DeButy & the Beast (21 page)

They were all supposed to be napping on this hot afternoon, but Anya found she could rarely nap. And if she remembered correctly, Valerie didn't care much for sleeping in the middle of the day, either.

Anya opened Valerie's door and stepped inside the pastel room. She closed the door silently behind her as Valerie sat up on the bed. As always, she was dressed in her chemise and petticoats for a nap. Anya was sure her well-placed scarves were much cooler, and more appropriate, apparel for such a warm day.

"I knew you would not be asleep," Anya said as she sat on the foot of Valerie's bed.

"I thought I would never get a chance to speak to you alone again," Valerie said with a small smile.

"Grandmother was quite vigilant," Anya agreed, offering her hand.

Valerie laid her hand on Anya's palm. "I never did get to apologize for my behavior at the party. I should have spoken up sooner. I just—"

"I understand," Anya broke in. "You were not taught to stand your ground. You have never had to fight for yourself or for anyone else."

"No, I haven't."

"I hope you never have to fight," Anya said, "but if you do you should know how."

"I will try to be more like you," Valerie said softly.

Anya smiled and dropped her cousin's hand. "Do not try too hard. I do not think Grandmother could bear two of us. How are things with William Mathias?"

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "Grandmother won't let me see him." Her eyes shifted to the window, as if she could no longer bear to meet Anya's gaze.

"But..." Anya prodded.

"But I have sneaked out of the house to meet him, twice in the past week."

"Where do you meet?"

"Behind the stables, where we can't be seen from the house." Valerie braved a direct glance at Anya. "And you don't have to teach me anything about the ways of a man and a woman. I know everything, now."

"Oh, really?"

"William kissed me." Valerie laid two fingers to her lips.

"Just a kiss?" Anya asked.

"No, much more than a kiss," Valerie insisted. "A wonderful, marvelous kiss that made me feel like melted butter."

Anya shifted uncomfortably on the bed. This could be worse than she thought. "There is more than a kiss," she said softly, "between a man and a woman."

Valerie's eyes widened. "More?"

Suddenly, Anya was angry at her overly protective grandmother who would allow a woman to reach a fully grown age and still be completely ignorant. "Do you love him? If you kissed him you must."

"I do, but..." Valerie caught her bottom lip in her teeth and wrinkled her nose. "William says he loves me, but how can I know Grandmother isn't right? What if he only loves me for my fortune?"

"There are ways to be sure," Anya said confidently.

"What ways?"

"I will think of something." But first she had to make sure that if Valerie did wed William Mathias she would not get the shock of her life in the marriage bed.

"Making love," Anya began gently, "involves much more than kissing." She explained, in very simple terms, exactly how the act of love was performed. As she went on, Valerie's eyes went wide and her face turned pale as one of the white roses in the garden.

"I... I don't believe you," Valerie finally said, lifting her chin. "You're making this up to pay me back for not defending you at the party. Well—"

"I am not making anything up," Anya inserted gently. "And I forgave you many days ago for your silence." She could not hold a grudge when that night had ultimately given her Julian as a complete and loving husband.

"What you're telling me can't be true," Valerie whispered. "It sounds so disgusting!"

Anya smiled. "Making love is
not
disgusting. When you kissed your William Mathias, did you feel a stirring in your belly?"

"Well, yes," Valerie admitted.

"And did you feel a gentle throbbing between your legs?"

Valerie blushed. That was answer enough for Anya.

"Making love is a hundred times more pleasurable, a thousand times. You will be amazed that such pleasure exists."

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "It just doesn't sound quite right. And... and it
grows
? How can that be?"

"You must trust me," Anya insisted. "And if you will allow me, I can teach you ways to pleasure a man that will make him your willing slave."

Reluctantly, Valerie was becoming a believer. "I don't know. What does a... one of those... what does it look like?"

Why did these people have such trouble mentioning body parts? Anya sighed. "I would ask Julian to show you his, but he is so shy about such things I feel certain he would refuse."

