“We need to talk,” Anthony stated in an unsteady voice.
She swiveled to face him. “I was wrong. I knew it the moment I stepped out the back door.”
“Why, Clairece?” Anthony jammed his hands in his pockets. “Why would you take such a risk?” He moved farther into the room.
“I thought to check the icehouse without taking anyone from their duties.”
His eyes closed briefly. “Neither of us believes that. So tell me, was it just to thwart me?”
She slid from the window seat. “No. No, it wasn’t. I don’t know why I behaved as I did. When the door to the icehouse shut, I realized how foolish I’d been and what I could have lost.”
“And what was that?”
Anthony stepped toward her, the light from the bedside lamp casting his features into sharp relief. Her heart jerked. The planes of his face looked set and grim, while his mouth appeared fixed and unyielding. She would do anything to wipe away the defeated expression in his eyes.
“You,” she said. “It could have cost me you. I knew you would find me, I just didn’t know if it would be in time.” A tear slid down her cheek.
“Clairece—”
“I am so sorry.” Her gaze sought his. “I hate what this is doing to us.”
“And yet, not enough to stop and think before you acted.”
“Please, don’t be angry with me. I cannot bear it.”
“I slid past angry a long time ago, and ended in a hell filled with black rage. The one thing I swore I would never let happen. I learned how destructive such anger could be at the hands of a master.”
“Anthony—”
He raised a hand to silence her. “Do you know what it was like for me when we couldn’t find you?”
She shook her head and swiped more tears from her cheeks.
“I nearly lost my mind.” He stared beyond her shoulder as if seeing something she could not. “I pictured you helpless and needing me and I didn’t know where to look. I knew what that monster was capable of, and the thought of what he might be doing to you, torturing you before he—”
“It didn’t happen,” Clairece began, only to be silenced by something like a growl.
His gaze snapped back to her and the look in his eyes made her take a step back. “But. It. Could. Have. I am trying, God knows I am, but if you feel so little concern for me . . .”
“It wasn’t like that!” Clairece shouted before she could control her dismay.
“No? What was it like?”
When she failed to answer, he continued. “I thought you knew me, knew how I felt about protecting those I love. Apparently I was mistaken.” Anthony straightened his shoulders. “If you wanted to tear my heart out, see me brought to my knees, you have succeeded beyond your wildest dreams.”
He visibly shuddered. “For both our sakes, you need to decide what is important to you and what you want. If, after this is over, you still wish to leave with your parents, I won’t stop you.”
Her heart thudded against her chest. She needed to find a way to bridge the gap which would soon become an insurmountable chasm. She took a step closer. “Do you love me?”
His gaze flicked to her face before he closed his eyes to shut her out. “At least leave me with some dignity.”
“Do you love me, Anthony?” she repeated. “Tell me.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her. Sorrow filled the blue depths. “I thought you would have known.” He shrugged as if to himself. “If my actions haven’t been enough to show you, I shall say the words. I love you. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. You are everything to me.” He trembled. “You have my heart. It’s primal, permanent, always, and . . . obviously not enough.”
“Anthony, I—”
For the second time, he held up his hand to silence her. “Let me say what must be said.”
She stood frozen in place.
“You know me better than anyone. You know I failed my mother when I left her alone and she died.”
She shook her head in denial.
“Allow me to finish. Since I took the title, I’ve tried to make right the wrongs the old earl perpetrated on those dependent upon us. I found stacks of requests from the tenants for needed repairs to their homes. Those appeals went unheeded until the cottages were all but falling down around their heads. And yet, their rents increased. They deserved far better than what they received.”
Anthony gestured wearily. “In Harding Hall, the plumbing had backed up until the stench was unimaginable. Nothing had been done to maintain the grounds. Most of the gardens and shrubbery had to be torn out and replaced.”
“Didn’t your stepfather care about this?” Clairece indicated their surroundings.
“Not as much as he hated me.” Anthony shifted away and crossed to the window, his back to her. “A large sum of money was needed to restore Sanctuary Park to its former grandeur. I thought my stepfather had finally succeeded in ruining me.”
He faced her. “I’ve mentioned the small inheritance from my mother. Though not a large sum, it fed and housed me while I decided how to proceed. I’d made some influential friends at school, friends who trusted my judgment and believed in my business acumen. I went to them and asked for loans. The money was to be returned with a higher than normal rate of interest.”
Crossing to the bed, he sat on its edge. “With their help, I bought my first factory. The money started trickling in, but not quickly enough. I had staff to feed and repairs to make on the Hall. That took a much larger influx of funds than what I could spare from the metal works.”
Clairece sank into a large chair by the bed, listening raptly to his narrative.
“I read an article describing some expensive heirlooms stolen from the more prominent homes in Mayfair. A reward was offered and Scotland Yard was the contact.
