DeButy & the Beast (5 page)

"I refuse to wear that," Anya said, pointing at the monstrosity that lay across the foot of her bed. Constructed of wires and strings and bones, it was an instrument of torture her grandmother had enticed her into once. That was a mistake she would not make again, no matter how ardently her husband insisted.

Julian walked to the edge of the bed, bent forward to study the corset through narrowed eyes, and finally reached out to pluck the thing between two fingers and lift it as if the ghastly garment might decide to bite. "Your grandmother insists that you learn to dress properly, and the corset is apparently a part of the required ensemble."

Anya planted her bare feet and lifted her chin. "If you want me to wear that hideous thing, you will have to hold me down and place it on my unwilling body. I will fight you."

Julian barely canted his head in her direction, laying his eyes on her fully for the first time this morning. "In truth, I have no liking for the corset myself. It isn't at all healthy."

Anya smiled.

"We will save the corset for special occasions," he finished.

"No matter how special the occasion, I will not willingly don that... that..."

"You will fight me."

"I will."

Julian lifted his eyebrows and moved his attentions to the other garments on the bed; a pale blue dress, a lacy chemise, petticoats, drawers, hose, garters... shoes. "What a lovely dress."

"Ha! There is nothing wrong with what I am wearing."

Her husband sighed. "You're wearing a scarf and half of your grandmother's jewelry. That's hardly proper attire for a lady of your standing. For any lady at all, to be honest. You're more naked than not."

"You should try being more naked than not," she shot back. He wore layers and layers of
proper
clothing. Shoes, trousers, a starched shirt, a tie, a jacket, things beneath it all, she had no doubt. And it was such a lovely, warm day! She longed to feel the sun on her skin, the warmth of a spring breeze. At times she felt like she was suffocating in this fine house.

Julian lifted the chemise. "We will begin with this."

"We will not."

Her husband assumed a superior air. "Must I assist you as if you were a child?"

Anya smiled. "Yes, you must." She rather liked the idea of Julian the Beauty dressing her. He had asked her not to touch him and she was doing her best to comply, but he had said nothing about him touching her.

Julian, however, obviously realized that it was not in his best interest to follow through with his threat. He sighed, dropped the chemise onto the bed, and raked his fingers through his hair, as he often did when he was distracted. She found his discomfiture unexpectedly charming.

"Surely you understand the concept of compromise," he said lowly.

"Of course."

He paced beside the bed, his eyes falling now and then to the feminine garments that had been placed across the yellow bedcover. He was clearly uncomfortable being in her private chamber, among her private things. She wondered if as he paced he pictured her sleeping in that bed, wearing only his nightshirt.

If his thoughts took that turn, he did not allow the weakness to show. "Perhaps in these early days, as you accustom yourself to your new surroundings and customs, you could wear this appropriate clothing during the early hours of the day. Your grandmother will be pleased, your cousins will be relieved, and Peter will not have to divert visitors from your path. In the evening, when you and I are alone in our quarters..." He sighed again and pushed his fingers through his hair, mussing the dark strands. "You can wear whatever you want."

Anya glanced at the clothing on the bed, and then up at her harried husband. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" he snapped. "It's a perfectly generous and reasonable offer."

"I like things better as they are, when I wear what I want all day long."

"But it isn't..."

"Proper?" she finished. "I do not care for being proper."

"So I have noticed," he mumbled.

"I gain nothing with this so-called compromise," she said brightly. "Why should I agree? It is true that you are stronger than I am, and I have no doubt that you could force me to the bed." His eyes flickered up and met hers. She licked her lips. "And you could very easily hold me down while you place that detestable clothing onto my body." He swallowed hard, and she lifted her arms and offered her crossed wrists. "You could hold me down, press me to the bed with your body against mine—"

"Anya!" he interrupted.

