Claimed By Chaos Read online

  Claimed

  By

  Chaos

  By

  Abigail Graves

  Prologue

  Calais, France

  “Merde!” Giselle St. Claire cursed as the mare reared. The tide was coming in and the heavens had opened. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she watched the rider approaching. She wriggled her shoulders and groaned at how tight they'd become. For a moment, she considered turning her mount but knew it was too late. Giselle swore again, she should have listened to Gilles. Her head felt like it was full of wool, her throat was on fire and she was having a hard time keeping her hands wrapped around the reins. She was alone on the beach, getting sicker by the moment and her senses were telling her that the situation was about to take a terrible turn.

  She urged the horse forward, ignoring the frigid water that attacked her boots and skirts. Giselle pushed the fear down and raised her head. There was nothing for it, she would get what she came for or she would die on this beach. No matter what, she would not run away. Especially from a man.

  Chapter 1

  London, England

  Briarly shook his head and sighed at Sir Alastair’s back as he removed the barely touched plate of food. Briarly had been employed by the Spencer family his entire adult life. He began as a footman in Sir Alastair's grandfather’s household before he'd gone on to Spencer Place and then followed Sir Alastair and his brother, the current Earl of Cambroke to Burton Place to become butler. Burton Place was a typical gentleman’s residence in that a gentleman lived there and it was similarly furnished and staffed but the similarities ended there.

  Sir Alastair spent much of the day at Spencer Place with his family, returning to Burton Place after dinner to spend his evenings in his library and sleep. Though he was rarely seen to do so. Most mornings, the chamber maid would report that his bed was undisturbed. Nights when the family was attending social events usually found Sir Alastair at Burton Place, behaving more like an academic and monk than an eligible bachelor.

  The entire staff of Burton Place had been overjoyed when Sir Alastair's older brother, Gilles, inherited the title of Earl of Cambroke and married Lady Elise shortly after he returned from the war. Within months, their sister, Miss Mirabelle married the Duke of Clerendon. Both were very familiar to Briarly from his time at Spencer Place. The duke, Lucien Haviland spent his childhood alongside the Spencer children at Spencer Place and was a frequent visitor at Burton Place. For Briarly, the recent marriages had been bittersweet. He was extremely fond of the Spencer's and His Grace, seeing them settle into their lives happily was gratifying. Unfortunately, it resulted in Sir Alastair, at Burton Place, alone most evenings. He doesn’t even have the war anymore. Briarly lamented. He never enjoyed seeing Sir Alastair coming and going at odd hours and he always worried when he was away for long periods of time. But somehow, it worried him more to see Sir Alastair restless and bored.

  Sir Alastair was considerate and tidy in his habits (immaculate, to be more precise), he required very little assistance and existed in almost complete silence when at Burton Place. Briarly understood his employer’s temperament and resented his reputation among society for being awkward and impolite. He always thought of Sir Alastair as being too intelligent to interact with common people. As he finished clearing the dining room, Briarly found himself wishing once again that Sir Alastair could find a young lady to settle down with. It was very unlikely but he wished it nonetheless. Briarly shut the dining room door and was about to look in on Sir Alastair when the doorbell rang.

  When Briarly opened the door, he could not thoroughly mask his surprise. On the step was the last thing he would have expected: as if in answer to his wish, stood one of the loveliest creatures he'd ever beheld. Petite and cloaked in peridot silk, her large, bright eyes and full pink lips smiled at him sweetly and confidently. Which was odd for a young lady calling at a gentleman’s home, unescorted at such an hour. Briarly leaned out and looked for a maid and carriage but saw none.

  “Good Evening.” He said expectantly. She did not keep him waiting, she handed him her card. For the second time in as many minutes, Briarly had to school his features. He could not stop himself from looking back at the woman and then back at the card.

  Lady Giselle St. Claire

  “Is Mr. Spencer in?” Her voice was delicate and sweet, Briarly was charmed despite her odd question.

