The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  “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.

  Chapter 13

  Anthony glanced up as Clairece breezed into the breakfast room. In a blue morning gown of lightweight wool trimmed in lavender cording, she looked incredibly lovely. A net, covered in small points of amethyst, secured her hair at her nape.

  He rose. “Good morning, Mrs. Griffin. I believe the doctor’s orders were for you to remain in bed another day.”

  She inclined her head in greeting. “The day’s too lovely to spend in bed.”

  Now that is debatable.

  “And we have things to discuss,” she concluded.

  “Please,” Anthony indicated a chair to the right of his.

  After making her selections, Clairece accepted the proffered seat while a footman set her plate before her.

  “You may leave us, Simms,” Anthony instructed.

  The servant bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Clairece arched a brow at the impropriety of the request.

  “I think it best to keep our plans as private as possible,” Anthony explained. He poured coffee into a cup and passed it to her. “You look lovely, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Since I don’t recognize this particular frock, I can only assume it’s something you purchased?”

  “In an attempt to conceal your whereabouts, I had a few items collected and taken to James’ house, then procured some things for you in their stead.”

  “I see.”

  He’d been around enough women to recognize the tone. Somewhere, he’d made a huge error in judgment.

  “If you will give me the bill, I shall settle it.”

  “There is no need—” he began.

  “Oh, I assure you there is. I cannot accept personal gifts from you. Since I am neither your wife, family member, nor mistress, I will pay for my own clothing.” With this pronouncement, she continued with her breakfast.

  He’d choose his battles. “As you wish.” Anthony slid the morning paper in her direction. “There’s something in the Post I think you should see.”

  She took a bite of toast and examined the personals column. Her head snapped up. “This one—”she tapped a spot with her finger—“the one addressed to CG. He claims to possess the information I requested. I’m to meet him at the lending library at noon today.”

  “Cutting it close, don’t you think?”

  Clairece shrugged. “Perhaps. He must suspect I check the columns daily.”

  “If you’ve never met, how are you to recognize each other? Something doesn’t feel right.” He studied her face and sighed. “From your expression, I assume we’re going.” At her nod, Anthony folded the paper and laid it aside. “Does he know to expect a woman?”

  “There’s no reason he should.” Clairece added cream and sugar to her coffee. “This is far too important to risk his backing off if he feels something is wrong, so don’t think you’ll go in my place.” She swallowed more toast. “If he doesn’t show, perhaps the Post could tell us who’s placing the ads.”

  “An excellent idea.” Anthony drained his coffee, surprised she’d correctly discerned his intentions. “Later, I’ll go around to Scotland Yard to garner any additional information.”

  Clairece spread marmalade on the last bit of toast. “I would like to go with you.”

  “The Yard is no place for a lady. You would be much safer here until I return.” If she discovered he’d discussed both her and the collar with Stallings before she arrived, Clairece would most likely refuse his help. If she ascertained he’d accepted an assignment involving the collar and therefore her, he had no doubt she would turn her back on him altogether.

  “If you say so.” She crunched through the marmalade-covered morsel.

  “You must promise not to leave without either me or James to accompany you.”

  Her reaction was a slight smile.

  Since Anthony had few illusions about being obeyed, he would ask Stallings to set a man to watch her should Clairece decide to venture out alone.

  Anthony stepped from his carriage, signaling his coachman to drive on. He meandered past a couple of storefronts to a tobacconist shop where he stopped to examine the items on display. The reflection in the window gave him a clear view of the Library. Within moments, a hackney pulled up in front of the library and Clairece stepped down. She handed the jarvey a coin and started up the steps.

  A small urchin called to her from across the street.

  Clairece turned and stepped back into the road.

  Anthony watched in stunned horror as a black, nondescript carriage, the curtains drawn over the windows, barreled down the street toward Clairece. He shouted and ran in her direction, watching helplessly as she stopped and glanced at him in surprise.

  He would not get there in time. Above the hammering of his heart and the pounding of hooves, he heard the impact as the lead horse struck her slender body.

  And felt the blow to the marrow of his bones.

  Clairece’s slight form revolved like a child’s spinning top and flew through the air to land in a motionless heap at the side of the road.

  Anthony dropped to his knees at her side, afraid to touch her. He vaguely heard someone shout for a doc
tor.

  Blood seeped into her bright curls from a gash on her forehead, and oozed from scratches on her cheek. One slender leg, scraped and bleeding, lay visible through the remnants of her gown. He shucked off his coat and laid it over her, then felt for a pulse at the side of her throat.

  The palm of one kid-leather glove was shredded and bloody. Anthony yanked a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it against her temple, a horrid sense of déjà vu overtaking him.

  “Clairece, can you hear me, sweetheart? You are not to die,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse from the desperation consuming him. “Please—open your eyes, darling.”

  Her lashes fluttered. “Anthony?”

  He leaned down and whispered, “Yes, love.”

  “Don’t . . . leave me,” she murmured.

  “Never.” Anthony swiped his fingers across his eyes and shouted, “Where’s the damned doctor?” He hadn’t prayed since his mother died, but he did now. He would promise anything, do anything, not to lose Clairece. “Please, God, let her be all right.” He lifted his head . . . and met James’ intent, worried regard as he knelt beside his cousin.

  “Let me through,” Dr. Farris ordered, pushing people aside as he made his way toward them. He knelt to check Clairece’s pulse. His gaze riveted on Anthony, Farris demanded, “Can you explain this one?”

  Anthony forced a nod. “Later. Please, just help her.”

  Farris reached into his black bag for a small bottle and ran it under Clairece’s nose. She shook her head and clipped Farris on the jaw with a thrashing fist. Farris caught her flaying hand. “Feisty, isn’t she?”

  “Without a doubt.” Anthony sat fully on the ground, willing his stomach not to cast up his accounts there in the street.

  Farris snapped the bag shut. “I need to examine her, but I cannot do it here.”