DeButy & the Beast (22 page)

"He will expect her to be ignorant?"

Julian sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Again, Anya stroked her fingers down the length of her sculpture. "My way is better."

"I'm beginning to think you might be right," Julian said softly.

He caught sight of Elizabeth Sedley exiting the house by way of the north parlor entrance. The woman smiled widely and approached. "What are you two doing out here?"

"I have taken up sculpting," Anya called brightly.

Julian panicked. He reached across the table, grabbed the clay phallus and tossed it as far into the garden as it would go. It made an ungodly noise as it fell through bushes and then landed on the ground with a thud.

"What was that?" Mrs. Sedley asked.

Anya, learning a bit of tact after all this time, smiled and said sweetly. "A bunny rabbit. However my efforts were not to my husband's liking." She smiled at him, wicked and happy. "He is such a perfectionist."

* * *

Julian reclined on the bed, waiting patiently for her as she undressed.

"Valerie didn't look directly at me all through dinner," he said. "Nor did she look at Seymour or Peter."

"She is shy," Anya said, turning to face her husband as she removed her gown. "In a day or two she will accept what she has learned and will no longer be afraid."

She never ceased to marvel at Julian's beauty. She liked him best this way, with an evening beard coming in, his hair ever longer and mussed, and without a stitch of clothes on his fine body. She had found the wild man, and she did own him. And she did love him.

"At least she will not be terrified when she marries her William Mathias."

"Do you really think they'll marry?"

She shed the last of her clothing and joined her husband in their bed—wearing nothing but the necklace he had given her, her precious good luck charm. "I do. She is worried that perhaps he only loves her for her money, but we have found a way to discover if this is true or not."

He looked suspicious. "And how will you discover this?"

"When Mathias asks Valerie to be his wife, she will tell him that if she marries him Grandmother will cut her out of the family fortune."

"She will lie," Julian said softly. "I thought you didn't approve of lying."

"It is a very small lie," she said, a kernel of unease rising within her. "And the truth will ease Valerie's heart."

"If it is the truth she wishes to find."

"Do not be so dismal," she said, leaning into him until her bare body lay against his. "Of course he loves her. He has kissed her many times."

"Anya, here a kiss does not have the same meaning as it does on Puerta Sirena." He settled his hand in her hair, in a comforting gesture. "Some men kiss many women, and it means nothing to them."

She began to doubt her plan. "Do you think William Mathias is one of these men?"

"No. He seems very nice, but... one never knows."

"Are you one of these men?" she asked, placing her face close to his.

"You know I'm not."

"I know." She kissed him tenderly, and he returned her kiss. "There was a time when I despaired because I had left my home behind, but I despair no more. I am happy because I found you, Julian. My home is wherever you are."

She reached down and caressed him, molding him as she had molded the clay statue he had tossed away, stroking his length with loving fingers. For a man who had once denounced excess, he was quite willing to be led astray.

* * *

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and Anya was drowning. Salt water filled her mouth, went up her nose, covered her face. When her head broke above the water she took a deep breath that filled her lungs before the sea pulled her down again.

This happened again and again, until she knew she would drown. And then her head broke the water again and she saw him.

"Daddy!"

He swam hard, fighting the sea and the storm to reach her. It seemed she waited forever, but then he was there.

"Baby girl," he said as he swept her up and into his arms.

Anya hung on, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him. Wet, hurting all over, she clung to her father. She would never let go. Waves pounded them, tried to suck them down.

Already the storm was dying, moving away from them. The ship was in shambles, those who couldn't swim had been pulled down or swept away. Some had gone down with what was left of the ship. The only living person she could see was her father. She wouldn't let go.

He snagged a part of a large crate that floated on the water and pulled it toward them. "Here you go, baby girl," he said. He tried to sound calm but his voice shook as he helped her crawl atop the crate. "I want you to wait right here."

"No!" she screamed. "Don't leave me."

"I have to go back for your mama."

"Mama." Anya's eyes scanned the ocean, looking toward what was left of the ship. She was too far away to be sure, but she thought she saw a flash of her mother's favorite pink dress, the one she had been wearing when the storm had come.

She wanted her mother, but she was so afraid to be left alone. "Take me with you."

"I can't," her father said. He hauled himself partway up her makeshift raft, cradled her head, and kissed her cheek with his wet, cold lips. "You'll be safer here, and I can swim faster without you." He winked at her, as if nothing was wrong. "I love you, baby girl. I'll be right back with your mama."

"Promise?" she cried as he pushed away from the raft.

"Promise," he called as he moved farther away.

She watched him swim away toward what was left of the ship. The skies cleared, the storm leaving as quickly as it had come, and Anya squinted, straining to see her mother and father amid the waves. And she waited. He had promised he would come back. He promised.

Anya came awake with a start, as the thunder of the present time rumbled above the house. Her body quaked, she felt cold all over, and now she knew why.

"He didn't come back," she whispered. "He didn't come back."

Julian rose slowly beside her. "It's just a storm, my love. Everything's fine." He wrapped his arms around her and lay down, cradling her gently.

"He didn't come back," she whispered against his chest.

"Shhhh." Julian stroked her hair. "It's just a nightmare. I'll protect you."

She raised up and looked down into his sleepy face. "Promise you will never leave me."

"Of course," he said, still more asleep than awake.

"Say it," she insisted.

"I promise, on all that is holy, that I will never leave you."