  “Mr. Spencer, my lady?” He did not like keeping her on the step but Sir Alastair would not appreciate a bedlamite in his home. Her brows pulled together.

  “Mr. Gilles Spencer.” She checked the address again and looked back at Briarly. “Is he no longer in residence?” She sounded concerned and sound of mind.

  “Please, come in.” He gestured as he held the door open. She stepped over the threshold and untied her cloak as Briarly lifted it from her shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile as he took in the rest of her. Oh, she’ll do very well! He thought as he hung her cloak and led her to the front parlor. “If you would wait here, please.” She nodded and smiled as she began inspecting the room.

  Briarly forced himself to maintain a dignified pace as he crossed the hall to the library. He considered his employer for a moment. He stood next to a bookshelf, a book opened in one hand while the other rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Briarly smiled as he cleared his throat.

  “Who was it, Briarly?” He asked absently.

  “I do not believe that even you would be able to guess, sir.” That would get his attention.

  Chapter 2

  Alastair looked up, his brow rose as he considered Briarly’s expression. He was pleased and anticipating something. He took the card and read it. His head snapped up.

  “I assure you, even if I knew the lady, I would not have invited her to call. Did you tell her I was in?”

  “No, sir.” He smiled broadly. “I have her waiting in the parlor.”

  “Good God, why?” Alastair asked as he looked in the direction of the parlor.

  “Because she did not ask for you, she asked for your brother.” Briarly looked at him pointedly. Alastair found nothing about the statement helpful. He leaned forward.

  “But he doesn't live here anymore, Briarly. Why would you think that I would want to receive her?”

  “There is the matter of the card.” He whispered. Alastair looked at it again. The paper was of the highest quality and the name was embossed. He turned it over, the back was blank. This Lady Giselle St. Claire was wealthy and most likely of very high social standing, judging from Briarly’s behavior. He shrugged and raised his brows in question. “She asked for Mr. Gilles Spencer.” He was definitely pleased. Alastair’s head snapped back towards the parlor.

  “Mr. Gilles Spencer?” He repeated.

  “Yes, sir. I didn't think it prudent to direct her to Spencer Place before you had a chance to ascertain her purpose.” Briarly whispered. Alastair nodded.

  It was curious, indeed. He placed the book on the shelf and strode toward the door. Whoever this lady was, she must be recently returned to London if she was unaware of the change in Gilles’ circumstances. Lady St. Claire must have been far away for some time to have missed such gossip.

  Alastair approached the parlor silently. Her back was to him as she watched the street from the window. He swept her from head to toe, cataloging details. Her hair was black, like a raven’s wing it had an almost blue sheen where the light touched it. Thick, luxurious curls were swept high, revealing a long, graceful neck and delicate shoulders. Being Mirabelle's brother, he was able to identify her fuchsia silk gown as being very expensive and French in style. She was petite with a lush figure, her waist was narrow and her hips rounded. Alastair frowned at how effected he was by the view. He
stepped forward and she turned.

  Alastair was paralyzed. Her smile was brilliant for a moment before it faded. Eyes the most unusual shade of violet considered him as perfect, full pink lips rounded to form a question as she looked behind him expectantly. Alastair blinked as he tried to clear his mind of the effects of creamy ivory skin and luscious cleavage. Luscious? He shook his head.

  “Lady St. Claire, I'm afraid my brother…” He was cut off.

  “Alastair?” She gasped and she launched herself at him. Before he could react, she jumped and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms closed around her reflexively, tightly. He wasn't sure what shocked him more: that she would do such a thing or that he didn't feel overwhelmed and constricted as he normally did when embraced tightly. In fact, he was stunned by how good it felt, holding this mad little creature. Alastair took a deep breath and his eyes shut in delight as her scent wrapped around him. She was an intoxicating blend of violet, rose and citrus.

