it or not, we had better come to terms with what happened between us and what’s to be done about it. I’m not promising I won’t speak to James at some point, but I will at least give us time to consider every possibility first.”

  After a moment during which Clairece seemed to mull over his words, she frowned. “What do you mean, what’s to be done?”

  A discussion best left for a later date. Anthony continued on his present course. “Two more questions and I will take you home.”

  “No, you will answer my question.” There was no mistaking the challenge in her voice.

  “The way forward should be clear. I will obtain a special license and we will wed. If you would like, we can pretend a swift courtship.” Now he’d broached the subject of marriage, the idea was even more appealing.

  “Hmm.” She sent him a patently false smile and he received the distinct impression he’d erred somewhere. “Tell me, my lord, had I been the courtesan you believed me to be, would you now suggest we marry?”

  He hesitated, remembering he’d planned on making her his mistress—and saw the black hole looming before him.

  Her eyes sparked. “I thought not. As to your touching proposal, my answer is an unequivocal no. I have no intention of marrying. Not you or anyone. Besides, no one knows what happened between us.” She smoothed her skirts over her lap. “Now, take me home.”

  He knew when to beat a hasty retreat. “What did you put in my drink?”

  She blinked at the quick change of subject. “Laudanum.” He uttered a soft oath. “I’m knowledgeable with the drug,” she assured.

  “Do you use it?” God in heaven, say no. More than one woman of his acquaintance had become addicted. Continued use of the narcotic could result in an early death, or at the very least, in a ruined life.

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, never. I knew someone who did.”

  Relieved, he gave a stiff nod. “Why would you wish to kill whoever took the collar?” He felt a twinge of guilt for asking but he needed to hear it from her and not some other source.

  “I thought you were taking me home.”

  He remained silent.

  “I . . . they killed,” her voice wavered, “someone close to me. Now, may we please stop the questions?”

  In the flickering light of the coach lamp, her eyes shimmered with tears. Anthony reached for her, wanting only to offer comfort, but she held up her hand to stay him. Undeterred, he moved to a position beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. At first she resisted, but then settled against his side, weeping softly.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” With the pad of his thumb, he brushed the tears from her cheeks. He withdrew a handkerchief from an inside pocket and handed the linen to her, before reaching up to knock on the trap door, signaling his driver to take them to her destination.

  “I’m so close to finding those responsible for Roger’s death,” she sobbed.

  “Hush, sweeting.” She was in his arms and they would work through the rest.

  As the carriage stopped outside the three-story, rose-brick house in Mayfair, he moved back to the seat opposite her. After the foo
tman opened the door and let down the steps, Anthony signaled the man away and helped Clairece out.

  Anthony took her by the elbow and escorted her to the door. “Do you still plan to walk in the morning?”

  She nodded.

  “At nine, then.”

  Chapter 8

  At precisely nine in the morning, Anthony raised the doorknocker and let it fall. He expected to find Clairece unavailable. Should she refuse to see him, he would spend the better part of the day ensconced in a chair in her drawing room until she agreed.

  The large front door opened and he was invited into a cream-and-white tiled foyer. After handing his hat and coat to the butler, Anthony was shown to a parlor and asked to wait.

  He strolled around the perimeter of the room, studying the various paintings. Some were from relatively new artists, but a few were exquisite works by the old masters.

  Anthony turned at the sound of a woman’s step on the tiled floor. Clairece entered the room, the faint scent of orange blossoms following in her wake. Serviceable boots peeked from beneath the hem of her rust-colored walking suit. A stylish confection of sable and feathers perched on the side of her head.

  Good manners bid him ask, “It’s brisk this morning. Do you still wish to walk?”

  “Of course, unless you’ve changed your mind.” She paused in pulling on her gloves.

  “Shall we proceed, then?” He offered his arm which she declined to take. “Still miffed?”

  With her pert nose in the air, she marched past him toward the front hall. He grinned at the slight act of defiance but stopped his advance as a splash of deep red caught his attention. A single rose filled a small crystal vase on a corner table. Her gaze followed his and her cheeks flamed.

  “I—”

  “Not here.” Anthony accepted the heavy fur-lined pelisse from her butler and placed it around her shoulders, fastening the frogs at her throat. She reached for the matching muff with trembling hands.

  Once inside the carriage, Anthony broke the silence. “We have to talk about what happened. No more evading my question, Clairece. I wish to know why.”

  She closed her eyes, her breath escaping in a small, white puff. “I never thought to see you again—” she clamped her lips together.

  A spurt of anger, dark and ugly, coursed through him. “You thought what? That you’d just have a quick tumble?”

  “No!” she gasped. “I meant what I said on New Year’s Eve. You were so splendid, so handsome, and so gentle with me. I’ve felt nothing for such a long time and . . .” She stammered to a halt.

  Anthony cleared his throat. “Since your husband?”

  She hesitated, then sank back against the padded cushions and slowly shook her head. “Long before then.”

  The carriage swung through the gates of Green Park and came to a stop near a path. A favorite of nannies and their charges, it was too cold for children and a bit early for most others, affording them a certain amount of privacy. Anthony exited without a word and handed her down.

  She began walking, her long legs stretching out in an easy glide. He shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his heavy overcoat and kept pace beside her.

