Lifting a dainty foot, she set it on the chair beside him. Her fingers slipped beneath the lace garter in invitation. As if orchestrated, he drew her hand away and loosened the ribbons. Removing her slipper, he rolled the sheer stocking down her leg and over her foot.
She shifted, and brought her right foot to his hands. After dutifully removing the last garter and stocking, he slid his palm up to the silken skin of her thigh.
She tugged on the ribbons holding her chemise together and performed an erotic little shimmy. The thin material slid over her shoulders and down her arms. Firm, round breasts, the nipples already hardened to peaks, rose temptingly before him. Before he could draw one pink-colored tip into his mouth, she lowered her foot and the chemise fell in a whisper of silk.
Clairece leaned forward and whispered against his ear, “Your clothes, my lord.”
Anthony quickly divested himself of coat and waistcoat, tearing at his cravat, reaching for her.
At a sharp rap on the door, Clairece shrieked and hastily gathered articles of clothing strung about the room.
She disappeared into the adjoining bedchamber to return wearing his robe. Placing her behind him, Anthony swung the door open.
A man filled the threshold. The stranger’s gaze slid over them and settled on Anthony. Lethal intent shone in those black eyes.
“Don Philippe!” Clairece uttered a squeak of delight.
Chapter 28
Bloody hell.
Anthony knew exactly who this man was. The Spaniard’s sharp-eyed regard moved from him to Clairece, dressed only in a man’s robe, and past them to the adjoining chamber with the bed and its rumpled sheets.
Before Anthony could react, he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and lifted bodily from the floor. A low growl rumbled in the other man’s chest, and Anthony landed with a teeth-jarring thud across the room.
Anthony bounded to his feet as Philippe prowled toward him. “Go to the next room, Clairece. Now!”
“You heard the man, niña. It is best you not witness this.” Philippe closed the door behind him.
A more dangerous man, Anthony had yet to meet. The Spaniard exuded such a chilling presence, no one in his right mind could mistake the aura of menace surrounding him.
Philippe advanced, not so much a stride, as the stalking of a predatory animal.
“It’s all right, truly it is!” Clairece shrieked.
“Sweetheart, leave the room.” Anthony pointed toward the bedroom.
Surprise flickered in the other man’s eyes.
Clairece eased between them. “This isn’t what it looks like—well perhaps it is a little—”
“Love, you’re not helping.” Anthony eased her aside.
“Those bruises, who is responsible?” Philippe flung his heavy cape open to reveal a pistol tucked neatly into a shoulder holster.
Clairece yelped. “The man who killed Roger did this. Anthony saved me and took me to stay with him.”
Philippe glanced at the bed. “At what price?”
“Now just a minute,” Anthony began.
Clairece blushed. “He didn’t do anything I didn’t want. It was wonderful and—”
“I am happy you feel that way, dearest, but believe me, you are making things worse,” Anthony inserted.
“On the contrary, señor, I find it enlightening.”
Right, you’ll kill me quickly instead of slowly.
Clairece clasped the Spaniard’s arm, seemingly unaware of the damage this man could do in a blink of an eye. “I may be carrying his child, and—”
Philippe uttered an oath and lifted Clairece out of the way.
“We’re married.” She held up her hand to show Philippe her rings.
This man is ready to make you a widow, my love.
Philippe’s expression changed subtly. “Is this so?”
“Yes, and there is no way in hell I will let you, or anyone else, take her from me.” Anthony braced himself for the anticipated fight.
“And I’ll fight, too.” Clairece, his will-o-the-wisp woman, stood stiff with defiance, looking as convincing as a woman could while holding her lover’s robe closed over her obviously naked body.
Anthony’s lips twitched. She was magnificent in a temper. He glanced at Philippe who dipped his head to conceal a grin.
“It won’t come to that, will it, Don Philippe?” Anthony ventured. “We’re reasonable men”—Clairece gave an indignant little snort—“and when we explain . . . stop making those little faces, darling. It’s hard to concentrate.”
“Lord Harding, I presume?” Philippe growled.
“Anthony Wade, Earl of Harding, at your service.” Anthony sketched a bow.
Philippe gave a deferential nod. “It would seem we owe you a debt of gratitude. I know little of what has transpired, only that one of ours was in danger and I was summoned.” He glanced at Clairece. “If you do not mind, niña, I would see the extent of your injury.”
So strong was her faith and trust in this man that, without hesitation, Clairece slid the robe off one shoulder and tilted her head for him to see her neck. A slender leg appeared from between the folds of the robe. Anthony wasn’t certain if what he felt was surprise or jealousy.
Philippe’s expression hardened. “Whoever did this will pay, and pay dearly. Never does a man hurt a woman this way, and never one of ours.” He carefully lifted the robe back in place. “Get dressed, little one.”
Philippe crossed to look out the window while Anthony helped Clairece into the next room.
When they returned from the bedchamber, Anthony noted the Spaniard had seated himself in the chair near the casement. In the light from the window, shadings of gray at the man’s temples were revealed. Hair and eyes that had appeared black were deep brown, as was the goatee and mustache. Anthony studied the patrician features, starkly evident in the sun-bronzed face.