  He held her for several moments, her feet inches off the floor. She was soft and warm and fit perfectly against him. She pulled her head back and stared into his eyes. Alastair felt his head tilt as his lips hovered over hers. Her pupils dilated and she licked her lips. Desire. He felt her breath against his lips and almost felt them brush against hers when a throat cleared behind them.

  “I took the liberty of preparing some tea.” Briarly said softly. Her nose wrinkled as Alastair set her on her feet. He blinked rapidly as he turned.

  “I think mademoiselle would prefer wine, Briarly.” He looked to her as she sat on the sofa. She nodded enthusiastically. Briarly set the tray on the table and bowed as he took himself off. Alastair crossed the room and sat on the sofa leaving a respectable distance between them. “Lady St. Claire, it seems you have me at a disadvantage as you are already aware of who I am.” She smiled warmly and he felt it in his chest. What is this? He wondered.

  “I must apologize. Gilles told me so much about you that I feel like I have known you forever.” Alastair was having a hard time identifying her as British or French. Her bearing and appearance suggested French but her English was perfect with a soft French accent.

  “He told you about me?” He couldn't help but sound skeptical.

  “Yes!” She nodded excitedly as she leaned forward. “He used to fill the hours with stories. I'm afraid I didn't have much of a childhood, so I imagined myself playing hide and seek at Spencer Place and chasing you all at Winthorpe.” Alastair felt his brow furrow.

  “Really?” He asked. She must have sensed his doubt, she grinned mischievously.

  “I know that you and Gilles and Lucien used to pretend to be knights and fought dragons in the orchard, you fell from a tree trying to collect a bird’s nest and broke your arm, the three of you spent two days catching fish to fill Mirabelle’s bed, you used to have rug races down the stairs at Spencer Place, you do not like strawberries because Lucien dared you to eat so many that you cast them up and you repaid him by putting fish eyes in his cucumber sandwich.” She giggled and Alastair could only shake his head in surprise. She became serious and scooted closer. “I also know that Gilles used to watch over you because you had terrible dreams after your father died. He told me about how he would take you outside to sleep under the stars so that you could feel like you were closer to him.” She whispered. Her eyes were sad as they searched his.

  Alastair swallowed, his throat was tight, he felt disarmed and exposed. Who was she? Why had Gilles shared so much? Briarly entered with a tray bearing a bottle of wine and two glasses. He waited while the butler removed the cork and poured. He set the glasses in front of them with cheese and fruit and removed the tea tray.

  “Will you require anything else, sir?” Alastair shook his head, still unable to speak. With that, Briarly disappeared.

  Alastair considered the woman next to him. She was young, one and twenty to three and twenty, he determined. There was something about her that he felt but couldn't see. She reached for her wine and sipped. Alastair was mesmerized as he watched her lips slide together as she swallowed. Her tongue swept across them and he felt it in his groin. He frowned. He had to know who she was, who she was to his brother.

  “Lady St. Claire, I'm afraid I have a rather indelicate question.” He waited for her to allow it. “It’s obvious that the two of you were very close for some time. As I've never seen you before and he's never mentioned you, I assume it was during his time in France. Were you and Gilles lovers?” He held his breath. He wasn't sure why. She was still for a moment and then her face twisted.

  “God, no! He's like a brother to me!” She shook her head vehemently. “I can't even imagine it!” She took a long sip of her wine. “And you must call me Giselle. I will not call you anything but Alastair, so it would only be fair.”

  “Giselle.” He said the name softly, mostly to himself. It was too informal but he liked the way her name felt in his mouth. He looked at her and found that the space between them was closing, it appeared that they both had moved. He reached for his wine and sipped it as he tried to make sense of his reaction to her.

  `“Your brother was not completely truthful.” Giselle said softly as her eyes drifted to his lips. Alastair felt his body tighten. “He said that he was the better looking of the two of you, that he got the good looks while you got the brains.” She smiled mischievously as he shook his head.

