DeButy & the Beast (14 page)

Margaret shot to her feet. "I really should be going."

Anya released her hold on Julian and stood to smile at their guest. "Yes, you should. We have things to do. I am supposed to say it was very nice of you to stop by."

Margaret went white. "It was my... pleasure." She turned panicked eyes to Julian. "It was good to see you again. Congratulations on your... marriage."

"Your strumpet is very good," Anya said brightly. "She says that as if she means it."

Margaret spun on her heel to leave, and Julian made as if he intended to pursue her. Anya's hand fell on a small porcelain bowl that sat on the table at the end of the couch, and she sent it sailing. It broke against the doorframe with a satisfying crash, and Julian stopped in his tracks.

"You will not follow her," Anya seethed. In the distance, the front door closed behind their visitor.

Julian turned slowly, and with one look at his face Anya took a step back. She had never seen him so angry. "I was only going to see her out and apologize for your atrocious behavior."

"Do not apologize for me."

"Someone has to!"

Anya circled the couch, intent on that vase of roses. Julian ran into the room and they met at the vase. Both of her hands closed over the rounded porcelain. Julian's larger hands covered hers.

"What were you thinking?" he seethed.

She lifted her eyes and stared at him over the yellow roses. "I was thinking that if you insist on lying to make your whore envious of your new love, we should at least make her believe that the lie is true."

His anger faded, but he did not release her or the vase. "I apologize," he said softly. "I don't know what came over me."

"I do. You loved her and she hurt you, and now you want her to think that you do not hurt anymore. But you do. You must. Otherwise you would not have thought to lie." Her eyes burned. "You would not have cared so much. You must still love her."

"Anya." Julian, no longer angry, took his hands from hers and lifted them to her face. "I don't..."

With Julian's stilling hands away from the vase, Anya lifted the container and quickly dropped it to the floor. It landed with a loud crash and splattering of water and roses. In the distance, Peter cursed.

Julian closed his eyes and dropped his hands from her face. "Go to your room," he ordered softly.

Anya, who would have loved to storm to the sanctuary of her room if he had not ordered her to go, planted her feet and placed her hands on her hips. "No."

"I said—"

"No."

Julian reached for her, and in an unexpected move he lifted her easily and in a smooth, sweeping motion tossed her over his shoulder. She felt dizzy for a moment, as she hung there in such an undignified manner.

"I do not have the fortitude to argue with you now," he said in that damned sensible voice of his.

She dangled from his shoulder as he carried her to the stairs. "You... you..." There was no English word strong enough or angry enough for the way she felt at this moment. She used the language of Puerta Sirena, the language that came to her almost as easily as English, to curse her husband. To insult him.

She salted her dialogue with a few words in Italian, and a few in French. He never slowed his step, and Anya bobbled as Julian all but ran up the stairs with her suspended from his shoulder.

Growing angrier with each passing second, she reverted to the language of her island home as Julian threw open the door to her room.

And in that language he would never understand she told him, angry tears in her eyes as he carried her into the room and dumped her onto her own bed, that he was the only man in the world who could break her heart, and for that she would never forgive him.

Chapter 8

It was too late to run for the roof, Julian thought as the carriage rumbled down the road. They were on their way to the party Anya had been so dreading. The plan was to travel that day and spend the night at the home of one of Elizabeth Sedley's oldest friends, the woman who was throwing this summer party. Planned activities would fill the day and night the next day, and on Sunday everyone would travel home.

The Sedley servants had been given a holiday. Hilary and Betsy had each gone to spend the weekend with their families. Even Peter had taken off, telling Mrs. Sedley that he would pass the time at a friend's home in Wilmington. He seemed as anxious to get away from the house as Anya was to remain in it.

Julian was mightily tempted to run for some sort of escape. For a while it had seemed that Anya was taking to her lessons quite well. But lately she had been reverting to her old ways, and he had no idea what she might do next. It would be a disaster of major proportions if she decided to saunter down to breakfast wearing only her scarves and a mélange of jewelry. And if she decided to throw a vase or nibble on his ear... would he be quick enough to stop her?

She had been very quiet in the past few days. He didn't like it, he didn't like it at all. A quiet Anya was rather like a volcano. It wasn't a matter of if she would erupt, it was only a matter of when. And how.

Julian rode in the carriage with Anya, her cousin, and her grandmother. Seymour had chosen to ride a horse, a method of travel Julian would have preferred. But he needed to keep a close eye on Anya. There was no telling what she might say in his absence.

"William Mathias is going to be there this weekend," Valerie said, a wide smile on her face. Oh, how her attitude had changed in the past few weeks. She had been so sullen, in the beginning. But she and Anya had mended some fences, and the cousins were becoming quite close.

"That William Mathias is a rounder, and if he expresses an interest in you, you must remember that he is only attracted to your money," Mrs. Sedley said curtly, and with an unintended cruelty. "The Mathias family never did recover financially from the war. As a Sedley you must always remember your position."

Valerie's face fell, and she turned her forlorn gaze out the window. Not a word of argument passed her lips.

But Anya was not about to let the incident go. "How do you know this William Mathias is only interested in Valerie's money?"

"We don't know, Anya, but we must assume..." Mrs. Sedley said gently, as if she were talking to a child.

"Perhaps he is interested in her bosom."

Mrs. Sedley gasped, and Valerie blushed from the exposed skin above her modest collar all the way up to her pale hairline.

