The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  Clairece viewed the towering two-story entry with awe. Topped by an arched ceiling covered in a mosaic of flowering fruit trees and dancing maidens, the main hall was nothing short of a masterpiece. Electrified sconces lined the space casting light into areas which would otherwise have been in shadow.

  Although a breach of etiquette, Clairece stood in one spot and rotated to view her surroundings. Pale cream walls blended with the slightest hint of ochre in the cornice, frieze, and picture rail, and again in the marble flooring.

  “This is breathtaking,” Clairece murmured in wonder.

  Anthony smiled with pleasure. “You like it?”

  “It’s glorious.”

  “Tomorrow I shall show you around, but for now, you must rest.”

  Clairece continued to gawk. “You have electric lights?”

  “I had electrification installed in part of The Hall during the renovation. Other areas still have gas lighting. The lights are powered by a generator not unlike those at my factories.”

  “Exceedingly progressive,” she teased.

  “Since I invested heavily in electric power, I could hardly do otherwise,” Anthony quipped.

  Clairece surveyed the wide, carpet-covered stairs leading to the second floor, and the gallery of portraits visible from below. Anthony’s warm breath stirred the hair at her temple before she was scooped up and held securely against his chest.

  Clairece glanced at the row of smiling servants. “I can manage on my own.”

  “Allow me the pleasure of carrying my countess to our suite,” he whispered.

  At the second story landing, Anthony turned right and strode down a hall to a set of double doors. He shoved with his shoulder, and carried her to the center of the room where he lowered her feet to the floor.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. White paneling covered the walls from the skirting board near the floor to the chair rail. A patterned silk depicting a profusion of flowers and soaring butterflies covered the space from rail to ceiling. The colors were delicate, not much more than a hint of yellows, peaches, and lavender. Hepplewhite furniture, polished to a deep glow, filled the room. On the dresser lay her brushes, combs, and favorite perfume, as well as a bouquet of hothouse roses.

  “I have never seen anything more lovely.” She snuggled against him.

  “I have.” His gaze met hers.

  Daisy bustled in from the adjoining dressing room, a large space set aside for gowns and accessories. The maid placed a soft cotton nightdress across the foot of the bed and smiled at Clairece. “A bath has been prepared, my lady. Ring for me when you’re ready.” With a curtsy, Daisy scurried from the room.

  Clairece glanced around. “This is a beautiful room, but I thought—hoped—we would share your bed.”

  Chapter 30

  Anthony drew Clairece against him. “I think it best if we sleep separately until you’re well healed. I would not wish to injure you further.”

  “But—”

  He silenced her with a kiss. “There are things I must attend to. I’ll have Cook send up a tray. For now, try to eat and get some rest.” He strode from the room and from the stricken look on Clairece’s face. He felt like an arse leaving her, but he would not risk her wellbeing if his desire for her overrode his self-restraint.

  Anthony met Hodges in the front hall. “Where is Don Philippe?”

  “Checking the locks on the windows and doors, my lord.”

  “Excellent. Have the guards been posted?”

  “Yes, my lord, just as instructed. At Don Philippe’s suggestion, I have placed a man at the bridge and at the gatehouse. If someone approaches by road, we shall know well in advance.”

  “Good,” Anthony stated.

  “May I enquire as to your wishes regarding dinner? We were uncertain as to your preferences for your lordship and the Countess.”

  “Who is dining in tonight?”

  “The three aunts, Mrs. Dobbins, as you requested, and Don Philippe, my lord.”

  Anthony sighed, his mind occupied with Clairece. “I will dine with the others.”

  “And the countess?”

  Anthony considered his response. “Send a tray to her room and include a red rose.” A poor substitute for a wedding night.

  As he entered the small parlor to visit his aptly-dubbed ‘precious jewels,’ three coiffed gray heads turned in Anthony’s direction.

  “Anthony, dear, we are so happy to see you.” Pearl lifted her face and he dutifully bussed her powdered cheek. “We’ve asked Cook to make all your favorite dishes, including lemon tarts.”

  Opal added, “Yes, dear boy, and we especially want to thank you for the silk thread and yarn, so many beautiful colors.” Her knitting needles continued to click even as she beamed at him. Anthony dropped a kiss on the top of her curls.

  “You’re all welcome.” He glanced at the pile of knitted wool lying on the floor by Opal’s chair, and stooped to lift the edge. “I thought this was to be a scarf. You would tell me if we have an incredibly large fellow living on the premises, would you not?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. I just got to talking and the next thing I knew . . .” Opal shrugged delicate shoulders. “It’s to be a lap robe instead.”

  Anthony eyed the heap again as he straightened. “A huge lap, to be sure.”

  “What do you think, Anthony dear?” Aunt Ruby questioned, holding up an embroidery hoop to display her needlework. “The thread came just in time for me to finish the flowers.”

  Anthony obligingly studied the intricate pattern, noticing one of the colors seemed a little off. “It’s beautiful, Aunt Ruby.” He smiled down at the endearingly-sweet face with its pair of pince-nez settled on the little nose. She’d worn the same glasses for as long as he could remember. Since he would never convince her to leave Sanctuary and travel to London to see a doctor, he would send for a physician to come to the Hall.

