“Shall I tell you how I feel while I’m making love to you?” He ran a finger down her cheek, damp with her rising ardor.
She nodded.
“I can think of nothing else but you. Your body holds mine like a tight velvet glove.” As you hold my heart in your delicate hands, did you but know it.
“Your skin is like the softest silk. I could nip and bite, suck and lick you all over and still not have enough.” I’ll never tire of touching you.
“Your scent is of springtime and woman, something entirely yours alone. It draws me to you. I am like a bee to your honey.” You are like sunshine and spring rain awakening what I thought to be dead in me.
“I have never wanted any woman the way I want you. You are in my thoughts from the time I wake until I fall asleep at night.” As he stroked deeper, she hummed in the back of her throat.
“Those little noises you make are the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard.” Pray God your voice is the last I hear as I leave this earth.
Her sheath contracted, released and gripped again. Anthony tipped his head back and groaned with the need to find release. He opened his eyes and caught the twinkle in hers. Cupping her rounded derrière, he pressed her firmly against him.
“Yes, oh yes . . . like that,” she gasped. Her kiss was both wild and sweet as her tongue dueled and danced with his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, caught his tongue, and sucked.
His wits scrambled and he was lost. As his climax threatened to pummel him, he reached between them and found the little nub at her opening; swirled against it gently. She tore her mouth from his, arched. Screamed. He thrust once, twice.
And tumbled over the edge with her.
Chapter 32
Philippe sat in a straight-backed chair facing his bedchamber door. The tall-case clock in the front hall struck the midnight hour. The house had long since gone quiet, but still he waited.
At a light tap, he crossed the room and opened the door. “Señor Hodges, it has been a long time.”
Hodges straightened his shoulders and entered. “Are you here to—”
Philippe interrupted. “Lady Harding is a member of my family. I am here to protect her.”
The butler sagged as the tension left his body. “I care a great deal for these people and feared . . .”
Philippe reached out a hand. “You may hand me the gun, señor. Thumb and finger, if you please.”
Hodges eased the pistol from behind his leg and extended his arm. Philippe retrieved the firearm and laid it on the tallboy, then indicated a seat near the one he’d recently vacated.
Hodges dropped heavily into the chair. “All those years ago, I never had the chance to thank you for saving my life. You know I overheard what Lord Mansfield asked you to do?”
“Si. You also heard my answer.”
“I wanted to cheer when you threatened him should anything happen to his lady wife.” Hodges wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I could not stay and work for such a man. He had me followed with the intention of having me killed. I would be dead but for you.”
“A person such as he is predictable. Had you been a man of low morals, Mansfield would have let you be.”
“I understand Lady Mansfield returned to her family in Italy.”
“Her husband was not a man to be trusted. It was better to save her, than to kill him.”
“Lord Harding is a good man. I have been in his service for a long time and have watched him mature into the man he is today. Lady Clairece will be safe in his care,” Hodges entreated.
“I met his aunts earlier this evening. There seems to be an honest affection between them.”
“Yes, indeed. In truth, they are Sir Gerald’s aunts. Sir Gerald—a cousin to his lordship—has lived above his means for some time, to the extent his property is in jeopardy. Lord Anthony has helped him on numerous occasions even though, in my opinion, the man doesn’t deserve it. Sir Gerald’s debts became so high he could not afford to pay either his servants or the items necessary to run an establishment the size of Roxbury Abbey. He dismissed everyone, closed the manor house, and removed to London.” Hodges sighed. “I don’t make a practice of discussing my lordship’s business but I want you to understand.”
Philippe dipped his head in assent.
“Lord Harding paid Sir Gerald’s creditors, at least those from the village who rely on The Sanctuary and Roxbury Abbey for most of their livelihood, and found employment for some of the servants who were let go without so much as a farthing. The rest, the older ones, he brought here to work or pensioned off. You won’t find a more loyal group of servants. They . . . we, would do anything for him.”
Philippe remained silent, guessing there was more.
“Sir Gerald turned his aunts out with no concern for their wellbeing. His lordship heard of it and sent for them. He asked if they would oversee the running of the Hall while he was in London tending to his various business ventures.” Hodges smiled. “Sanctuary Park is a well-run estate, Don Philippe, but even the least of us have our pride. His ‘precious jewels,’ for example.”
“Precious jewels?” Philippe queried.
“It is how Lord Anthony refers to the aunts Pearl, Opal, and Ruby. As you can see, they are happy and extremely well cared for.”
“A man should care for his family,” Philippe agreed.
“Indeed they should, but in truth, they are no blood kin.” Hodges stood and crossed to the door. “Look around, Don Philippe. You will see much more.”
Hodges’ demeanor changed to that of head butler. “Should you require anything, Don Philippe, you have only to ask. It will be my pleasure to serve you.”
After Hodges departed, Philippe returned to his seat by the fire and stared into the flames. Lord Anthony was a man of unsuspected facets. While checking the lock on the windows and doors, he’d discovered a few interesting things. A large part of the mansion appeared to be recently renovated while a small section in one wing was not only unused, but unchanged.
