by Linda Jones
“There are a few things we need to discuss before we go any further,” her intended said. He was so very stiff… in more ways than one.
But he was also very beautiful. He could easily have been called Julian the Beauty, and no one would question the fitting name. His hair was thick and dark brown, and worn longer than Cousin Seymour wore his. The strands curled over his ears and down the back of his neck. He was slender, but not thin, standing tall and straight and nicely built in his form-fitting black suit and white shirt.
His face was truly beautiful. Eyes so dark a brown they were almost black; a nose so straight and finely shaped it was a wonder; a mouth firm and wide, but not too wide. Already she detected a hint of an afternoon stubble on his chin. His skin was a little pale, perhaps, but not a sickly pale like that of her boring, insipid cousins, Seymour and Valerie. Yes, if she must take a husband, Julian DeButy would most definitely do.
“What do we need to discuss?”
He glanced over his shoulder to look at her grandmother. “I don’t believe in starting something as important as a marriage with falsehoods. Mrs. Sedley, would you leave us for a moment?”
Anya smiled. He wanted to be alone with her. Oh, she was so very ready to take a husband. Someone who would hold her close and listen to her. Someone to share this new life with. She was tired of being lonely, and she had never been as lonely as she had been since coming to Rose Hill.
Grandmother left the room, but it was quite clear that she didn’t want to go. She kept turning her head, pausing in her usually steady step. Anya gave the woman a fleeting, reassuring smile as she left the room.
Anya turned slowly. “I will close the door.” She did not get far before her intended stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“That won’t be necessary.”
She spun around and glanced up at Julian. “You do not wish for privacy? I thought you wanted to make sure I would please you before we married.” Why else would he ask Grandmother to leave? Anya reached out to touch him once again. This time he was faster than she. He jumped back quickly.
“No.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair, ruffling the dark strands. “Please sit down.” He indicated a chair, which she dutifully took, sitting, pulling her feet off the floor and crossing her legs so that her knees brushed against the padded arms. The jewels on her ankle jingled prettily, catching the light from the afternoon sun that streamed through the window behind her.
Julian took the chair facing her, glanced in her direction, then quickly jumped back up again. His face flushed pink and he averted his eyes. “I’ll just stand over here,” he mumbled, moving to a station at her side.
Standing beside her, he placed his hands behind his back and fixed his gaze on Grandmother’s walnut desk. “Mrs. Sedley tells me you cannot have children.”
Her heart fell. Her curse, her most dreaded failure, and already he knew. Surely he did not want to marry her now. “No. If that defect displeases you I will find another husband,” she snapped, refusing to allow him to see the hurt.
He looked down at her. Oh, he really was beautiful. As he studied her, she saw something beyond the startling physical beauty. A kindness, perhaps. A good heart. “No, that does not displease me,” he said gently. “And I would not call the inability to have children a defect. I don’t really care for children, to be honest.”
She lifted her chin. “Neither do I.” It was a lie, but a well-delivered one. She did not want this man, or anyone, to be honest, to see the pain her failing brought her.
Julian fidgeted, just a little. His spine stiffened, his nose twitched. “But in truth, the only moral reason for a man and woman to lie together is to create a child.”
“What about pleasure?” she asked before he could go further.
Again, his cheeks flushed pink. “We are not animals, Anya,” he said sternly.
“But we are.”
He lifted a silencing hand. “This is not a discussion we should have at the present time. I only mean to make it clear that you and I will not share a bed.”
“Not until we are married.”
“Not at all.”
She took a moment to study his profile. “You do not find me pleasing?” No, she knew he was attracted to her; she had felt his response, seen it in his eyes, and felt it fill her hand.
“You’re a very attractive young woman,” he said primly. “Even if you are most inappropriately attired.”
“You will not sleep with me because I cannot give you a child, and yet you wish to marry me?”
“I have taken a vow of celibacy,” he said, his words clipped.
“You are a holy man?”
“No. I have taken the vow because we as civilized human beings should be above our baser instincts. We should be able to control our desires and put the energy within us to work in better, higher ways.” He did not look at her as he delivered his ridiculous speech. His eyes were fixed on the wall ahead.
“That is bloody stupid,” Anya said with a grin. “Who told you such a thing?”
“It’s a widely accepted fact—”
“It is very stupid.”
“You need a husband. I need a wife.” Still, he did not look at her. “In a few months’ time I will begin my travels. I am a scholar, you see, and I wish to study and write about primitive cultures. This venture will require me to spend most of my time in the coming years away from home.”
“Then I do not see why we need to marry at all,” she said succinctly. “You do not wish to bed me, and you do not wish to live here. Why do you need a wife, Dr. DeButy?”
He glanced down at her, his dark eyes penetrating and yet still kind. “Your grandmother has offered to finance my travels. In exchange, I will do my best to take up where your tutors have failed.”
Julian DeButy intended to be yet another teacher. He wanted to change everything about her, just as her family did. Anya’s heart fell. She would never be good enough to suit the people around her. “What makes you think you will succeed where they have failed?”
“I am a very persistent man, Anya. I do not take on any task even considering the possibility of failure.”