"I don't actually need to see..." Valerie began.

"Of course you do. It is long past time." Anya leaped from the bed, quietly slipped out the door, and ran down the stairs on bare feet. She knew where to find Peter. More and more he found solace in the pantry, sometimes with a bottle of brandy, sometimes with his head resting in his hands. It was almost as if he wanted to hide there.

The big house was silent, deserted. She met no one as she ran to the kitchen and the large pantry. As she swung open the door, Peter, who had been sitting on a stool at the back of the long closet, lifted his head.

"I was just straightening some of these shelves," he said quickly. "They're quite out of order."

"Come," Anya ordered. "Valerie and I need you."

Peter shot to his feet and followed her. "Is something wrong?" he asked, sounding truly concerned.

"No."

"I thought you had taken to wearing clothes, Miss Anya," he said with a hint of censure in his voice. "What is this?"

"It is too hot for petticoats and long skirts," she said as she ran up the stairs.

"Perhaps, but..."

"Never fear, I will wear a proper gown to dinner, so Grandmother will not be shocked."

"Thank goodness for that," Peter muttered.

He followed her down the hall, but Anya made him wait while she opened Valerie's door. Her cousin paced by the bed, a wrapper drawn over her chemise and petticoats. Anya grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him into Valerie's room, closing the door behind them.

Valerie went pale again. "Oh, Anya, this is really not necessary."

"It is." Anya glanced up at Peter. "Please show Miss Valerie your penis."

"What?" He turned as pale as Valerie and took a step back, toward the door.

In the past several days, she had tried to get her husband to supply her with a suitable name for this particular body part. Most of them were silly, and still, he said, not fit for use. "Your manly instrument," she said, in case he had not understood her. "Your manhood. Your—"

"I know what you mean," he snapped. "But really, Miss Anya, you have gone too far!"

"But Valerie has never seen one."

"As is right and proper."

Anya tried her most severe face on Peter. "You are a servant, and I command you to do as I say."

Peter leaned forward and into her. "I rocked both of you to sleep when you were ill. I have cleaned up after you two, worried tremendously, and stood guard in perilous times. And I will not display myself obscenely for your amusement."

"This is not amusing," Anya insisted. "It is
teaching
."

"I did help you study your alphabet at one time, Miss Anya, but that is where my tutorial efforts end."

"It's all right," Valerie insisted. "I don't really want to see, anyway. I would just close my eyes."

Anya sighed. "I am only trying to help." She raised her eyes to a determined, stony-faced Peter. "Did you truly stand guard during perilous times?"

He actually blushed. "It was long ago. I should not have mentioned it."

"Now that you have mentioned it, I should like to know when this occurred."

"In the years after the end of the war, things were unsettled. Even here."

"I wish I remembered that time more clearly," Anya said. "Everything about my time here before the shipwreck is so... hazy."

"Once we hid in the stables," Valerie said, speaking quickly. "I had forgotten."

"As you should," Peter said in a quiet voice.

"Yankees were rooting through the house, and the three of us children hid in the stables, and Peter was there." Valerie smiled. "You made us move to the back of a very small room, and then you... you stood between us and the door with a six-shooter in each hand."

"I was only doing my duty," he said shyly.

"And I was not afraid," Valerie said softly. "Because I knew you would not let anyone hurt us. How could I have forgotten that?"

Anya wished she remembered more than the indistinct flashes that came to her. Of course, Valerie was two years older. It was only natural that she would remember that time more clearly. "Since you are a hero," Anya said, "I will not insist that you display yourself for Valerie's teaching."

"Thank you so much," Peter said, more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"But could you round up some modeling clay for us? I think I should like to try my hand at sculpture."

"Good God," Peter mumbled as he turned and laid his hand on the doorknob.

"Grandmother always says I should take up a hobby," Anya answered innocently.