Philippe had, at first, considered bypassing the upper floor where the servants resided, as those windows were usually inoperable. What he’d found was a revelation. The new casements were made to open and would allow much needed fresh air to enter in the heat of the summer. Where one might expect to find a bit of frugality, if not outright stinginess, the newly renovated servant’s wing was bright and cheerful.
In wealthier homes, four maids might share one small chamber. At Harding Hall, each room held only two beds with a quantity of linens and blankets to insure their comfort. In addition, each space held two chests of drawers, a mirror, a small table and chairs, and a stove for additional warmth. Most surprisingly, water closets had been spaced at intervals down the corridor for their convenience.
At first light, he would do as Hodges suggested and have a look around.
Clairece came awake with a sense of being watched.
“Hullo,” a small voice piped next to her ear.
Her eyes flew open. A pixie face, with a dusting of freckles, edged closer. Miniature spectacles magnified a pair of sparkling green eyes.
“You’re in Papa’s bed,” the child stated in a loud whisper.
“So I am. And who might you be?” Aware she was naked beneath the covers, Clairece tugged the quilt closer to her body and turned on her side to face the little girl.
“Sophie.” The youngster scrunched up her nose to push the frames back into place. Riotous, orange-red hair curled around the child’s heart-shaped face.
“What a lovely name.” A pain settled in the vicinity of Clairece’s heart. Had she lived, her own daughter would be about this age.
Sophie rested her elbows on the counterpane and peered at Clairece. “What’s your name?”
Clairece dared a glance at her robe draped acr
oss the foot of the bed, but quickly discarded the idea of reaching it without revealing her state of undress. “Clairece.”
Sophie gently touched Clairece’s shoulder. “Why do you have these marks?”
“They’re bruises.”
Sophie tilted her head. “Do they hurt?”
“A little, but not as much as they did.” Clairece tucked a ginger curl behind the child’s ear.
Sophie wiggled her way up onto the large mattress and pressed her bow-shaped mouth to the discoloration. “Papa always says a kiss makes owies better,” she pronounced cheerfully.
Clairece tried to speak past the sudden pain tightening her throat. “He does, does he? In that case, I’m certain it’s true.”
The bedchamber door opened a crack and Anthony peeked in. “So, my two girls have met.” He strolled toward them.
Sophie squealed and jumped from the foot of the bed into Anthony’s outstretched arms. “I am so-oo happy you’re home.”
Anthony kissed the child’s forehead and nose and each cheek—and Clairece thought she might cry. He glanced meaningfully at the robe and moved to a nearby chair with Sophie in his arms. With the child perched on his knee, he covered her eyes.
“You have a surprise for me?” Sophie giggled. “Hurry, tell me, what is it?”
Anthony chuckled. “You must first guess, poppet.”
Clairece eased from between satin sheets and slipped into the velvet dressing gown, tying the cord securely around her waist.
“Gumdrops. Did you bring me some gumdrops?” Sophie clapped her hands excitedly.
“No.”
The child pursed delicate lips. “Some books?”
“Not this time. Try again.”
Sophie’s face brightened and she began to bounce. “A pony! You’ve brought me a pony.”
Anthony laughed. “Silly. Mrs. Stedman would have my hide if I ushered a pony into the house. Besides, how am I to carry one in my pocket?” He eased his hand from her eyes.
“Your pocket?” Sophie surveyed Anthony’s attire. Her gaze came to rest on a lump marring the perfect fit of his coat. With a giggle of excitement, she withdrew a small velvet box. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a silent ‘O.’
Clairece watched them interact, her hand shifting to cover her belly.
“Are you going to open it?” Anthony teased.
Carefully, as if it might break, Sophie opened the lid and stared at the contents. She gave an excited whoop and wrapped her arms around Anthony’s neck. “It’s beautiful, Papa.”
Anthony removed a gold chain holding a delicate filigree heart. The child slipped from his knee and presented her back for him to fasten the necklace in place.
“A girl should have her own jewelry, don’t you agree, Clairece?” he said drawing her into the conversation.
Clairece moved forward. “Yes, indeed.” She bent down for a better look. “It’s lovely, just like you,” she declared, and touched the tip of the child’s pert nose.
Sophie grinned and spun to face Anthony. “Will I be pretty like Clairece when I grow up?”
“You will be a ravishing beauty. I’ll be forced to beat the men away with a stick.”
Sophie giggled. “Silly Papa.” Her smile faded. “Was Mama pretty?”
Anthony’s expression altered subtly. “Yes, she was.” He reached behind him. “Hmm, there seems to be something back here. I wonder what it could be.” From behind his back, he withdrew a length of velvet, opening the cloth as he presented the gift. Dressed in peach, with tiny flowers embroidered on the ruffled gown, the doll stared at them from eyes remarkably like Sophie’s, and from beneath a pile of curls the color of cinnamon.
Sophie carefully reached for the figurine. “Oh, she is perfectly wonderful,” the little girl whispered.