“I became highly proficient at finding missing items and the rewards helped my financial situation considerably. I began to work privately for a percentage of the value of the items I found. I bought another factory, made some investments, and the income grew. By then, I’d paid back the original loans and repaired the tenet homes. With careful planning, I started renovations here.”
Rising, Anthony began to pace. “I continued to provide services to Scotland Yard and they agreed to keep my involvement confidential. The money was good, and finding missing valuables had become an interesting hobby.”
“And Stallings?” A growing premonition had begun tingling beneath her skin.
He stared at her. “Before I met you, I agreed to work with Scotland Yard to find the collar.”
She sprang to her feet. “I’m an assignment?”
“Yes.”
Incensed, Clairece slapped him.
Anthony lifted his hand to his cheek. The pain she saw in his eyes was not from the blow.
“I must attend to our guests. You may join us, or not. The choice is yours.” Anthony brushed past her on his way to the door and halted, his hand on the knob. With his back to her, he added, “Do not concern yourself with the thought of my visiting your bed.”
True to his word, Anthony made no effort to come to her at night. Neither did he seek her out for any reason during the day. While surrounded by others, he remained polite but withdrawn.
The next two days passed with Clairece catching only a quick glimpse of him as he came and went with the other men. The hunt had begun in earnest with the riders leaving at sunup and returning at nightfall when it grew too dark to search. The Hall took on a morose, somber atmosphere as the inhabitants waited.
Late at night, she could hear Anthony moving around in his chambers. Clairece rose early only to find the men gone for the day.
Most often, she found herself in the company of her mother and Emma Baker. The young
governess had a friendly, sunny disposition and Clairece could see why everyone spoke highly of her.
On several occasions, Clairece had watched from the door of the nursery as Emma played and worked with the children. It was evident both girls adored her.
More than once, Clairece had noticed Jason Rutledge ensconced in a chair in the corner of the nursery, observing Emma with the children. The loopy smile on his face seemed to indicate he’d developed a tendre for the young woman. Emma smiled shyly at him in return. Clairece would then back quietly away from the door.
To keep her mind occupied, Clairece asked her mother to help her search through some old trunks and stacks of furniture stored in the attics. They’d uncovered some lovely pieces of Hepplewhite and Sheraton which fit perfectly in her new office. The cushions, covered in a blend of yellows and blues, were in excellent condition. Anthony’s mother had no doubt purchased them as a young bride to decorate her new home.
Once the old draperies were removed and the windows washed, Clairece had the walls painted a pale, lemon yellow to brighten the room. Footmen were summoned to hang draperies they’d discovered in an old trunk in the back of the attics. The damask, woven in various shades of blue, perfectly matched the colors in the two chairs and lounge.
A long cushion, now covered in lemon-yellow satin purloined from an outdated hoop-skirted dress, lay in the wide casement. Pillows in yellows, greens, and a touch of magenta, lined the new window seat. A small table designed to hold a book and beverage sat near one end. Clairece’s most treasured find was a lovely Aubusson carpet in shades of deep gold and green.
Clairece gazed around the room. Her new office needed a desk to hold her correspondence, and a few paintings to brighten the walls. Only the two bookcases remained untouched. Once she sorted through the tomes and volumes on a top shelf and replaced them with books more to her liking, her office would be complete.
“You wished to speak to me, my lady?” Hodges asked from the doorway.
“I need your advice,” Clairece entreated. “This room is almost finished, but it lacks a few pictures and, most importantly, a desk. So far, I’ve been able to do this with items garnered from the attics. I would like to continue along those lines.”
Hodges glanced around. “A magnificent transformation indeed, if I may say so.”
Clairece smiled. “You may.”
Hodges’ lips didn’t move but a smile lurked in his eyes.
“Can you offer suggestions on where I might look for a smallish desk, yet bigger than an escritoire? I plan to set it near the French doors to better catch the light. I would also like to find something special to sit atop the chinoiserie chest as well. It’s truly a lovely piece.”
“Might I suggest the Ming vase from the upstairs salon?”
“It sounds perfect. The pictures, only three at the most, need to be happy and gay. I want nothing heavy for this room. Oh, and I need a clock for the mantle.”
“I shall have the Ming and a small case clock brought in immediately.” He seemed to ponder his next words. “Have you looked through the storage room at the end of the west wing?”
“I didn’t realize there was one.”
“When his lordship had the interior remodeled, he used a large room near the late Countess’ apartments to store some pieces he wanted to keep.”
“Would you show me?”
By early afternoon, a beautiful Queen Anne desk sat in front of the French doors leading to an outside terrace. Hidden beneath a dustcover, she found a collection of paintings. She chose three.
Two were landscapes; one depicted the ornamental lake with the Grecian folly, and the other, the gardens surrounding the hall in full glory.