  His gaze traveled over each of his ladies. “Did the new frocks not arrive?”

  “They did, dear, and such stunning ones, too.” Opal’s needles continued to flick back and forth as she offered assurance.

  “Why are none of you wearing them? Were they not to your liking?”

  “We decided to save them for a special occasion,” Pearl said. “Besides, the last ones you purchased for us are still quite nice.”

  “Is there nothing at all you require? Ribbons, baubles, fripperies, anything?” Anthony asked.

  Ruby peered at him above her pince-nez. “With the nice pin money you give us, we’re able to purchase any little thing we desire in the village.”

  Anthony turned toward the fire in the hearth and noticed Mrs. Dobbins, sitting quietly in the corner, darning. “Please accept my apologies, ma’am. I didn’t see you there.”

  “None necessary. Your aunts and I are having a nice visit.”

  Taking a fortifying breath, he addressed all of the ladies. “I have some news. If you have not yet heard, I am newly married. My countess is upstairs resting and you shall all meet her tomorrow.” Anthony winked at Mrs. Dobbins, whose smile split her rounded face. He raised his hand to still the bevy of female voices.

  “We also have a guest, a relative of my wife’s. Don Philippe Montenegro is here from Spain and will be visiting for the time being.” The gong sounded. “Dinner is in one hour, and—”

  The women scrambled to their feet. “Ladies, I do believe this is a special occasion, don’t you?” Pearl laid her tatting shuttle aside. “We shall wear our new gowns.”

  “Mrs. Dobbins, would you honor us with your company for dinner?” Anthony queried.

  “Well . . . I . . .” the nurse stammered.

  “Come along, Philomena dear, we’ve no time to waste.” Ruby slid her arm through Mrs. Dobbins’ and hauled her toward the doo
r. “We must dress for dinner, you know.”

  The door closed behind the chattering women. Anthony rocked back on his heels and smiled.

  Throughout dinner, Anthony offered a condensed version of the events leading up to their arrival at Sanctuary. He chose his words with care for fear he’d distress his aunts’ delicate sensibilities. He needn’t have worried.

  Mrs. Dobbins, not to be outshone by the three spritely ladies, expounded on the villain’s brazenness, adding hand gestures for effect. An occasional wave of a fan, or the touch of a dainty handkerchief to a frail brow, was the only indication his aunts were in any way affected. That, and the three pairs of curious eyes turned in his direction.

  “Well, I’ve no doubt our dear Anthony will see them punished for their ill-advised behavior. A toe strategically placed, if you take my meaning, would be an appropriate way to start,” Ruby offered, her eyes shining.

  Anthony choked. As he reached for his glass of water, he heard a sound, a combination of cough and bark of laughter, emanating from the end of the table. He glanced at Philippe who covered his mouth with a napkin.

  What Anthony found most interesting, was the reaction of the four females to Don Philippe. The man did not flirt, nor was he in the least inappropriate in the attention he paid them. Yet, it was obvious Philippe held them enthralled.

  As the Spaniard’s regard moved from one lady to the next, they responded with blushes and preening gestures. Astonished to see Aunt Pearl titter behind her gloved fingers, Anthony worked to hide his amusement.

  He found the ladies’ reaction to Philippe’s smile even more illuminating. Opal waved her fan with such vigor it stirred the curls in Ruby’s carefully coiffed hair, while Mrs. Dobbins made an inarticulate garble and patted her ample bosom with her hankie. Aunt Pearl simply gaped. It was Ruby who drew a surprised chuckle from their guest when she batted her lashes at him over the top of her fan.

  While the women flirted outrageously, Anthony’s thoughts turned to Clairece. He’d been tempted to stay with her, but with the least provocation he might have pounced. It unnerved him, the power this woman wielded over his restraint. At times he felt like a fledgling, ready to leap upon her at every opportunity and devil take the consequences.

  Pearl stood, a signal for the ladies to retire to the rose salon, drawing Anthony’s attention back to his guests. He and Philippe came to their feet while footmen moved forward to help the women with their chairs.

  Philippe bowed. “Buenos noches, ladies.”

  Anthony’s ‘precious jewels’ offered their goodnights in unison, rendering them undecipherable. Linking arms, they breezed from the room, whispering among themselves.

  “Don Philippe, would you join me in a port?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  A carafe was placed within reach and he signaled for the footmen to leave.

  “They are sweet women, Lord Anthony,” Philippe said, moving to the chair on Anthony’s right.

  “They are.” He filled two Bordeaux-shaped bowls halfway and handed one to Philippe.

  The Spaniard swirled the dark-red liquid in his wineglass, obviously preoccupied, then set his still-full glass down, and rose. “If you do not mind, I should like to retire.”

  Surprised, Anthony came to his feet. “Would you care to ride with me in the morning? I can show you the estate, its borders, and introduce you to the people in the village.”

  “Si, I would like that.”

  Chapter 31

  Later, Anthony entered his chamber and froze at the muffled sounds of Clairece’s sobs. He strode through the connecting door and into her room.

