The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  The library door opened and closed softly.

  Annoyed at the interruption, Anthony all but cursed. “These are private rooms. Guests are not allowed in this part of the house.” He glanced over his shoulder.

  A woman stood in the shadows.

  He sighed. Apparently, and against his wishes, his friends had found him a companion. “Thank you for your time, madam, but I’m otherwise occupied for the evening. You may join the other guests, if it pleases you.”

  “It would please me to stay here with you, my lord.” Her voice, velvet soft and alluring, sent a quiver up his spine.

  He set his glass aside and leaned a hip against the edge of the desk. “Would it, now?” He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to discern more of the shadowy figure.

  “It would.” At her throaty response, his awareness heightened.

  “Come closer.” He reached for a small gas table lamp.

  Her hand fluttered to the mask covering her face. “Leave it. You would not wish to dispel the mystery, would you?”

  Her speech held a soft, rolling inflection. The woman drew nearer, letting her gray cloak slide to the floor. At the sight of her body swathed in gossamer, a wave of pure, physical desire swept through him. A craving so intense and hot, it stunned him.

  The woman seemed all glistening silver and shadows. Pale blond hair, coiled loosely at her nape, gleamed in the subdued light. A half-mask of ghostly lace and white feathers ended at the tip of her dainty nose, concealing most of her face.

  She came nearer, slipping the cords of a small purse from her wrist to lay the reticule on a nearby table. Her perfume, faint and elusive, hinted at something familiar; the sweetly-soft fragrance of orange blossoms.

  She moved into the glow of the firelight and he forgot to breathe. This was a woman in the full bloom of her beauty.

  Anthony’s loins tightened and heat suffused his body. Consumed by sheer lust, he fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her.

  Damnation.

  Though tall and lissome, she appeared as fragile and delicate as the spun glass ornaments on his tree. Her costume did little to conceal the rounded fullness of her breasts, the soft curve of her hips, or the long slide of shapely legs. Then he caught a glimpse of the subtle shading at the apex of her thighs. His mouth went dry.

  God almighty.

  “This room is warm.” She drew her fingertips across her bosom and his gaze followed. A long, slender digit touched the red rose resting snugly between the ivory mounds before she smiled, displaying a row of even white teeth.

  He knew the game she played, and played well.

  Eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea looked back at him. One moment a luminous blue with glimpses of green, then, in the changing light, hints of gray appeared.

  His assessment moved to her shoulders, her skin like flawless porcelain. Anthony’s desire, to run his fingers and mouth over such perfection, intensified. His gaze slid to pert nipples and the barely discernible areolas beneath the thin trappings. His peripheral caught the way her hands fidgeted at her sides.

  “Are you nervous, beauty?”

  “Do I have reason to be?”

  He shook his head. “No. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  She seemed to consider his reply. “You would be far more comfortable if you removed your coat.”

  He deftly shed his black evening jacket, laid it over the nearest chair, and reached for her.

  She eased away. “No.”

  He leaned back against his desk and set his palms on the edge. “I am not one for games, at least not this sort. Neither do I care for a tease. So tell me, why are you here?”

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. “Can we not say I wanted to get to know you?”

  “There are many ways to know someone, but since you’re here in my private rooms, I can only assume you mean in the Biblical sense. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  She remained silent.

  Anthony straightened and stepped nearer, only to have her retreat. Despite what he’d said, the pressure in his groin increased as his body responded to the chase. One by one, he released the buttons on his silver-embroidered waistcoat, slipped it off, and laid it across the chair next to his coat. His white tie followed.

  Her gaze traveled slowly down his body, pausing briefly at the bulge he knew filled the front of his trousers, before she jerked her eyes away. She crossed to the window. “Snowflakes are so beautiful.”

  He followed to stand behind her, resting his hands on her upper arms. Her skin felt silky-smooth beneath his fingers. “What is your name?”

  She swiveled to face him. “My name is not important.” Her lips curved softly. “You’re quite handsome. In fact, stunning. Your eyes are so dark I thought they were black. Instead, they’re the deepest blue I’ve ever seen.” She came up on her toes to press her lips to his.

  For a fleeting moment her mouth moved against his, warm and moist and silken, then she eased away.

  He studied the flimsy scrap of material covering her face and the tiny black mole nestled at the corner of her mouth.

  She turned to glance again at the window and falling snow. “May I hold one?”

  “Of course.” He opened the casement and moved to the side, allowing her to slip by him. The heat from her body intensified the faint scent of orange blossoms.

  She reached out a slender hand and let a flake settle in her palm. “How fragile,” she whispered, watching the snowflake melt.

  “No two are alike.” He clasped her hand and flicked his tongue across the damp palm before closing the casement. She shivered.

  “Come away from there.” Anthony used his body to guide her back into the shadows, the occasional slide of her leg against his spiking his desire.

  Once again enveloped by dimness, he drew her firmly against him where she would feel his heavy arousal. Her lids descended, but not before he’d seen the flare of desire.