She smiled up at him. “They call me the Beast of Rose Hill.”
“So I have heard.”
“And I do not see why I need to be more like my insipid, boring, fat cousin Valerie.”
“Insipid and boring mean basically the same thing,” he said calmly, “and it’s rude to refer to your more robust kin as fat.”
“Even if she is?”
“Even if she is.”
Anya unfolded her legs and slowly rose. She should throw something breakable across the room and tell Julian DeButy to go to hell. If she did that, he would leave. Somehow she already knew he was not a man to beg.
But if Julian left, Grandmother would only bring in another man. Perhaps someone who was not so handsome or tall or honest. Perhaps a man who did not have a good heart, as she sensed this man did. She had met so few good-hearted people since coming here, she did not think she could bear to send this one away.
Julian was so sure they would not share a bed as man and wife. She did not agree, but now was not the time to oppose him. She would seduce her husband when the time was right, and that seduction would not be difficult. He already wanted her. He looked at her and responded. In truth, enticing Julian DeButy into her bed would be no challenge at all. Had she not been trained since the age of fifteen in the art of seduction?
He was so sure he would not stay here at Rose Hill… but, again she did not agree. She would be a good wife and she would please him, and Julian DeButy would stay. Anya accepted his proposal, conditions and all, with a solemn nod. She was decided.
Chapter 2
Someone had suggested the main ballroom for the ceremony, but Mrs. Sedley had declared the rarely used room too cavernous for such an intimate gathering. She had chosen this room, the formal north parlor, for her granddaughter’s wedding.
Julian faced the door in bre
athless anticipation, awaiting the appearance of his bride. He heard her approach, and in spite of his determination to remain calm, his heart kicked in a restless manner. And then she was there, framed by the doorway and smiling like no other.
Like many brides, Anya wore white. Unlike any bride Julian had ever heard of, that white garment was a well-placed scarf much like the one she’d worn the day before, when he’d first met her. She moved toward him, her hips swaying with each step. Her unbound hair danced, and she sparkled and jangled, as she had apparently donned every piece of jewelry in the house for the occasion. One piece had been pinned atop her head, and sat upon brilliant red strands like a pearl-encrusted tiara.
The flowers she carried were a traditional bouquet, apparently provided by her grandmother. Fashioned of roses in yellow, white, and pink, each bloom perfect, the roses were complimented with a simple white satin bow. Magnificent as they were, the color and beauty of the flowers paled in comparison to the woman who carried them.
The preacher, who had apparently been warned to expect anything, stared at the floor and muttered a prayer. Seymour Sedley gaped at the bride, wide-eyed, his jaw practically hitting the floor. His sister, Valerie, sniffled and turned up her nose in disdain.
Elizabeth Sedley smiled and whispered, “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Outrageous, lewd, uncivilized… and definitely beautiful.
As she walked toward Julian, Anya smiled. It wasn’t a demure smile, of course. The grin was wide and invigorating and full of decadent promises. Promises he would not allow her to keep.
Marriage to Anya was a test, he told himself as she came near with swaying hips and loosened hair that danced with each step. She was a challenge to be met and mastered. His beliefs were stronger than his libido.
The wedding ceremony was brief, the preacher’s words spoken quickly and in a low voice, with his gaze steadfastly pinned on the floor at his feet. Their party was small: the bride and groom; the shy preacher; the two cousins; Elizabeth Sedley; the butler Peter and the two live-in maids, Betsy, who was in charge of the kitchen, and Hilary, who seemed to spend most of her time upstairs. Only Anya and her grandmother smiled.
What on earth had he done?
The preacher pronounced them man and wife, and mumbled that Julian could now kiss his bride. A chaste peck on the cheek, he decided as Anya turned to face him. There would be no passion, no hint that when he looked at her she stirred something savage within him.
He leaned slightly down and forward. His bride awaited him with a wide smile on her face and a wicked gleam in her eyes. Before he had an opportunity to lay his lips against Anya’s cheek, she threw the bouquet aside, spun around, and ran.
Cousin Valerie squealed as the bouquet pelted her in the face. It bobbled there, and she caught it instinctively. Anya laughed and glanced over her shoulder as she ran away from Julian, heading straight for the double doors that opened onto the massive Sedley gardens.
Julian took a single step after her, placing his hands on his hips as Anya laid her hands on the cut-glass doorknobs, preparing to toss the doors wide open.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he asked succinctly.
The doors still closed, her hands resting on the knobs there, Anya’s smile faded. “You are supposed to chase me. It is the custom.”
“It is not our custom.”
Anger flashed in her eyes as she turned and took a few steps in his direction. “You are to chase me into the jungle and ravish me.”
“Good heavens,” Valerie muttered.
Anya looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Do you know nothing? It is the way a husband claims his bride, making her his in the way of man since the beginning of time.”
“There is no jungle here,” Julian said sensibly.
“But there is a bloody garden,” Anya argued. “It will do.”
He tried to preserve his calm. No one had ever maintained that this chore would be easy. Anya should be reprimanded for her language, but that could wait. There were more important matters to address.