"Anya," Julian said gently. That gentle rebuke should be enough.

It was not. "But this is family. You said I could say some things to family that I cannot say to strangers."

"That is true, but..."

"Is it not important that we know if William Mathias likes Valerie for her money or her bosom?"

"We don't know that he likes her at all," Mrs. Sedley said tightly.

"Valerie must have many beaus," Anya said with a smile. "She is beautiful and usually very sweet."

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "I'm too chubby, and not nearly as pretty as you."

"You are a very pretty girl, and you are not chubby," Mrs. Sedley snapped. "You just haven't gotten rid of all your baby fat, yet."

"I'm almost twenty-three," Valerie whispered. "I don't see how this can be baby fat."

Julian wished he could disappear. Crawling out the window seemed a perfectly reasonable option.

"The fat is what makes her bosom so magnificent," Anya said.

"Would you please not say the word
bosom
again?" Mrs. Sedley snapped.

"Of course, Grandmother," Anya said sweetly, and then she turned to Valerie. "You must introduce me to this William Mathias. I think he must like you for your
tete
."

"Anya!" Mrs. Sedley snapped.

"I did not say bosom." Anya turned to Julian. "You will ask him."

"No!" Valerie shouted, all but coming out of her seat.

Julian stared with admiration and wonder and complete bewilderment at his wife. "There is no proper way to ask a man if he cares for a woman because of her fortune or her... feminine assets."

"I guess that is true. At least I know why you married me," Anya said coolly. "For a ship and a few sailors, you became my husband and teacher. I
never
had to wonder why, or if, you cared for me. Take heart,
querido
, your time is speeding past quickly. In less than two months you will be finished with your arduous task."

Mrs. Sedley cleared her throat and began to tell them all about the home of her old friend, Katherine Mansfield. She was quite thrilled about the weekend, in spite of William Mathias's presence and the excitement of never knowing what Anya might say or do next.

Anya pretended to listen, so Julian stared at her. He stared intently at the set of her chin and the gentle shape of her lips. At the way her hair would never quite behave. If he leaned forward, just a bit, he would be able to see the fire in her eyes, a flash of sea-green flame that was so much a part of her.

She was right. His days with the Sedleys were flying past. His time there was more than half over.

And he was not ready to go.

She cut him a quick glance, and he saw the trace of fear in those magnificent eyes. Instinctively, he took her hand, and she quickly threaded her fingers through his.

* * *

Anya lifted her head from the pillow, awakening with the sun as she often did. She was still tired, though. She had not slept well in this strange bed, in this strange house. Her eyes slipped from the soft daylight at the window to her husband, who slept in a padded chair in the corner of this large room. His trousers had been loosened, his linen shirt and undershirt had been removed and tossed aside.

She had been so angry with him, of late. Most of the time she was not certain why. He annoyed her, as he had in those early days, and he was never out of her thoughts.

Whenever she became too annoyed, she remembered the way he had held her after the storm, the way he had held her even though she insisted she did not need to be comforted. He said he married her for his ship and sailors, that there was no tenderness in their arrangement. And yet, at times she did see affection in him. Affection he fought with every breath he took.

Poor Julian, he had almost turned green last night when he had realized that they would have to share a room. Why had he not thought of that before? There were a number of guests staying for the weekend. Grandmother and Valerie were sharing a room, and Seymour had passed the night with the youngest son of the house, a fact that did not please him. Of course, little pleased Seymour.

She rolled quietly from the bed, trying not to wake Julian. He had been miserable since the day his hussy had called upon him. Perhaps he had suffered long enough for his crimes of the past. He could never suffer enough for breaking her heart, but as he had not done so on purpose she would not make him agonize any longer.

She crossed the room, her hands skating down the nightshirt she wore. The maid who had packed her trunk had included two new nightgowns, but not the softly worn garment she had taken from Julian. She wore that nightshirt every night; it was one of her small comforts.

Julian had not protested at all when she had confiscated his other nightshirt last night. In fact, he had not seemed at all surprised.

Moving cautiously, she knelt down in front of her husband. In the complete relaxation of sleep, he had fallen back and allowed his legs to fall apart. She rested nicely between his thighs.

He did not love her. He did not plan to stay. But why could they not be truly together in the time they had left? She wanted him to be a true husband, just for a while, but he had been resistant to her initial advances.

Because he was a man who did not take what he wanted without reservation. His life was filled with reservations, with rules and morals. One of the rules he lived by was apparently that it was possible to have too much fun. That if something felt too good it must be immoral. Some nights her body ached for his, and she saw no reason why he could not put an end to that ache.

But gently, she had decided. Very gently.

She could wake him with a stroke to the bulge in his trousers, but he would not appreciate that. Not yet. He would likely come out of his chair with a shout that would wake the entire household, if she were so bold.

Besides, she wanted more from Julian. In the early days of their marriage, she had attempted to seduce him seeking two things: pleasure and a way to buy his affection and loyalty. But now she wanted more. And she was suddenly sure that there truly was more to be had.

"Julian," she whispered, laying her hands on his thighs.

He made a deep moaning sound and turned his head to one side. Anya raised up and placed the flat of her hand on his chest. Here he was bare, firm, nicely muscled, and a sprinkling of hair dusted his chest. Her fingers danced, teasing him, and he took a deep breath and moved again. Just a little.

"Julian," she whispered again.

"Anya," he responded lowly, still more asleep than awake. His hand covered hers, there on his chest.