She dropped her hands and shook her hair back so that the thick strands no longer covered both breasts. One was revealed, and her husband's eyes fell there and stayed. "You could force me to do as you wish, but as soon as you let me go I would remove the clothes and rip them into shreds. Still, if you would like to try..."

He turned his back to her and took a deep breath. And another, and another. Anya smiled at that broad back. Those wide shoulders. His long legs.

"All right," he said tersely, turning around to face her again, pinning his unerring gaze on her face. "You want something from me."

"Yes, I do."

"I understand you like to read."

Anya's eyebrows arched. It was not the offer she had expected. "Read?"

"Your grandmother says you've gone through every book in her library."

"Yes." It had been her only peace in this household, closing herself in the library and reading all those marvelous stories.

"My own things will be arriving soon, including a collection of books. If you cooperate, I might be willing to share."

No, it was not the offer she had expected, but she found the prospect of more reading material... intriguing. "What kinds of books do you have?" She tried, very hard, not to reveal her interest.

"Shakespeare."

"I have already read
Hamlet
," she said, sniffing as if she did not care. "It was quite good."

"There is more to Shakespeare than
Hamlet
. Much more. Have you read
Romeo and Juliet
?
The Taming of the Shrew
?"

"No.
The Taming of the Shrew
sounds intriguing."

"Of course it does," he said, his lips twitching just slightly.

"What else do you have that I might like?"

He quit fighting the twist in his lips and smiled at her. Oh, he did have such a lovely smile. "Tales of men who have traveled the world."

Her heart nearly skipped a beat. "What about women who have traveled the world?"

"Sorry."

"What else?"

"Medical books," he said with a wave of his hand. "You would likely not be interested in those. I also have a few volumes of poetry, and a couple of novels I have never found the time to read."

The medical books sounded quite fascinating. Poetry was boring. Novels... she did enjoy novels. "And you will be a generous husband and share your library with your wife?"

"If she agrees to be cooperative and dress like a lady when she is among others."

She walked to the bed and lifted the linen drawers. "But at night, when we are alone, I can wear whatever I desire? Even if what I desire to wear is... nothing at all?"

Julian swallowed hard. His easy smile faded. "I am willing to compromise."

She took the step that brought her to him, so close her nose was almost touching his chest. So close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. "I understand," she whispered. "You wish to save my nakedness for you and you alone."

"No, that's not at all..."

"You wish to keep that part of me to yourself."

"Anya," he said in a warning voice.

"You are jealous," she whispered.

"Fine," he said, slinking past her and stalking to the door. "I am jealous. Just put on the damned clothes."

She lifted the chemise and held it over her breasts. "Yes, dear."

Her husband groaned as he left the room.

* * *

Anya was lovely, and he told her so. In answer, she kicked at the hallway railing and complained that her shoes pinched her toes.

"When someone compliments you, the correct response is, 'thank you,' " he said as he took her arm and escorted her down the stairs.

She made a noise of pure disgust.

In truth, she was more than lovely. She was devastatingly beautiful. No matter how proper the clothing, Anya still looked untamed and lusciously seductive. Perhaps it was because she continued to wear her hair loose and flowing, an impropriety he would remedy after breakfast. Then again, perhaps it was her luscious lips, the way she smiled, the sparkle in her eyes. There was nothing tame about her face, and he had a feeling that could not be changed. Her spirit was wild, and that wildness could not be disguised with a plain day dress and a pair of shoes.

One step at a time, he reminded himself as he and his wife entered the dining room.

Anya's grandmother and her cousins were already seated at the table. They all perked up and took notice when a suitably attired Anya made her appearance.

"Anya," Mrs. Sedley exclaimed, "you look"—her expression softened—"so much like your mother."

Anya allowed Julian to pull out her chair, and she sat demurely. "I do not remember her," she said, a trace of coldness in her voice.

Julian sat beside his bride, wishing the change of clothing had subdued her sensuality. Perhaps if it had, he'd be able to steer his mind in a safer direction than the one it had chosen to take—the sight of Anya tossing her hair and baring her body, wondering what tactics she would use on him tonight, when they were again alone. Wondering how he would continue to resist her.