Clairece’s eyes filled with tears.
“Did you notice her necklace?” Anthony asked, his voice sounding a little rough.
“It’s just like mine,” Sophie trilled, hugging the dolly to her thin chest. “She is the best present ever, along with my necklace, of course.” The child smiled coquettishly at Anthony.
“Of course.” Anthony ruffled her curls and glanced toward the door where a woman in a blue uniform and starched white apron stood waiting. “Nanny is here to take you for a walk. Run along and I’ll stop in later.”
Sophie obediently slipped her hand in the nanny’s, waving as she left the room.
“She’s adorable, Anthony.” Sighing dejectedly, Clairece crossed to stare out the window.
Anthony followed. “What is it?”
Resolute, she faced him. “Sophie’s mother. Did you . . . love her very much?” As he stared in surprise, she held his gaze. “I’m your wife, and although your involvement with Sophie’s mother happened before we met, I would still like to know.”
Anthony had expected questions but he’d assumed they would come later, rather than sooner. Nevertheless, he owed his wife complete honesty.
He took her hand and led her to the settee, taking the seat beside her. “No, I did not love Sophie’s mother. In fact, I only met her on the one occasion when she brought Sophie to me.”
A frown creased her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Sophie is a child of my heart, but not of my body. Her mother became pregnant after an encounter with a man I know.” If they were to build a life together, it was important Clairece understand. Without trust, they had nothing.
“The man refused to help and turned the mother away. She knew of my connection with him and came to me after Sophie’s birth.” Anthony ran his thumb over the back of Clairece’s hand. “She didn’t want the child and had attempted to place the babe in an orphanage, but it was full. She told me if I didn’t oblige, the infant would go to a foundling home. I couldn’t countenance such a tragedy.”
Clairece covered his hand with hers.
“Sophie would never have survived.” He took a deep breath. “I fully intended to contact the facility and request their assistance, but when her mother handed Sophie to me, and the infant wrapped her little hand around my finger . . .” He swallowed. “She was so tiny, so trusting, I couldn’t send her away.”
“She calls you Papa.”
“And to her, I am. It started innocently, and then it seemed so natural I let it continue. A child needs to feel loved. She’s mine, and those here who know the truth will never claim otherwise.”
Clairece leaned into him. “I’ve said this before but I feel it wants repeating. You, dear Anthony, are such a good, sweet man. I find you irresistible.”
“Is that so?” He nuzzled her neck.
Chapter 33
Philippe left the house and strode toward the stable. The weak winter sun broke through the clouds, adding little in the way of warmth. Entering through a side door, he noticed a man step from one of the stalls, laying a pitchfork aside.
“Good afternoon, sir.” The man tugged on the bill of his cap. “Name’s Jonathan. Can I help you with somethin’?”
“The black Andalusian, if you please.” Philippe drew on his gloves.
“And a grand horse he is.” A hoof hit the side of a stall at the back of the row. “Now that one, Copernicus, he’s a right nasty fellow. Only allows his master to handle him without puttin’ up a fuss. But Lord Anthony loves the beast, and that’s all there is to it.”
“He is a beautiful animal,” Philippe said, admiring the stallion.
“That he is.” Jonathon pivoted and moved with a pronounced limp down the line of stalls.
The interior of the stable was immaculate. Even the aisle had been raked. Philippe stepped forward and retrieved the Andalusian’s reins from the stable master.
“My apologies, señor, I did not notice your injury. I can care for my own steed.�
�
“It don’t trouble me, overmuch, less’n a storm’s brewin’.”
A man with a wooden leg strapped to his thigh hobbled forward.
“Now Jake, here, has a way with roses and the like, a real hand at makin’ things grow. And there’s Hank and Joe Sparks. They used to work in the factories until Hank’s daughter took sick. Doctor said as how the coal smoke in London was killin’ her lungs. Hank told his lordship he was leavin’, and why. The Earl asked if they knew anything about farmin’ and they said they did. He offered each of ‘em a job and a crofter’s cottage to go with it. ‘Course, they was happy to come.”
Philippe leaned back against a post, listening intently.
“Jake and me, we was doin’ a bit of repair on the roof in one of the manufactories when the scaffoldin’ gave way. Jake lost his leg, and I broke so many bones I didn’t think they could put me back together again. His lordship’s a right good ’un, he is. Had us carted off to the hospital. Spared no expense, neither.” Jonathon glanced toward the Hall. “Came to the hospital most every day, he did, to see we was bein’ tended right.”
The head groom plucked a piece of hay from the mound and stuffed one end in the corner of his mouth. Philippe waited. He would wait as long as necessary to hear what this man had to say.
“One day he sits down and starts talkin’ to us about this place o’ his. The Sanctuary, he called it. Says as how he needs some help to make it the way he wanted. Had some grand plans for it and needed . . .”
Someone to help oversee things, Philippe mentally filled in. “Lord Harding is most fortunate to have all of you in his service.”
The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) Page 18