The third was of a woman with flowing, dark hair. Ensconced on a bench in what had to be a rose garden, she looked on while a young boy played at her feet. The smile on the woman’s face, as she beheld her son, took Clairece’s breath away. Without a doubt, she was looking at a painting of Anthony and his mother. The picture now hung on the wall directly opposite the door.
She surveyed the room. Any trace of what had once been a place of sadness and pain, had been replaced with all things bright and cheery. Tomorrow, she would work on the books.
The small clock on the mantel chimed the hour. She had a lot to do before Anthony returned home.
Chapter 55
Anthony gingerly lowered his aching body into the steaming bathwater. Another frustrating day of searching had ended without a sign of the scar-faced man. The blighter he worked for had to know they were scouring the area, and would not stop until every hole the weasel might hide in had been explored. If they didn’t ferret him out soon, Anthony doubted they would find the man alive.
After a grueling day searching through the warehouses lining the docks near the village, they’d discovered the carcasses of a few dogs, cats, and a vagrant, or what was left of him after the rats had finished. Anthony shivered in remembered revulsion.
He sank lower into the water. Tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow. They were running out of places to search and now, at the end of each day, the men’s faces were etched with defeat.
Anthony climbed from the tepid water and wrapped a towel around his hips. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but slumber had evaded him of late. Where once he’d lain with Clairece’s warm, soft, body cradled in his arms, the bed was now a silent reminder of what they had shared and somehow lost.
A folded piece of stationary lay propped against the pillows. A small white feather floated from between the doubled sheet. He leaned toward the bedside lamp to read the short message.
I know what’s important, it said.
Anthony jerked on his trousers and slid his arms into a clean shirt, stuffing the shirttail in as he searched for his boots. If Clairece’s message meant she’d decided to leave with her parents, it was better than not knowing and far better than waiting.
After checking for his wife in her apartments, he went in search of Hodges. With a house full of sleeping guests, he could hardly bellow for his butler. Anthony found Hodges in the great hall securing the lock on the door.
“Where is my wife?” Anthony managed to lower his voice to a quieter version of a roar.
“My lord?”
“I said,” he lowered his voice yet again, “where is Clairece? You know every damn thing that goes on in this house and I’m in no mood for games.”
Hodges had the audacity to remain quiet.
“Good Lord, man, I’m not going to hurt her.” Anthony couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to a servant. Not for the first time, had Hodges shown his disapproval of Anthony’s actions toward Clairece.
“Have you checked her office, my lord? My lady often works late.”
“And where might I find this office?” Anthony flushed at having to ask something he should have known.
“The end room on the first floor of the east wing, my lord.”
“But that’s—” Anthony ground his teeth until he thought his jaw would snap.
“It is the room she chose after you gave her permission to do so. Her ladyship has worked diligently on the redecorating and deserves praise for her accomplishments.”
“Do you presume to tell me how to treat my wife?” he gaped.
“Apparently so, my lord.”
“I should dismiss you without references.”
“As you say, my lord.”
Anthony bowed his head in defeat. “That room is evil. I don’t want her anywhere near it.”
“It is just a room,” Hodges said gently. “Let the past go, lad. Do not allow heinous memories to destroy what you could have now.”
Anthony peered at his aging retainer. Reaching out, he squeezed the older man’s shoulder. Hodges bowed, turned smartly on his heel, and strode away.
Fearing Hodges’ sage advice had come too late, Anthony barely controlled the urge to make a headlong dash down the hall to the east wing. As he neared the old earl’s study, his pace slowed.
Dim light shone beneath the door. He came to a standstill and swallowed. How many times as a youth had he stood outside this door, knowing what awaited him on the other side?
Anthony shuddered. He’d not entered this room since his stepfather’s death, and only then to order the desk and rug carried out and burned. Once all signs of the blood had been removed, he’d had the draperies closed and the doors locked.
He reached out a hand and pushed the door open.
Clairece heard Anthony’s footsteps as he approached and waited anxiously for him to enter. The guarded expression on his face gave her pause.
“You have something you wish to discuss?”
“Yes.” She took a step forward and he stiffened. “Will you forgive me?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Forgiveness was never in question.”
She knew him, knew the tender, caring heart beating inside this gentle man, and yet she had not stopped to consider what her irresponsible behavior would do to him. While his complete focus was on her safety and that of others, hers had been self-serving. As a result, she’d hurt the man who’d given her protection, understanding, and love.
“I hardly know what to say, Anthony.”
She watched his throat move as he swallowed. “Say what your heart tells you.”
He’s expecting me to leave him. “My heart tells me it belongs to you.”
His gaze sharpened.
“It tells me you are everything I could ever wish for or want in this life, and assures me it would break into a thousand pieces without you.”
“What else does it say?” he asked quietly.
The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) Page 31
