DeButy & the Beast (9 page)

Anya's smile faded. "Perhaps I do not want to know."

"If you do not understand the fear, you will never be rid of it."

Anya reached out to him. Her soft fingers lightly brushed his cheek. "You need to shave,
marido
."

It was her way of neatly changing the subject, and Julian allowed her to get away with it. "I imagine I do."

"And your hair is such a mess." She very briefly and lightly ruffled his hair, using both of her hands. "You probably should have a haircut, but I like it as it is."

"I usually get so lost in my research that I don't even think about getting a haircut when I should. Sometimes Aunt Helen will remind me."

"I like it as it is," she said again, and he believed her.

If she continued to look at him like this, he might never cut it again. He wished he could tease Anya about her messy hair, that he could casually run his fingers through the red strands without being overcome with the desire to ravish her.

Anya's eyes were so open and real. He was struck with the notion that she would never lie. That she was incapable of deceit. What a rare woman she was, if that were true.

"I have not always been kind to you," she said, "as you have been to me. You are a good man, Julian DeButy."

No, I am a common man, inches away from attacking my wife
. "I try to be."

"Last night you were..." Her eyes went a little misty. "Wonderful. How can I ever thank you?"

He should take advantage of this opportunity and ask her to stop trying to seduce him. Or to quit throwing things when she did not get her way. Or to come back into his arms and help him break all his promises to himself. He might ask her to wear clothing when they were alone, to quit smiling at him, to stop smelling so good. But he didn't.

"No thanks are necessary. I'm just glad to see that you're feeling better this morning."

Anya bound from the bed. What magnificent legs she had! They seemed to be made for bounding. And... other things.

"I am feeling much better. Shave and get dressed, and we will go down to breakfast together. I am starving!"

When she was gone, Julian collapsed back onto his bed.

* * *

One amenity of her new home Anya had learned to love was the bathtub. Large and deep and situated in its own room on the second floor, it was Anya's idea of decadence. There were fat towels and scented oils and hot water, and she could sit in the tub for as long as she wished.

Julian usually bathed late at night, after Anya had gone to bed. She suspected he did so in the hopes that she would leave him be. And she had, up until this point.

The night before, when he had held her as the storm raged, something had happened. Her husband had comforted her, tried to take away her fear. That was the action of a kind man, a man who cared, at least a little, for his wife. He could have accepted her assurance that she was not afraid and sent her back to her room, but he had not. Instead he had held her, sheltered her.

She had begun to lose hope where Julian was concerned. He did want her, but he was doing his best to prove that his blasted morals were stronger than his desire.

But something had changed as he had held and comforted her. They were closer than they had been. They were one step closer to being man and wife in truth, as well as in name.

So tonight as he bathed, she opened the door on the cozy room where the tub was located and stepped inside, wearing nothing but his confiscated nightshirt and a smile.

Julian almost jumped out of the water, then thought better of such a move. Anya tried to peer beneath the water, as nonchalantly as possible, and Julian laid his washcloth across it. The cloth floated and obscured her view. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to wash your back," she said sweetly.

He held aloft a long-handled brush made just for that purpose.

"But is it not a wife's duty to see to the well-being of her husband?"

"Of course, but..."

"I am trying to be a good wife. Truly, Julian." She knelt beside the tub and whisked the washcloth from the water.

She was tempted to look blatantly, reach beneath the water, and arouse him. But Julian was not affected by such open advances. Physically he would respond, but his bloody brain always interfered. No one had ever taught her subtlety, when it came to seduction, but she was certain she could learn.

"Lean forward," she said, scooting to the side so she could take the washcloth to his back. Oh, and a fine back it was; muscled and lean, hard and shapely, the way a man's back should be. She gently worked the washcloth up and down his back, and eventually Julian relaxed.

"Soap," she said simply, offering one hand. He complied, depositing the bar of soap on her palm. She worked up a nice lather and continued. Sometimes she ran the cloth all the way up to his neck, adding a touch of lather to the ends of his hair. Then she would wash down his spine, allowing her hand to dip beneath the water.