  With a gentle glide of his palm down her back, he urged her closer. At the rounded curve of her bottom, he lifted, forcing her abdomen and hips into his. She uttered a soft noise and cradled his throbbing member between her thighs.

  He nearly groaned aloud.

  Anthony nuzzled the side of her neck, the erratic beat of her heart pulsing under his lips. “Take off your mask, beauty.”

  “I cannot.” She slid her hand behind his neck and brought his face to hers. “Kiss me.”

  He caressed her mouth in whisper touches, biding his time while he enjoyed the feel of her.

  She pulled back and frowned. “A real kiss.”

  He almost laughed. “They’re all real. Some are merely more ardent than others.”

  “Show me.” She breathed her request.

  If this was a game, she was damned good at it. Anthony nibbled and sucked at her lower lip, expecting a customary response. Her lips remained closed. “Open for me.”

  She seemed startled by the demand, but her lips parted and he slid in to savor and caress. As he ran the tip of his tongue across the roof of her mouth, she made a throaty little sound much like a purr and plunged her fingers into his hair, pulling his head closer. At the soft glide of her tongue in response, he did groan aloud. He sensed her withdrawal before she moved.

  “I had no idea it could be like this.” Her warm, sweet breath fluttered across his lips.

  He clasped her hand. “Come with me. My bedchamber would be more comfortable.” She shook her head. He spun her in his arms and pressed her back against his chest. “Are you an innocent?” He’d never deflowered a maiden, and no matter her trade, he would not begin now.

  “No.” One word, uttered softly.

  He splayed a hand against her belly and cupped a rounded breast with the other. Then squeezed, flicking his thumb over t
he peak of a nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch. Her head fell back and she quivered. He caught the tender lobe of her ear between his teeth and tugged lightly.

  She reached back and clutched his hips. “Please, don’t let me regret this.”

  “I promise you won’t.” Anthony slid an arm around her waist and lowered them both to the thick carpet, settling her on his thighs. She twisted in his arms to cup his face in her hands. He felt the flick of her tongue at the side of his mouth before she sucked gently on his lower lip. Every cell in his body erupted with need.

  Rational thought fled, to be replaced with an all-consuming desire to have her, to slide deeply inside her luscious body until she moaned and cried out with release.

  In one slow movement, he laid her back and stretched out beside her. Although he wanted to see her face, if he tried to remove the mask it might break the fragile spell between them. He plucked the deep-red rose from between her breasts and ran the velvet-soft petals over the tempting flesh before setting the flower aside.

  “My name is Anthony. Let me hear you say it.”

  “Anthony,” she uttered in a throaty sigh.

  He closed his eyes. “You have bewitched me, lass.” He trailed a line of kisses across her collarbone to the side of her neck. Her pulse beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings beneath his lips. He swiped his tongue across the spot, testing its cadence, and then bit down lightly. Never had he marked a woman but with her, he was inclined to brand her as his own.

  Anthony rested his weight on one arm and slid a hand up her side to cup a breast, tracing the rounded swell with his fingers. He flicked open the silver clasps securing the material at her shoulders, and tugged the bodice down.

  “So beautiful.” He drew on her breasts, sucking, tonguing, and teasing the nipples to tight peaks, then blew softly over the damp surface. Her chest rose and fell with shuddering, uneven breaths. It took all the willpower he possessed not to lift her gown and find immediate release. He’d promised she would not regret their time together and he would make certain she found her pleasure—over and over again.

  As Anthony reclaimed a breast with his mouth, she arched, her fingers gripping his skull. He trailed his fingers up the side of her leg and she stiffened.

  “Tell me now, sweetheart, if you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Do not let me think, Anthony.”

  He wanted her to think, wanted her to feel everything he would do with her. To her. He brushed his fingers across the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. Her body bucked and jerked. She was remarkably sensitive, stunningly responsive, and ready for him.

  “Open your legs, sweeting. Yes, that’s it.” Anthony gently parted the soft folds and slid a finger inside, then another, while he swirled his thumb over the tiny nub.

  Her breath fanned his face in short, heated puffs and her hands skimmed restlessly over his shoulders, gripping and tugging him closer. “Please.” She lifted against his hand.

  Anthony reached for the French letter he habitually kept in his pocket and jerked open his trousers. In a matter of moments he’d prepared himself, then moved between her thighs and entered her in one, long, steady thrust. She was tight, and he was large. He felt as well as heard her sharp inhale, and stilled. “Am I hurting you? Should I cease?”

  Eyes tightly closed, she shook her head.

  Anthony kissed her temple. “It will ease, love, I promise. Just lie still for a moment and let your body adjust to mine.” He ran his open mouth down the side of her neck, then sent his teeth skating along the cord. At her indrawn breath, he covered her mouth with his own; kept the kisses soft and unhurried until she relaxed beneath him. Then he moved, nudging deeper with each slow stroke.