“Our customs here are different, Anya. We will celebrate the wedding with your family, sharing cake and lemonade in the dining room.”
Her lush lips hardened, and his bride muttered something in a tongue-twisting language, something hard and biting that could only be a curse. “I would prefer to be ravished than to eat too much cake and get fat like—”
“Anya,” he interrupted. “It’s the way things are done here.”
She passed by a table near the sofa, picked up a figurine of an old woman, and threw it. Not at him, but soundly against the nearest wall. The piece shattered into a thousand pieces. One of the house maids sighed loudly.
“I do not like the way things are done here,” Anya snapped, reaching out as she stalked toward him to lift yet another breakable piece of porcelain from yet another small table. “If you wish me to be your wife, you will chase me into the garden and…” Her hand reared back.
Julian took two quick steps forward and deftly snatched the figurine from Anya’s hand. “Would you stop this?” he asked in a lowered voice that only she could hear. “You know quite well that I am not going to ravish you in the garden.”
“But I want…”
“It doesn’t matter what you want, Anya. I am your husband, and you will do as I say.”
The anger in Anya’s eyes was so deep and real he almost flinched. “I always get what I want,” she whispered.
“No more,” he countered.
“I am a goddess.”
“You are my wife,” he insisted. “From now on you will do exactly as I instruct you. Right now, we will go into the dining room with your family, have cake and lemonade, and be civil. You will be polite, you will compliment the cook who made the cake, and you will thank your grandmother for this fine wedding.”
“I am not your slave.”
“You are not a goddess, either.”
Her blue-green eyes flashed in anger. “I could have your head for this.”
“Not in North Carolina.”
Her rage was like her sensuality. Raw and tangible, it flared to life. She looked around for something breakable to throw, her eyes landing on the nearest table and the vase of flowers that sat there.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
Anya turned slightly and reached for the vase. Julian had no choice. He reached out and grabbed her, yanking her away from the doomed vase and into his arms, pinning her arms down with his, holding her tightly against him.
His body’s response was immediate and perfectly natural. She was, after all, more naked than not. And she was, he had to admit, quite lovely. Unconventional, but lovely. And soft. So very, very soft and sweetly scented.
Anya looked up at him, her anger magically gone. An almost sweet smile crossed her face. “Now you will ravish me?” she whispered.
His body was so close to hers, she no doubt felt his response. “No,” he answered softly.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“You are determined to keep to your vow of chastity?”
“Yes.”
She moved the length of her body ever so slightly against his, undulating gently, moving in a way so subtle that those who stood behind him could surely not see what she was doing to him.
“I think it is a vow doomed to be broken, marido.”
“Marido?” he repeated.
“Husband,” she whispered.
Julian purposely set his wife away from him. He was steadfast, but a man could only take so much temptation! “I insist that you come with me to the dining room so that we may properly celebrate our marriage with your family. Please.”
“Of course,” Anya said sweetly. “You needed only to ask.”
*
“Anya,” Julian said, his voice nothing if not patient. “Why don’t you sit here and have a piece of this wonderful cake?”
He spoke to her as if she were a child, but she knew quite well that he
r husband did not think of her that way. In spite of his morals, his vow, his insistence that he was not an animal, her husband wanted her. There had been nothing to interest her since arriving at Rose Hill, nothing but the books in her grandmother’s library. But this… this would be interesting.
The dining room was large and well furnished and somehow cold, even now as the spring weather turned warm. The long polished table was made of walnut, dark and gleaming, and the buffet against one wall matched it perfectly. There were always fresh flowers on the table, but today, in celebration of her marriage, the arrangement was more elaborate than usual, and a smaller, matching arrangement had been placed on the buffet, next to a layer cake decorated with white frosting and sugared violets. There were two large gilt-framed mirrors in the long dining room, as well as a small oil painting of a dreary landscape. Of hills and a lake, it was a painting Anya found lifeless and boring. The drapes were heavy and a dark, jungle green, and they shut out much of the light, even now in the afternoon, when they had been pulled back to allow some sunlight to break through. She longed to be in the sun. In the garden. Being properly ravished by her husband.
“You will sit beside me?” she asked sweetly as she looked up at her husband.
“If you’d like,” he answered. He appeared calm enough, but his throat worked slightly and his cheeks turned just a little pink.
Anya feared her new challenge would be no challenge at all.
She took the chair Julian offered, sitting properly as her grandmother had taught her. Knees together, feet on the floor. Her husband took the chair beside her, and one of the kitchen maids placed a piece of cake in front of each of them. The other girl was in the main parlor, sweeping up what was left of that awful, ugly figurine of an old woman. Surely no one would miss that dreadful piece. And it had felt so good to throw the figurine and watch it shatter.
Julian kept his eyes on the cake. “It looks delicious, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” Anya said sweetly. She waited for Julian to glance her way, as she knew he eventually would, and then she ran her finger through a thick glob of white frosting, carried it upward slowly, and brought her finger to her mouth. Wrapping her lips around that finger she sucked gently, closed her eyes, and moaned. “Delicious,” she said as she slowly removed her finger from her mouth and scooped up another glob of icing.