And he would. He had no choice.

The maid who hurried into the dining room was as surprised as the others had been. Her eyes widened, and she halted in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen.

"I am hungry," Anya said, without so much as lifting her eyes to look at the maid. "And I have a yearning for roasted boar this morning."

The poor girl went pale. "Madam, we have no..."

Anya raised her head slowly and pinned her eyes on the trembling servant. "I have a yearning for roasted boar," she repeated, each word precise. "See to it."

The maid looked pleadingly to Mrs. Sedley. The poor girl was terrified.

"Ham," Julian said gently. "Ham will be just fine. Do you have ham?"

The maid nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir."

Anya laid her eyes on him. "I did not ask for ham, I asked for roasted boar."

"Don't be unreasonable," he said in a low voice.

Her hand shot out and she grabbed the vase of flowers that sat, most foolishly, within her reach. With her eyes pinned to his, she reared her arm back, readying a throw. Seymour ducked. Valerie covered her eyes.

Julian reached out and snagged her arm. "Return the vase to the table," he said calmly.

"I will n—"

He tightened his grip and forced her arm down, very softly repeating his order. This time Anya complied, setting the vase down with such force that water splashed onto the tablecloth.

"We do not throw things when we do not get our way," he said.

"Yes, we do," Anya snapped.

"And I do think you owe Betsy an apology."

Anya's face went blank. "Who?"

"Betsy." Julian lifted his hand to indicate the maid in the doorway. "You treated her quite badly."

A hush fell over the room, as everyone awaited Anya's response. She just shook her head in wonder. "She is a servant, here to do as I ask. I need not apologize when she is the one who is inadequate."

"You know quite well there is no roasted boar in the kitchen," he said. "You asked so you would have an excuse to raise a ruckus at the table. Offer an apology."

"Why should I?"

He smiled at her. "Because if you do not, the medical books that will be delivered with the rest of my things will be declared off limits."

Her lips thinned and her eyes sparkled. "And what makes you think I care at all for your silly medical books?"

He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Because when I mentioned them upstairs your eyes positively lit up."

"They did not," she protested.

"They did." He leaned a little closer. "Apologize."

Anya lifted her chin, faced the servant in the doorway, and took a deep breath. "Forgive me..." She glanced at Julian and he whispered,
 

"Betsy."

"Betsy," she repeated curtly. "Ham will be just fine." Her nostrils flared, and Betsy made her escape.

"See there?" Julian said with a smile. "That wasn't so difficult now, was it?"

"I cannot believe you made me apologize to a mere servant."

"She is more than a servant, Anya, she is a person. A person with feelings just like yours."

Anya snorted.

"Don't make that noise," he commanded. "It's very unladylike."

"We have been married less than one day," she said beneath her breath, "and already you annoy me."

Thank God. Perhaps if she decided to find him annoying she would quit trying to tempt him so shamelessly when they were alone. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Betsy arrived with ham, eggs, coffee, and sweet bread. Anya behaved herself as the maid placed the hearty meal before them. But when Betsy had left and the others had returned to the chore of consuming their own meals, Anya leaned close to him and whispered, "Do not worry,
cher
. Just because I find you annoying, that does not mean I do not want you. You are my husband, and you
will
come to my bed."

* * *

Anya sat on the stool to which Julian gestured, plopping down too hard in protest. "I do not like pins in my hair," she insisted. He had directed her to the south parlor for this exercise, away from the family and away from their beds. Perhaps he found this room... safer.

"You must wear your hair up, Anya," Julian said in that sensible voice of his. "It's—"

"Proper," she interrupted.

"Yes," he agreed. "Hilary, who often assists your cousin Valerie in fashioning her hairstyle, will be happy to..."

"No," Anya said, lifting her head defiantly. "Only you."