  She sat huddled in the window seat, her forehead pressed to a pillow clutched in her arms, and wept. And he was to blame. The sight of her anguish tore at his heart.

  “Ah, God, sweetheart, please don’t cry.” Anthony closed the distance between them and scooped her up to settle her on his lap. She buried her face in his shoulder and continued to weep. Fool that he was, he should have taken the time to explain.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. The desolation shadowing her eyes undid him. “What was I, Anthony, just another acquisition? Will you place me safely on a shelf to look at once in a while?” She turned her head away. “Have I made the same mistake again?”

  He winced. Desperate to fix his mistake, he clutched her tighter. “No, love, no. I promise you won’t regret marrying me.”

  She searched his features, uncertainty evident in her gaze. She’d placed her life into the hands of a man she barely knew, trusting him not to hurt, betray, or neglect her as had happened in the past. In his walking away, he had done just that.

  She tilted her head. “If I’ve displeased you in some way—”

  “No.” He kissed her forehead.

  “It’s my wedding night, Anthony. I thought . . . I never had a proper one. I thought this would be different.”

  Clairece had the right to expect love and solicitous attention from her husband, especially on their first night as man and wife. That he’d been concerned with inflicting more physical pain did not matter. The realization he’d caused a different sort of pain, made his chest constrict.

  “I failed you, didn’t I? Upon my honor, it was not my intent.”

  She glanced at him. “The night is not over, husband.”

  With Clairece in his arms, he pushed his way through the doors separating the two chambers and carried her to his bed. “I want you, never doubt it. I stayed away because I questioned my ability to keep my hands off you. It would be more than I could bear if I hurt you.”

  “Not being with my husband, hurt me.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, Clairece.” Anthony closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, willing the control he’d learned to aid him now. “Will you do as I ask and let me make love to you?”

  “Yes, yes I will.” The look of gladness on her face nearly sent him to his knees.

  After placing her on the bed, he removed his coat and waistcoat, tossing them over a chair. As he worked to shed the rest of his clothing, his gaze locked with hers. He slowed his movements, releasing the top two buttons of his shirt and pulling the linen over his head, tossing the garment in an untidy heap on the floor.

  Shoes and hose followed. He reached for the buttons at his waist, and Clairece sat up. Her avid gaze moved to the falls of his trousers while the tip of her pink tongue darted across her lower lip.

  Anthony’s body reacted, his erection straining against the front of his trousers. Although he loved watching women undress, he’d never considered they might find the process of his disrobing just as stimulating. Truth be told, it hadn’t mattered as long as he and his partner exchanged mutual pleasure and satisfaction. But with Clairece, it mattered a great deal.

  He slid his trousers and drawers over his hips and kicked them aside, letting his arms rest at his sides.

  “You’re . . . beautiful,” Clairece murmured. “I know it’s not said of men, but you are.” With every flex of her fingers on the comforter, his shaft pulsed.

  He turned down the light and joined her in bed, grasping her wrists in his hands when she reached for him. “You agreed to let me make love to you, remember? Which means, we take this slowly.”

  Clairece frowned. “I’m not to touch you?”

  “Above the waist, only.” At the disconcerted look on her face, he chuckled. “Just for now.”

  He slid his hands up the satiny skin of her legs and lifted her hips to nudge the nightgown up her back. “Raise your arms, love. You won’t need this.” The nightgown hit the floor with a soft whoosh, and the scent of orange blossoms and warm woman surrounded him.

  Anthony began a slow exploration of her body—kissing, stroking, licking—until he’d committed every curve and crevice to memory. He tasted a path down th
e side of her neck to the soft slope of her shoulder while he palmed the swell of her breasts and budded nipples.

  She moved restlessly against him. “Anthony . . .”

  “What do you want? Tell me.”

  “All—I want it all,” she whispered.

  “As you wish.”

  He brushed his fingers against her damp curls and she bucked against him. “Easy, love, easy.” Her legs parted. “That’s right, sweeting.”

  As he slid one digit inside, her sheath rippled around his finger. A second followed, and she arched, her head pressing back against the pillow as her climax took her. Surprised at the sudden orgasm, Anthony covered her mouth with his, swallowing her soft cry, and held her until the quakes subsided and she quieted.

  “I need you inside me,” she urged.

  And he wanted to feel her around him. “Turn toward me and slide your top leg over my hips. Yes . . . good.”

  She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his torso, circling a flat nipple with her finger before giving it a light pinch. His body jerked at the visceral thrill. “Perhaps I should have said not to touch below the neck.”

  Clairece snorted softly and nipped at his chin before scooting closer, pressing her belly against his heavy erection. He shuddered. “Relax, minx.”

  In this position, she was open for his entry. Anthony probed her, noting the smile of encouragement she offered. With each flex of his hips, he inched deeper, adding words of encouragement when she rolled her hips in return.

  He flicked the tip of his tongue against the little mark at the edge of her mouth, then kissed a path to the rapidly beating pulse in her throat, whispering of the things he would do when she was able, and felt her quake against him.