"You are my favorite teacher," she said softly. "You teach me new things without making me feel stupid."

"You are many things, Anya," he said lowly, "but stupid is not one of them."

She gave a half-smile to his back. "I have felt stupid often since coming here. The other tutors, they despaired of ever teaching me anything. Grandmother never said I was stupid, but I see that look in her eyes, sometimes. That look that tells me she is disappointed that I am not more like Valerie."

"You have your own attributes, Anya," he said kindly. "I'm sure your grandmother does not compare you to Valerie."

She raised the washcloth to his neck and made small circles with her fingers, watching the lather build on his skin and creep into his dark hair. "What attributes?" she asked lowly.

Julian hesitated. Had he been lying? Perhaps she had no attributes at all. But then he cleared his throat. "You're intelligent, I can see that well. No wonder your other tutors failed. They probably tried to treat you like a child."

"They did," she said, glad he admired her intelligence, but not particularly satisfied.

"And you have... a spark."

"A spark? I do not understand."

"You have such a wonderful vivaciousness within you. It needs to be tamed," he added quickly. "But not erased."

She smiled. Vivaciousness was good.

"And you are..." He stopped, as if he had choked on a word.

"I am what?" she prodded.

"Beautiful," he confessed in a low voice. "Quite beautiful."

Pleased with his answer, Anya worked the soapy washcloth across Julian's back. "You have many fine attributes yourself."

"There's no need..." he began.

"You have a kind heart," she interrupted. "I knew that when I first met you. Truly kind hearts are rare, and should be treasured."

He mumbled something that might be "thank you," but she couldn't be sure.

"And as I said you are a marvelous teacher. The finest I have ever known." Her hands worked deeper into the water than it had before, her washcloth covered fingers barely brushing his backside.

"I'm sure my back is clean, Anya," Julian said testily.

"And you are beautiful," she whispered. "Julian, the Beauty."

"Men are not supposed to be beautiful," he protested.

"But you are." She was so tempted to continue her exploration beneath the water, to touch her lips against Julian's wet neck and back, to snake her arms around his wet body and push him a little further. But enough was enough. She tossed him the washcloth and stood. "There now. Your back is wonderfully clean."

Again he muttered something unintelligible.

"Good night," she said sweetly.

* * *

Julian stood at the top of the stairs and stared at the unimpressive swirl of gold chain and the small attached ornament that sat on the palm of his hand. It was a silly idea, really. Anya had more jewels than any woman he knew, and many of them were quite elegant. Grand, even. This trinket would be nothing to a woman like Anya.

He was about to stuff the necklace in his pocket when she came up behind him, moving quiet as a cat. "Good morning," she said sweetly. Too sweetly. That innocent tone usually meant she was up to something.

"Good morning." He closed his hand, making a fist around the necklace.

Anya missed nothing. "What do you have in your hand?"

"Nothing," he said, offering his arm to escort her to breakfast.

She took his arm and they descended the stairs. Good heavens, even dressed properly Anya looked like no other woman he had ever known. Wild. Free.

And not nearly as fearless as she would like everyone to believe. Her reaction to the storm proved that to him.

"Actually," he said as they reached the foot of the stairs, "it's not exactly nothing." He opened his fist and displayed the plain necklace.

Anya wrapped one finger around the delicate chain and lifted it slowly. The pendant, a gold rose, swung between them. "It's very pretty," she said softly.

"It was my mother's," he explained. "My Aunt Helen gave it to me when I turned twenty. She said I might want to give it to my wife, one day."

Anya lifted her head and looked him dead in the eye. "It is for me?"

"It's not fancy," Julian said quickly. "You probably won't care to wear it." Her tastes were much more extravagant, especially where jewelry was concerned. "But Aunt Helen said my mother always considered it a kind of good luck charm." He dropped his eyes. "My father gave it to her soon after they married."