Anya lowered her head to rest her cheek against Julian's chest. She had wanted to remember, but now she wished she had not. She wanted to run down the stairs and confront her father's portrait in the hallway. He had left her. He had promised...

She remembered every detail of that face, now, and she knew she was not recalling the portrait. The small scar he'd gotten in the war, that was not in the portrait. The brilliant blue of his eyes was more gray in the painting she saw and ignored every day. And downstairs, framed and lifeless, he was somber. She remembered the way he smiled.

The remembrance of love that sometimes teased the corners of her brain... it was
them
: her mother, her father. The way they had loved one another, the way they had loved her. Her father had swum to his death, attempting to save his wife. Anya had not seen them drown, but she knew they had gone down together.

Remembering hurt. She did not want this pain, she did not want to remember. Anya shut her eyes tight and wished for sleep. And she wished that when she woke in the morning she would forget that she had remembered.

Chapter 13

It was a bit of a shock to wake and find Anya gone. She usually slept well past sunrise, content, warmly cuddled against his side.

Julian jumped from the bed and dressed quickly. Good heavens, more instruction for Valerie! The cousins had probably conspired to wake at the crack of dawn and continue with their lessons. Without stopping to shave or comb his hair, Julian hurried into the hallway. Would they be up on the Captain's Walk or ensconced in one of the quiet downstairs rooms? Thanks to last night's storm there was surely water standing on the Captain's Walk, so he sprinted down the stairs.

And found Anya standing in the foyer, alone, demurely dressed, and staring up at the portrait of her father while her fingers mindlessly caressed the gold rose that dangled from her neck. The expression on her face was so solemn his heart lurched in his chest. "Anya?" he said softly.

She turned around and gave him a smile that did not have her usual radiance. "Good morning." She studied his disheveled condition and the smile became more real.

"Is everything all right?"

She returned her gaze to the portrait. "I do not feel well," she confessed. "And I had the strangest dream last night."

He vaguely remembered waking to find her in a nightmare, pulling her close, and going back to sleep. "You don't feel well? What's wrong?"

She laid a hand on her stomach. "I feel as if I eat anything it will come right back up."

If he didn't know it was impossible, he might optimistically think she was with child. He'd never cared much for children, but the idea of Anya's babies was quite nice. Julian shook off the fanciful thought. He would take Anya, knowing they would never have children, over the most fertile woman on the planet.

"Perhaps some toasted bread..."

"I tried that," she said with a wrinkling of her nose. "It came directly back up. Peter was most annoyed."

"I can imagine."

She turned her back on the portrait of the father she did not remember, and came to him. She didn't stop until her arms encircled his waist and her head rested against his chest.

"I am never ill," she whispered. "I do not like the roiling in my stomach. You are a doctor. Can you make it stop?"

"I'll see what I can find," he promised. "Perhaps you should lie down," he suggested, leading her gently for the stairwell.

"Will you lie down with me?" she asked.

"If you'd like."

They climbed the stairs slowly, arm in arm. Anya really did seem to be ill, and that concerned him. She was sluggish, pensive, and that was not like her at all. Perhaps she had eaten something bad. He tried to recall what she might have eaten the day before that he had not.

"I want you to hold me," she said as they reached their bedroom. "That will make the queasiness go away, I am quite certain."

"I was thinking of peppermint tea," he teased, "but I think I like your remedy better."

They undressed and crawled into bed, and Anya rested her head against his shoulder, breathing deeply and snuggling there where she fit so well. "It was just a dream," she whispered.

He stroked her hair. "Yes, it was." He wondered if her fear of storms would ever completely subside. "Just a dream."

"And you will never leave."

"I will never leave."

Anya breathed deep and almost instantly went to sleep.

* * *

Anya knew that she must be very, very ill. She, who had never been infirm in her life, had been sick for an entire two weeks! Throwing up every morning, exhausted and sleeping every afternoon. It was horrid. And she knew quite well how her husband detested sick people!

Julian had been very kind to her, though, wiping her face with a cool cloth when she was nauseated, sitting or sleeping with her in the afternoon. Fortunately for them both, she usually felt quite well at night. Fortunately for her, there had been no more storms, no more dreams.

Lunch was over, and she sat in the garden alone. Already she was tired, and looking forward to a nice long nap. She sighed as she looked out over the roses. So many roses. Such a beautiful day. And all she could think of was sleep. A nap! She was quite disgusted with herself.

"My love," Julian said as he approached, "you should not be sitting in the sun. The heat isn't good for you."

"I like the heat," she said, lifting her face to catch the rays. "I like the sun."

When she lowered her face and opened her eyes, she was surprised to see a smile on Julian's face. A smile! He had been worried, in the first few days of her illness, but in the past two days he had been oddly cheerful.

"I am sick, and you smile at me," she said, pouting.

Julian sat in the chair next to hers, reached out and took her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers and held her hand tightly. "I do not think you are sick."

"Not sick! I am ill every day. I am tired in a way I have never been before. I am—"

"With child," he interrupted.

It was cruel of him to tease her this way. "You know that cannot be."

"I know you
believe
it cannot be," he argued. "Who told you that you were barren?"

"King Sebastian's mother, Queen Carola," she said. "Poor Sebastian, every woman he chose for his bed was unable to give him a child. It was a curse, his mother said. Repayment for some sin he committed in another life."

Julian's smile faded, just a little. "And how many women did Sebastian choose for his bed?"