  The crystal-blue of her eyes darkened as her skin dewed, and a light flush stole across the crests of her cheeks. She was no virgin, but neither was she truly experienced. She began to undulate in an awkward, untried manner. Although untutored in the art of lovemaking, she gave freely of herself in an open, honest way.

  “Lift your knees and place your feet flat on the floor.” Anthony slid his hands under her hips and repositioned her to better accommodate more of him. “Does this help?”

  She peered up at him, a dazed look in her eyes. “Yes . . .”

  With a strong thrust, he seated himself fully inside her, then set a slow, sure rhythm. Within moments she found and matched his pace.

  “Yes . . .” he echoed.

  Her body pressed upward, demanding more. Aware of nothing but the feel of her and the soft sounds of pleasure from deep in her throat, they moved together for what could have been minutes or hours. Her fervor was unbelievable, unexpected. Her legs wrapped around his hips to draw him deeper into her body.

  “Yes, show me what you want.” He thrust harder and faster until perspiration dotted his face and dampened his shirt. “Let it happen, love, let go and fly.”

  “Anthony . . . ahhh.” Her body arched and jerked. Her sheath contracted strongly around him and a soft mewling sound escaped through her clenched teeth.

  Points of light flashed behind his eyelids, while shudder after shudder wracked his body until he toppled over the edge with her.

  Drained, Anthony braced himself on his forearms to ease his weight from her, and waited for his breathing to slow.

  “What happened?” She gazed up at him.

  “It’s what the French term la petit mort.” He ran his finger across her lips. “‘The Little Death.’ You climaxed.” As he started to withdraw, her legs tightened around him.

  “Not yet. I want to remember how you feel.” She turned her face into his neck and pressed her lips against his throat. He felt the soft stroke of her tongue before she released him. Anthony reached between them and removed the lambskin, wrapping it in his handkerchief.

  Cathedral bells began to toll. Noisemakers sounded amongst the cheers and laughter throughout the streets of London and the ballroom below. He brushed the hair from her forehead, taking care not to dislodge the mask, and peered into eyes so full of longing it took his breath away.

  “The night’s not over, sweetheart. Since we’ve begun the New Year together, shall we not see where this might lead?”

  She kissed him and the sweetness of the gesture afforded him the first inkling things would not go as he wished.

  “This can lead nowhere, dear Anthony, but we have now.”

  No way in hell would he accept her decree. There would be time later to change her mind. So intense was his resurging desire, he seized her hips and plunged.

  They gave and took from each other in a swift and heated coupling. She matched him stroke for stroke, destroying his restraint with fevered kisses and hungry caresses as she pushed him toward their peak. He gritted his teeth to prolong the exquisite pleasure, but as her sheath clamped and released, and clamped again, he exploded within her.

  Anthony placed his forehead against hers. “My God.” He kissed her lips and gently withdrew, then rolled to his side, pulling her against him. For a moment, she snuggled into him, her hand resting on his chest. Only then, did he remember the lack of a lambskin during their second intimacy.

  She shifted and moved away. “Help me to stand, Anthony.”

  He came to his feet and reached for her hand, bringing her up next to him. Snatching a serviette from the desk to dip in a pitcher of water, he cleansed himself, adjusted his trousers, and rinsed out the cloth.

  “You’ll be sore and will need a good soak in a tub.” Anthony went down on one knee and applied the wet fabric to her sensitive parts. Once finished, he threw the soiled items into the fire and helped with her clothing.

  “Is that Christmas punch?” She gestured toward his glass.

  “Would you care for some? I must warn you, it’s strong.”

  “A little taste, please.”


  He poured some from the iced pitcher and turned to find her standing behind him, his tumbler in her hand. He held out the crystal goblet, retook his, and raised it. “Salud.”

  “Salud.” She swallowed a small amount. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  Anthony finished off his remaining punch and frowned at the bitter taste. “I don’t understand.”

  “The room was dark and appeared empty. I was inside before I saw you.”

  “If you didn’t come for”—he gestured at the floor—“why did you come?” His vision suddenly blurred. He set the cup down.

  “I was searching for something. I want you to understand, at least partially, why I came. But know also it is not why I stayed.”

  “Understand . . . what?” As the room began to spin, he shook his head. A suspicion began to form. “What have you done?”

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t be alarmed, I would never hurt you.” Clairece Griffin took Anthony by the hand and led him to the settee. “You’ll only sleep for a short while.” She tugged and he toppled onto the padded cushions.

  She knelt on the floor beside him. “Whatever else you may think, what happened between us was beautiful and I shall never forget it.” She touched her lips to his.

  His eyelids drooped. As he tried to reach for her, his arms dropped heavily to his sides. “I . . . will . . . find you.”

  Clairece rose to her feet and watched as his eyes fluttered closed. What a magnificent man. Black hair, clean and neatly cut, waved back from a wide forehead. Brows, like inky slashes, lay above eyes of the deepest blue, now hidden by his heavy lids, while long lashes cast shadows like smudges against his cheeks. She traced the line of his cheekbone to a thin scar at his temple, and then brushed an errant lock from his forehead.