  They walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of snow and dried leaves beneath their feet. After a while, she spoke. “I’ve been loved and sheltered all my life. Although I’m thankful for my family, their protection can become stifling. Little by little, the men in my household took away my right to choose. They decided where I could go and who I could see. Decisions were made without even consulting me.”

  It was still the fate of most women. For one like Clairece, such a situation would have been intolerable. Considering her beauty and family wealth, in their position he might have acted the same.

  “They had listened to both my mother and aunt, so why not me?” she continued. “Had they even once asked what I wanted, or shared their concerns with me so I could understand, things might have been different.”

  Clairece cut her eyes in his direction, then stared straight ahead as they walked. “At seventeen, I was desperate to take control of my life and as a result made a stupid mistake. My uncle warned me to stay away from the cowhands. Carlen, one of the drovers, dared approach me. I was enthralled. The men in town and on Spencer Ranch were respectful of Uncle Adrian and my father and never came near me the way Carlen did.”

  Smart fellows.

  “I believed I knew better than my elders. Suffice to say, all Carlen wanted was entrée into my family and their money. He told me he loved me and I let him . . .” She lifted her shoulders in a small, desolate shrug.

  Anthony fisted his hands. He wanted to hit something, preferably Carlen.

  “Carlen went straight to my father. He obviously expected we would wed, but he didn’t know Papa. My father would never force me into marriage against my will. Uncle Adrian almost killed him. Unfortunately, Carlen bragged about his conquest and I was ruined.” She dipped her head, an unconscious indication of shame, then raised her chin resolutely.

  Anthony’s rage grew on her behalf.

  “Roger Griffin was a close friend of my father’s and near his age. I’d known Roger most of my life, so when he asked me to marry, I understood it as a means to protect me. Had a child resulted from the one encounter, Roger would have claimed the infant as his own.” Clairece made a queer little sound in her throat. “I accepted. My mother, and my Aunt Angeline, warned against it. Yet again, I didn’t listen. I paid a high price for my decision.”

  She glanced at him. “We were married almost five years. During that time, Roger and my father taught me how to evaluate artifacts, relics, and gems. It was a quiet, comfortable life, one I truly came to enjoy. However, it was one without . . . passion. Without physical gratification.”

  As if anticipating his thoughts, she added, “Roger served in the army during the Civil War, our war between the states, and was badly injured. He couldn’t—” Her cheeks filled with color.

  Anthony nodded slowly. “I understand.” What he didn’t comprehend was why any man would treat a young, vital woman in such a way. Had he not been a selfish bastard, her husband could have pleasured her with his hands and mouth. Unwilling to upset Clairece further, he remained silent as they strolled.

  “Roger told me before we wed, a physical relationship was not part of what he offered. He gave me the option to refuse. Since I held none of those feelings for him, and the one and only time I’d been intimate with a man was painful and left me . . .” One hand fluttered as she sought for a word.

  “Unfulfilled?” Anthony suggested.

  She sighed, “Yes. I saw no reason not to marry.” She dipped her head and continued walking.

  “Carlen was a selfish lad, not a man, and cared nothing for your pleasure.”

  She peeked at Anthony through her lashes. “So I’ve realized.”

  Images of Clairece beneath him, her face flushed with passion, made his body tighten. Why had he thought the park in broad daylight a good idea?

  “At the time, Roger’s offer seemed a blessing. In return, I kept his house, logged entries for a book he was writing, and offered my companionship. He seemed happy with the exchange.”

  “Why didn’t you take a lover?” Anthony tried to control his tumultuous emotions, as imagining Clairece with another man left him gritting his teeth.

  She stopped and turned on him, eyes flashing. “I would never do that. Such behavior would have been selfish, thoughtless, and hurtful to a man who didn’t deserve it.”

  To Anthony, it was debatable who’d been the selfish one, but, again, he kept his opinions to himself and resumed walking.

  Clairece caught up with him. “My father received a request from the museum in New York to authenticate a relic. He was working on another project so I asked to go in his stead. Althou
gh Roger was in considerable pain, he wouldn’t let me travel alone.”

  Ah, the laudanum.

  “At the repository, we were taken to a vault and shown the collar. The leather had deteriorated, but stains could still be discernable, left by Queen Mary’s blood. The gems were exquisite, perfectly matched, rubies interspersed with yellow diamonds. The only blemish was one missing tie, a tightly-braided little strip about three inches long.”

  Anthony nodded encouragingly.

  “The train ride was hard on Roger and the museum had countless stairs. He stayed behind with the guard while I accompanied the curator upstairs to appraise some other items. At the sound of gunshots, the curator and I rushed back to the vault. We were too late.”

  Her pace had slowed. He wanted to offer comfort but had no idea if his touch would be welcomed.

  In a voice uneven with emotion, she continued. “The collar was gone and Roger lay on the floor in a pool of blood.”

  “Was he dead?” He thought to spare her by saying the word himself.

  Clairece shook her head. “No. I used the hem of my skirt and my hands to press on his chest to stem the flow.” She grabbed his sleeve. “I tried to save him, Anthony, but nothing I did made any difference. He said ‘forgive me’ and simply stopped breathing.”

  Anthony slid her arm through his and pulled her against his side. She didn’t move away.

  They walked on a bit, before he asked carefully, “What do you think Roger meant?”

  Clairece brushed a gloved hand across her cheek. “I assumed he regretted certain parts of our life together.”

  Hmm. “What of the guard?”

  “Gone.”

  “Was he ever found?”