* * *

Waking and finding Anya not where he'd left her always sent Julian into a kind of panic. The first place he looked for her was the roof, but she wasn't there. Thank goodness. Just as he was about to exit the Captain's Walk he saw them. The sight was enough to make him stop and stare. And smile.

Anya and Valerie were huddled over a small table in the garden. They sat there, each of them in a pale pastel dress, and pursued what looked to be some kind of craft. When they laughed, he smiled. The two of them looked like summer flowers, seated among the other blooms.

It was good to see them spending time together. They should be close, and they hadn't had a chance to visit properly since—His smile faded—since Anya had offered to teach Valerie about...

Julian ran down the stairs. The quickest way to the garden was through the north parlor. Peter, standing there watching, blocked his exit.

"Pardon me," Julian said as he brushed by the butler.

"You don't want to go out there, sir," the servant muttered.

Julian ignored the butler and made his way through the garden, past the fragrant roses in every shade imaginable. Anya's back was to him, but he had a clear view of Valerie's face. The plump girl was apparently fascinated by something on the table. She leaned forward, watching the workings of Anya's hands. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in wonder.

Anya heard him coming and cast a glance over her shoulder. She smiled widely. "
Caro
, I thought you would sleep the day away."

Valerie looked up at Julian, squealed, and placed both hands over her face, covering her eyes. The flesh behind those hands went quite red.

"Anya, what are you doing?" he asked as he stepped closer.

"I have taken up sculpting," she said innocently.

"That's..." He was about to say
lovely
, when he stepped to the side and saw the "sculpture" she had both hands wrapped around. "Very phallic," he finished.

"Thank you," she said as she began to very lightly reshape the large object in her hands.

"I have to... do something," Valerie finished brightly, rising from her seat with her hands remaining over her face. She left without so much as glancing at Julian.

Anya continued to shape the phallus before her, searching for perfection with her pale, soft hands. She had fashioned a life-size, erect model of manhood. Hmm, perhaps a bit larger than life-size.

"If you wanted to take up sculpting, you might have started with a... bunny rabbit or a small vase," he said, not quite choking on the words.

"But Valerie needed instruction, and Peter refused to..."

"You asked Peter to assist in Valerie's instruction?" Julian asked, taking the shy cousin's vacated seat.

Anya's hands and eyes were on the molded clay before her. Her fingers worked up and down slowly. "I only asked him to provide a specimen. Valerie has never seen a—"

"Would you stop that?" he asked sharply.

Anya only smiled, and did not desist. "Stop what,
querido
?"

She knew exactly what she was doing to him, with her hands and that smile and the lewd—no, pornographic—sculpture. He should be offended. He should be outraged. But he found her continued caress of the sculpture erotic, not obscene.

"You never did ravish me in the garden," she said absently. "Our marriage will not be real until you do."

"And why is that?"

"The ritual is not complete until you have chased and taken me." She closed her fingers around the sculpture and stroked downward. "I cannot believe you do not know that. It is a tradition as old as man,
mi amante
. The husband claims his wife, he makes her his in a way as old as time itself, with his body. He shows his wife his love, his strength, and his possession." Her fingers danced up the sculpture with slow deliberation.

"My love," he said with surrender, "you are trying to kill me."

"Never."

He took a deep breath and shook off the line of thought his mind had taken. "You really must not instruct Valerie against your grandmother's wishes."

"I cannot allow her to marry thinking the only way a man and wife express love is through kissing and holding. Until today she had no idea what would happen when she goes to the marriage bed."

"None?"

"None. She did not know how a man is made, how a husband and wife fit together. Is it right for her to go to marriage completely ignorant?"

"Of course not, but if your grandmother wishes—"

"Grandmother is wrong." Anya smiled. "Now Valerie knows what to expect of her husband, when she takes one. In the coming days I will teach her all the ways to please a man."

"I don't think that's wise," Julian said softly. "Our society frowns on a woman being... too well-taught."

"Do you frown on me?"

"Of course not," he said gently. "But you were raised in another place. When Valerie marries, her husband will have certain expectations."