"They died when you were young?" she asked softly.

"I was nine when my father died. My mother passed on a year later."

Anya held the necklace high, so the gold rose swung between them. "Do you have many remembrances of her?"

Julian's mouth went dry. "Only this."

"And you give it to me?"

"I thought you might like a good luck charm of your own," he explained. "Something to hang on to when storms come." He wouldn't always be here to comfort her. Like it or not, there would come a day when Anya would be on her own. Something so simple as a lucky piece was not too much to offer.

Anya held the necklace aloft, offering it to him on the end of a slender finger. Of course, she wanted nothing to do with something so simple as a hand-me-down pendant. She grinned as he took the necklace from her, then spun to present her back.

"You will put it on me?" she asked.

For some reason, Julian felt relieved that she was not returning the gift.

"Of course." His fingers didn't fumble much as he draped the necklace around Anya's neck and worked the clasp. He told himself that it only made sense to give the geegaw to Anya. He reasoned that it wasn't as if he'd ever take another wife, and besides, a lucky charm might actually bring Anya a little comfort, one of these days.

When she turned to face him again, she laid her hand over the small gold rose that sat high on her chest. "Thank you," she said with a softening smile.

"It's nothing, really," he said too quickly. "I can't very well wear it, and it simply makes sense—"

"
Marido
," she interrupted. "My teacher would tell me that the proper response to 'thank you,' is 'You are welcome.' " She licked her lips. "Thank you."

Julian took a deep, calming breath. "You're welcome."

* * *

The arrival of Julian's books, two days after the big storm, changed everything. Anya was so relieved to have something new to read! In the following three weeks, each afternoon after a family lunch, Julian and Anya retired to their sitting room to read. In the privacy of their shared room she shed her conventional clothing, but she always covered herself with well-placed brightly covered scarves. Julian seemed not to mind, anymore, though in those early days he did not mind because he rarely looked in her direction.

They had been married almost six weeks. He was proving to be much more steadfast than she had anticipated.

His library was wonderful.
Too
wonderful. Anya hardly knew where to start. She spent an entire afternoon arranging his books on the bookshelf Grandmother had moved to their sitting room for that purpose. All the medical books were placed on one shelf, the tales of travel on another. The bottom shelf was reserved for Shakespeare. So much Shakespeare!

On this warm June afternoon, Anya sat on the floor and tried to decide what to read next. Julian sat in the rocking chair in the corner, his nose buried in an anthropology book.

She felt a little guilty for trying so hard to seduce him in their first days of marriage. It had been
wrong
, she supposed, to try to control him by appealing to his libido. It had not worked, so she did not feel too guilty, but she did feel a little pang of regret now and then.

Her fingers skimmed over the leather spines of the books on the bottom shelf, but her eyes were on her husband. In the weeks since the storm, he had not cut his hair. Dark and thick, it fell over his ears and curled about his neck. Now and then Grandmother would suggest that he get it trimmed, and he always said he would take care of the matter. He never did. Sometimes Anya thought she saw a hint of a wild man in him, when they were walking in the garden and the wind ruffled his hair, or when he briefly—so briefly—looked at her just so and her heart skipped a beat. Her imagination was suffering from the reading of too many novels, or so the author of one of Julian's ridiculous brochures would suggest.

To thank Julian for being so kind to her, Anya had desisted in her plan to seduce him, since he seemed to hold his chastity in such high regard. She thought he was grateful for her change in attitude, but it was difficult to tell. Sometimes... sometimes she allowed herself to believe that deep down he really wanted her to seduce him.

He lifted his eyes from the book and smiled at her. "What will you choose next?" He always took such an interest in her reading material, and had forbidden her nothing.

"
Much Ado About Nothing
, I think," she said.

He placed his book in his lap and gave her his full attention. "I saw a notice in the newspaper this morning.
Romeo and Juliet
will be performed at the Wilmington Theater next week."