  “Clearly, he was only half right.” Alastair felt himself moving closer. He drank a little more wine before he set his glass down. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, he'd never felt anything like it. He craved her lips as he watched her drink.

  “You aren't at all like I imagined.” Giselle drained her glass and placed it on the table.

  “What did you imagine?” His voice sounded foreign to him. Low and strained, it betrayed him by revealing how effected he was.

  “I thought you’d be smaller and frail. Pale and maybe wear spectacles.” She blushed as her eyes traveled down his body. Alastair felt heat spread where her eyes touched him, he gripped the back of the sofa as the urge to taste her lips clawed at him. “I expected someone meek and clumsy.” She whispered. Alastair felt his lips curve.

  “I hope you're not too disappointed.” He murmured. Giselle shook her head as he scooted forward again. His eyes were drawn to her lips and remarkable eyes. They should have been blue but as he got closer, he noticed distinct flecks of lavender and amethyst. As she became warmer, her scent became more potent, it was driving him mad. “I find myself severely disappointed that Gilles didn't at least warn me about you.” He said softly. She smiled wryly and shook her head softly.

  “I would be very surprised if he mentioned me at all.” Her eyes settled on Alastair’s lips and darkened. His brows pulled together in confusion.

  “I can't understand how my brother could possibly forget to mention you.” Giselle shrugged, dismissing his statement. She raised her hand and pressed it against his chest, her fingers flexed. Alastair felt a tremor pass through him and his trousers became tight.

  “Gilles said that many people consider you to be cold and distant. I don't feel either of those things.” Her voice was little more than a breath as she leaned toward Alastair. Giselle’s breathing became shallow and her lids heavy. She licked her lips again and her head tilted to the side. She wanted him to kiss her.

  “What do you feel?” He asked as he caressed the smooth skin of her neck, he could see her pulse throbbing. He slid his fingers around and cupped the back of her neck as he pulled her closer.

  “Heat and… hunger.” Giselle sighed as his lips brushed hers. Alastair felt her tremble as need exploded within him. He almost retreated, shocked by the ferocity of his desire but her hand gripped his shoulder. His tongue slid between her lips and found hers and he was lost. Without thinking, he angled his head and took the kiss deeper. She was intoxicating, sweet and crisp. Alastair became ravenous. His hand found her waist and he pulled her against him. Giselle moaned and her arms slid around his
neck and he felt her breasts against his chest. He started to lean her back and felt his cock straining in his trousers. Now. He thought.

  It was as if someone had grabbed him by the collar. Alastair lifted his head and cursed. What was he doing? Where was his control? He did not get carried away with women, and never in his home. And he still had no idea what this woman was to his brother. Aside from her name, that her and Gilles knew each other for many years in France and that she was the first proof of heaven he had ever found, Alastair knew almost nothing about her. He sat up and pulled her upright as he slid back. Giselle blinked rapidly as she looked to her glass. He leaned forward to refill it and glanced at her. She looked dazed. Good. He was comforted by the fact that he wasn't suffering alone.

  “What is your connection to my brother, Giselle?” He asked softly as he put the glass in her hand. She raised it as she considered her answer. Alastair’s eyes narrowed slightly. She wasn't as transparent as she seemed.

  “I think it would be better if he answered that question. I don't know how much he would want you to know. Do you expect him soon?” Her eyes flicked to the door briefly.

  “No. I don't expect him at all.” Alastair answered. Her eyes became big and her lips trembled.

  “He's not…” She stared at him intently, afraid of his answer.

  “Dead? No. He is married and recently inherited a title.” He said as he watched her expression flash from worried to overjoyed. He felt himself relax. She wasn't jealous or angry.

  “Cambroke? He said that it was unlikely that he would inherit.” Giselle said as she reached for a grape. Alastair nodded. He watched her pop it between her lips and he stifled a groan as they closed around it. She chewed and he used the time to force his body to relax.

  “The man that was supposed to inherit died unexpectedly.” He offered. She nodded slowly.