DeButy & the Beast (18 page)

The tears in her eyes dripped down her face. "She just stood there and let that awful woman talk about me as if I had no feelings, as if she cared nothing for me."

"Valerie did defend you, after you left," Julian interrupted. "She was giving Margaret a piece of her mind when I discovered you were gone."

"Truly?"

"Valerie asked me to tell you that she's sorry she took so long to speak up in your defense, but that she does not have your bravery. She does love you, Anya."

Anya slipped out of his arms and stepped back. "I am glad to hear that, but it changes nothing."

"I'd say it does."

"All the things Margaret said about me? They were true." Anya spun in the moonlight, as if she were dancing all alone. Pagan and wild and beautiful, she seemed to pray to the moon. "I do not belong here."

"That's not true."

"It is true. It does not matter that I love you, that I sense something wonderful just out of reach, that for a while I thought this place was home." Anya stopped spinning, lifted her skirt, and very deftly slipped the knife she wore at her thigh into the palm of her hand. "For all my threats, I have never harmed anyone," she said softly. "I have never committed murder, until tonight."

"Anya..."Julian stepped forward quickly, but he was not quick enough.

With a quick, precise motion, Anya slipped the tip of the knife into the bodice of her gown and drew it downward. The sound of fabric ripping, tearing in two, was loud there, so far from the house and the noise of the party. "I am tired of pretending to be someone I am not. For you, Julian, only for you would I go so far."

"You are not pretending. You are... my wife."

The gold fabric hung over her untouched chemise and corset, flapping lightly in the summer breeze. "Am I? I do not know who I am anymore. On Puerta Sirena, I knew. There was no question. I knew my place, and no one ever questioned it."

"The king's mistress," he said softly. "A goddess of love." He had tortured himself wondering about this damned King Sebastian. About the training of a love goddess. How many men had touched Anya? What kind of training did a love goddess undertake? Some nights it was like torture, as he wondered. As he imagined.

He no longer cared. "It doesn't matter who you were, or who your family expects you to be, or even who I expect you to be."

She slipped the knife beneath her chemise and ripped down once again. The fine linen, decorated with silk ribbons, was cut in half, and the ragged ends fluttered in the breeze. "I am tired of pretending." She began to cut at the corset, a tougher chore than slicing through the gown and chemise. She worked, and as she did the tears began to fall again.

"Stop it," Julian said as he neared her.

"No. It is choking me. It is not who I am."

In a move she did not expect, he deftly took the knife from her. "You're going to hurt yourself."

She shot him an accusing glance. He studied the knife for a moment, before turning her about and gently pushing what remained of her gown off her shoulders. With a surgeon's precision, he slipped the tip of the blade beneath the bottom corset cord that laced up her back. He worked the blade upward, slicing through one lace after another. The corset came looser with the popping of each string, and finally fell free when the last one was severed.

"Better?"

Anya turned, lifting her face to him. "Yes."

Julian shook off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, covering the tattered gown and her exposed breasts. Anya stood there, unmoving, as he placed her arms through the long sleeves, rolled them up to free her hands, and then buttoned it closed.

"Do you still want to go home?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

"I will take you."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me, Anya," he said, guiding her to the side of the road and almost forcing her to lean against the white rail fencing there. "I'm going to borrow Seymour's horse, tell Valerie to collect our things tomorrow before they head back and your grandmother not to worry, and then I will be back to collect you and we will go home."

A strange look passed over Anya's face, something childlike and strikingly poignant. "Do you promise?" she asked softly. "Do you promise that you will come back?"

"Yes."

"Hurry."

* * *

For much of the journey on horseback, Anya rested her head against Julian's chest and pretended to sleep. The ruse was not necessary, as he did not seem to want to talk any more than she did.

Of course he did not want to talk. What was there to say? Everything Margaret had accused her of was true, in a distorted way. It all came down to one truth. She did not belong here.

Julian might feel an attraction for her, but surely he did not love her. She had successfully used her body to win him, but what did she really have? His love? No, it was only desire. He simply did not know the difference. She had been foolish to think otherwise.

"We're home," he said softly.

Anya lifted her head to look at the depressing, sprawling brick mansion lit by eerie moonlight. "This is not my home."

"Of course it is."

"It is very dark."

Julian steered the horse toward the stables at the back of the property. "It's empty, with all the servants gone for the weekend. They'll return tomorrow afternoon."

"I do not like this place," she whispered.

"It's a fine house."

"Yes, but I do not belong in it." She hugged close the coat Julian had put on her. "It is a cold, lifeless place, filled with lies and false promises."

"I have never lied to you," he said defensively.

"And when you leave?"

He did not deny that he would, one day too soon, leave. It had been his intent from the beginning. "Your grandmother and Valerie both love you very much. Peter seems to be very fond of you. And Seymour..." Julian shrugged and Anya felt it, the subtle shifting of his warm, solid body against hers. "I don't imagine Seymour likes anyone, much."

It was not what she wanted to hear. "When you leave here, would you take me home?"

"Anya, you are home."

"This is not home," she whispered.

They reached the stables and an eager boy, surprised to see them, ran out to take the horse. He held the reins while Julian dismounted and then lifted his arms to assist Anya as she left the saddle.

"Everything's in good order, sir," the boy said. "I checked around the house just before sunset."

"Very good," Julian said, taking the lantern the boy offered.

They walked to the house, the dimly lit lantern hanging from Julian's hand, his free arm around her waist. Was he afraid she would run even now? She was tempted. Very tempted.

But Anya did not run. She leaned into Julian and took the comfort he offered. "I will go without you," she promised.

He sighed, but did not seem surprised. "I wish you would give your family another chance."

"They are not my family."
You are my only family
. She felt that, wanted to say it, but did not. "I have been too long away from this place for them to be my family."