Clairece reached for the candlestick telephone. “Would you care for some tea or coffee or something stronger? Perhaps something to eat?”
“Gracias. Whatever is available would be most welcome. I came as quickly as possible, and chose to wait in this hotel for further instruction. A Mister Anthony Wade and wife were also registered. I thought you might be one and the same.”
“It seemed the safest way.” Anthony settled into a chair across from Philippe’s. From the look in the other man’s eyes, the jury was still out. However, a truce had been called.
The food arrived and Clairece removed the covers from the various dishes. The savory aroma of game pie and fresh baked bread filled the room. The last tray contained fruit and cheese. Pitchers of Winter Ale and coffee, and a pot of tea, were provided for their pleasure.
Anthony and Philippe dug in with gusto, using the bread to sop up the thick gravy. After a few bites, Clairece pushed her plate away.
“Sweetheart, you must eat something.” Anthony swallowed a gulp of ale.
Clairece set her napkin aside and leaned back. “I’m not hungry.” The late afternoon sun shone directly on her face, revealing dark smudges beneath her eyes.
Anthony came to his feet. “You should rest before the carriage arrives.”
Upon rising, Clairece swayed against the side of the chair. Anthony swept her up in his arms. “Excuse me for a moment, Don Philippe.”
Philippe came to his feet and nodded.
After tucking her in, Anthony drew the draperies closed. “Sleep, sweetheart.” Returning to the sitting room, he found Philippe pacing restlessly. The man was like a caged tiger.
“Tell me what happened, and leave nothing out,” Philippe ordered.
Anthony resumed his seat and explained the events leading to their flight from London, omitting only the most personal details of his and Clairece’s first encounter. “I wo
uld like to believe I’m able to protect her, but I’m not willing to risk her life in the event I’m wrong.”
“Your decision to send for us was a wise one. You say this man was in the garden?”
“Yes. The planned subterfuge should have made him follow the carriages. Instead, he tracked us to the train station.” Anthony downed his ale. “We now believe the man with the scar works for someone who fears Clairece can identify him.”
“The man at the museum, the one who caught her when she slipped?” Philippe ventured.
Anthony inclined his head. “And now, directly or indirectly, he is responsible for the deaths of three people, one of which was Roger Griffin.”
“Why would this man sell the relic and later retrieve it?”
“I believe, once he realized it was a royal artifact, he thought to destroy all traces of his involvement with the collar, including witnesses.”
“Why did he not kill her two years ago?” Philippe’s expression gave little away.
“It is my understanding she went to stay at Spencer Ranch, removing her from their reach. As near as they knew, nothing followed concerning the incident and there was no need to dispose of her. Clairece drew his attention with an ad in the London paper and became a liability. The sad irony is, she would not have recognized him.”
Philippe peered at Anthony. “You understand, I care little for the legal system if family is involved. We will find them, and I will finish it.”
A feeling of uneasiness settling in the pit of his stomach. “I am a lord of the realm, Don Philippe, and sit in the House of Lords and at Parliament. It is my duty to see our laws are upheld. If I disregard all we stand for, if I turn my back on everything many of us have worked and fought to preserve, how could I, in all good conscience, sit and argue reform and change? Make no mistake, I will kill to protect her, or any one of us, but only if there is no other way.”
Philippe crossed his arms. “You are a man of principles, as am I. And I was raised with the conviction we protect our own. When a man accepts a woman into his keeping, it is not only his right to safeguard her, but his duty. We are also charged to see her desires are met. It is not only a man’s obligation, but his pleasure.”
“In part, I agree with you. However, I will not place her wishes above what I know to be best.” The other man’s eyes narrowed. Anthony sensed Philippe’s acceptance of him weighed in the balance.
“In the two years since Roger’s death, Clairece risked her life over and over again in the hope of finding those responsible. That may have been her desire, but it damn well was not in her best interests. Clairece is full of life and fearless in obtaining what she wants. It also makes her reckless. While I find those attributes endearing, I will not lose her because of them. And that, Don Philippe, places us at odds with one another.”
Philippe settled back into a chair. “Not precisely,” he reasoned. “Never have I seen her look at a man the way she does you. Her heart is there for anyone to see. It is not my business to know how this came about so quickly. That it has, is enough for me.” He leaned forward. “But, so we are clear, if you hurt her, I will deal with you.”
Anthony leaned in as well. “Do not threaten me. I would never betray her trust and she knows it.”
“Then we have no problem.” Philippe retreated gracefully.
A noise from the bedroom drew Anthony’s attention. Clairece stood at the threshold, a vague look in her eyes. He started to rise but was stopped by Philippe who shook his head.
Without a sound, Clairece crossed the room to crawl onto Anthony’s lap. She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled into his side.
Anthony slid his arms around her. “What . . .?”
“I have seen this before,” Philippe whispered. “She is asleep and seeking comfort. It happens if she is stressed beyond reason.”
“At age seventeen?”
“Si. And yet again when she fell and lost the child.”
Anthony started. “She fell? How?”
“The man who got her with child returned. He noticed her condition and thought to threaten her with taking the infant if she did not pay him.”
A string of profanities fell from Anthony’s lips as Philippe continued. “Clairece was too young and frightened to come to us. She gave him money and, of course, he demanded more. She was walking one night and got too close to the stairs. We thought we would lose her as well as the babe, but she is a strong niña.”
Anthony rocked her gently, kissing her cheek and forehead. “I swear if I ever confront the bastard, I will destroy him.”
Philippe nodded, a satisfied expression on his face. “You see, Lord Anthony, we are not so different after all.”
Chapter 29
The traveling coach arrived with two armed men on back, and one up beside the coachman. Both Anthony and Philippe elected to ride post, while Clairece reclined on mountains of cushions inside. With every bump and hole, she covered her mouth to keep from crying aloud.
The conveyance slowed and left the main road, turning onto a well-maintained gravel lane. As the carriage eased down a slope, a towering edifice came into view. Surrounded by rolling fields, the great house seemed to rise from the earth like the soaring oaks surrounding it.
Elegant lawns sloped toward a man-made lake and a miniature Grecian palace, and on toward the sparkling water of the estuary.
The narrow tract circled back and Clairece leaned forward to view the rear of the mansion with its parterre and formal gardens. A wide terrace, dotted with large urns and pots, offered a panoramic view of the private grounds. Graveled walking paths, with dainty wooden bridges, crossed small streams, knitting together freshly turned beds where annuals would be planted. In the dying light of the sun, the majestic residence appeared soft rose in color. Gleaming white pillars framed a welcoming portico and the wide expanse of steps leading to the heavy front doors. A long stable row lay off to the side, its smaller portico mirroring the grand house.
Tall, mullioned windows lined the first and second floors, with narrower casements evenly spaced across the third. As they drew nearer, Clairece noted a dotting of glass panes tucked up under the tiled roof. A service entrance sat beneath the front steps, undoubtedly leading to the understory rooms.
She smiled with pleasure at the eclectic combination of Elizabethan and Jacobean comprising the mansion. Sunlight glinted off the shining glass of an orangery tucked snugly against the east side of the house.
The coach rocked to a stop beneath the portico where Hodges and an under butler stood waiting. A footman opened the carriage door and lowered the steps, and Anthony was there extending his hand.
“Welcome, wife, to Sanctuary Park and Harding Hall.”
Clairece placed her hand in his strong, firm palm, and stepped down. The weakness in her knees owed nothing to her recent accident. At once overwhelmed and uncertain, she wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of the coach.
“I cannot do this,” she whispered, gripping his hand.
Anthony squeezed her fingers. “Of course you can. There is nothing to be frightened of.”
Light streamed from the house through the doors, while lamps situated on either side of the entrance illuminated the porch. Clairece slipped her arm through Anthony’s and faced the line of liveried and uniformed servants who waited to greet them. She straightened her shoulders and lifted a hand to conceal the bruising on her face.
Anthony gently drew her fingers away. “Clairece, by now the account of your attack has spread throughout the Hall. You will find only concern for your wellbeing here.”
Hodges stepped forward and bowed politely.
“Hodges, may I present my wife, Lady Clairece Wade, Countess Harding.”
Hodges bowed again, breaking decorum to smile. “My lady, it is indeed a great pleasure.”
Unexpected warmth spread through her. “Thank you, Hodges.”
The moment Philippe joined them, the butler’s eyes widened and his entire being stiffened. Clairece glanced at Philippe in time to catch a barely perceptible nod before Anthony spoke, ending the brief exchange.
“Hodges, this is Don Philippe Montenegro, a member of Lady Harding’s family. He will be a guest for a while. Would you please ask Mrs. Stedman to prepare a corner room in the guest wing? Don Philippe is free to come and go as he pleases, but I wish to be informed immediately should anyone else do so.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hodges’ gaze remained fixed on Anthony. At the first opportunity, Clairece would ask Philippe about the quick exchange between the two.
Anthony viewed the line of servants with a slight frown. “Hodges, although I would like the servants to greet their new mistress, I’m afraid Lady Clairece needs to rest.”
Clairece lowered her voice. “This is important, Anthony. Let’s not disappoint them.”
“Are you certain?”
A smile curved her lips. “Of course.”
They made their way along the row of staff while Anthony introduced each person by name, down to the last scullery maid and stable boy.
At the rear of the long line was Mrs. Stedman, a tall, slender woman in her mid-forties. Clear brown eyes stared unwaveringly at Clairece. The woman would have been considered lovely had it not been for the scar on her cheek and a nose sitting slightly askew.
The head housekeeper curtsied, a ring of keys jangling at her waist. “My lady, welcome to Harding Hall.” Clairece caught the cultured tones of a gently bred woman.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stedman. I’m happy to be here.”
Anthony escorted Clairece up the remaining steps and into the front foyer. Although home to previous generations of Lords Harding, the walls had the look of new plaster and paint, and the marble floor underfoot had obviously been recently installed.
The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) Page 16