Julian opened the door that led them into the north parlor, a rarely used room she had never cared much for. There was no color, here, no life. In the moonlight the room seemed full of ghosts. She and Julian had married here. She had not loved him then. In fact, she had not known him. Not really.

"You must be hungry," she said as they left the dark parlor behind. "We had a long ride."

"I am a little hungry," he confessed. "Should we raid the kitchen and see what we can find?"

The thought of the staid Julian DeButy raiding anything brought a smile to Anya's face. "A wonderful idea."

He placed the lantern on the oaken table in the center of the large kitchen, and they foraged until they had bread, jam, and apple cider. Instead of going into the dining room to share their simple meal, they sat at the oak table where the servants took their meals.

Anya liked the kitchen. Even now, it was warm and welcoming, in a way the rest of the house was not. The bread and jam sat well on her stomach; the cider was sweet and cool. "I have an idea," she said, pushing her mug and napkin away. "I could go with you." She could stay with him until the passion between them expired, and he realized that he did not love her. It would be enough, she decided. His passion would satisfy her love for him, for a while.

"Go with me where?" Julian asked as he finished the last of his late-night meal.

"Wherever you go," she whispered, terrified that he would immediately dismiss her suggestion as foolish. "I can be an anthropologist, too. I know many languages, and might be of great help to you."

"I get the feeling," Julian said in a teasing voice, "that most of your impressive linguist abilities are phrases only salty sailors will respond to."

"Perhaps, but I have a good ear and am a very fast learner."

Julian pushed his own mug away, stood, took the lantern in one hand, and offered her the other. "If you had made that suggestion a month ago, perhaps even a week ago, I would have thought you'd lost your mind."

She smiled as she placed her hand in his. So far, this sounded like a "yes" to her.

"And taking a woman to the kinds of untamed places I intend to travel, well, most will say it's madness."

"What do you say?"

"I say your idea would solve my most immediate problem."

"And that problem is?"

They stepped into the dining room, and Julian placed the lantern on the long, bare buffet. He very gently spun her around and took her face in his hands. "The very thought of leaving you behind, that's my problem. How am I supposed to choose between the career I have sought for so long and the woman I have found?"

"You do not have to choose." She rose on her toes and laid her mouth over Julian's, telling him again, in this most eloquent way, that she loved him. And for the moment, it was enough that he thought himself in love with her.

His lips parted slightly, and she shared his breath for a moment before pressing her mouth firmly to his. His arms crept around her, and he pulled her close. Her hands snaked around his waist and up his back, her fingers dancing against the fine linen that covered the muscles there. Feeling his warmth, arousing him and herself with the gentlest of touches, she allowed herself to caress as she pleased.

She had never known such pure heat, such a searching need. Without taking her mouth from his, she slid one hand along his arm until she reached his wrist, and then pulled his hand up and around and placed it against her chest.

When she released Julian's hand, it crept unerringly into the gap of the jacket she wore, to caress her breast gently. He found and stroked the nipple that hardened at his touch, and deepened the kiss.

Nothing that had happened on this night could spoil the moment. Julian wanted her; she knew it well. And she wanted him, in a way so powerful and inescapable it surprised her. She had been taught control, seduction... she had not been taught to handle a power that shot through her body like lightning.

Their mouths parted, and she laid hers against his neck, tasting the salty skin there, sucking lightly on the inviting flesh.

"I never knew I could feel like this," he whispered.

"I know."

"I'm spinning out of control."

"So am I. Is it not wonderful?"

Julian's hands slipped between their bodies and unbuttoned the jacket she wore, his own jacket. With a push, the garment fell from her body and pooled on the floor.

Cool night air chilled her exposed skin, but Anya did not stay cool for long. Julian placed his hands at her waist and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around and placing her so that she sat on the edge of the table. His arms encircled her, his hands stroked her back, and once again he returned his attention to her breasts. First with his fingers, and then with his mouth.

Her head fell back, her fingers twined through Julian's hair as he suckled one nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. Fire traveled through Anya's body, sparks and flames of a potent urgency that Julian fanned with his mouth and hands.

"I need you," he said as he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

"I know." She reached between their close bodies, raked her hand down, and caressed the stiff manhood beneath his trousers. "And I need you." Could he feel her tremble? Did he know that she had never felt his kind of craving before? It was more than a craving. She would not survive unless he came to her. Now.

They kissed deeply while she stroked the ridge in his trousers. Julian moaned, and she caught that moan with her parted lips, tasted it with her flickering tongue. She returned that telling moan as she began to unfasten his trousers.

He pushed her farther back on the table, and she listed back and back until she was lying there, the polished walnut a hard bed. Julian followed, crept ever forward and up until he towered above her. Her legs crept around his, bringing him closer. Closer.

Inch by inch, kissing and touching all the while, they moved until they were completely on the table. As he straightened his body, Julian kicked something that went rolling and then crashed onto the floor.

It surprised them both enough so that their lips parted.

"Never fear," Anya whispered breathlessly. "They will think I did it."

Julian smiled at her, and she reached up to unbutton his shirt. A difficult task, since he was so close—since he was atop her. Still, she continued until she was able to tug the shirt off.

"There," she said, as she tossed the shirt aside. She ran her hands along Julian's muscled chest. Pressed her breasts against his flesh.

There was an opening in the crotch of her drawers, drawers she would not have worn had Grandmother not been there to insist. With a slight shifting of her body, Julian could be inside her. She wanted that, wanted it so much that her body arched toward his in silent invitation.

But she also wanted this first time for them to be right. Perfect. She wanted flesh to flesh along the length of their bodies. "Julian?"

"Yes?" he moaned, his body moving unerringly toward hers.