by Linda Jones
She was a love goddess who knew nothing of true love. She would learn, though. Julian would be her teacher in that subject just as he had been her teacher in so many, more ordinary, matters.
Her first kiss had been so magnificent, she had to force herself not to search out her husband during the day to ask for another. That kiss had started a warmth brewing within her, a heat that shone hot like the sun and soft like the moon. That heat needed to be tended, stoked and fanned like any other flame. It was Julian’s fire to tend.
But Katherine Mansfield’s idea of a party included a tremendous lunch followed by sending the men off to hunt while the women napped and then made themselves beautiful for the evening’s ball.
Anya had hoped that she and Julian would have some time together this afternoon, as they usually did. But he was out hunting some kind of bird with William Mathias and Seymour and a handful of others, while Anya paced and watched Valerie attempt to sleep on the bed. A bed she and Julian would share that night.
“I can’t sleep,” Valerie said. Wearing only her chemise and petticoat, she stretched out stiffly on the bed. “Why is it that we are expected to nap, even now? We didn’t nap when we were children. We pretended, when Grandmother insisted, but even then…”
Another memory came to Anya in a flash. She had sneaked into Valerie’s room, when they were both supposed to be napping. She had crawled into Valerie’s bed and they’d pulled the covers over their heads to whisper. Sunlight had shone strangely through the tented coverlet, coloring everything red. She did not know what they had whispered about, and it had surely not been important. But she remembered giggling, and then lying down and trying to be quiet when Peter opened the door to check on Valerie.
The butler had sneaked in and peeked at the wiggling bed, had been fooled into thinking that Valerie was asleep, and had left quietly. Or maybe he had not been fooled at all.
“We did not always sleep,” Anya said softly.
“No, we didn’t.” Valerie sighed dramatically. “And I certainly can’t sleep now! I’m much too excited. We’ll just talk for a while. Tell me, what did you think of William?”
Anya had not had an opportunity to meet William Mathias. Valerie had pointed him out to her at lunch, but he had been seated at the opposite end of the table. After lunch she had attempted to approach the man, but every time she tried Valerie pulled her back. Anya had decided her cousin was a little bit terrified of this William Mathias.
“He is very handsome,” Anya conceded, “though not as handsome as my Julian.”
“He’s taller than Julian,” Valerie said defensively.
Anya shot a sharp glance at her cousin. “By no more than half an inch, surely. And Julian’s dark hair is much nicer than your William’s short, pale hair.”
“Yes, but William is wider in the shoulders.”
“I do not think so.”
Valerie smiled. “Shall we agree that they are both fine men?”
“Yes, we shall.” Anya went to the window. She searched the grounds, but saw no sign of the men. Hunting. Ha! Julian would rather be here, with her. She knew it.
“He spoke to me after breakfast,” Valerie said in a dreamlike voice.
“What did he say?”
“He asked after Seymour.”
“Oh.” Anya wrinkled her nose.
“And then he asked if I would save him a dance this evening.” Valerie’s smile widened. “I said yes, of course.”
The ways of romance in this place were strange, to Anya’s way of thinking. On Puerta Sirena, if William and Valerie were attracted to each other they would spend time together. If they both desired, they would lie together. After a short time, they would know if what they felt was real.
Here men and women were so hesitant. They danced around each other, they were polite and cool and nervous. No wonder Julian had been so slow to come around! He did not know what it was like to be honest with his own desires, to speak without reserve, to follow the call of his heart and his body.
But he would know, one day. He was learning quite well, just as she was learning to listen to her own heart. And when he came back from hunting, Anya was going to kick Valerie out of this room, pushing her into the hallway in her chemise and petticoats, if necessary.
There was a soft knock on the door, and then it opened. Grandmother stuck her head in and grimaced, before stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “Anya, you’re still dressed. Didn’t you take a nap?”
“I was not tired.”
“Valerie?” Grandmother turned her head to her elder granddaughter and lifted her arched eyebrows.
“I slept quite well, for a little while,” Valerie lied.
“Well, come along, you two. Katherine has loaned us the use of one of her maids, and everything has been set up in our room.”
Valerie jumped up and began to dress quickly. Anya did not know if Valerie was eager to please Grandmother, or anxious for the approaching ball. Perhaps both.
“I will wait here for Julian,” Anya said.
“No.” Grandmother shook her head. “Everything is arranged.”
“I will wait here.”
Grandmother sighed and paced while Valerie dressed. “This will be your first formal event,” she said softly. “We do so want to make an impression.”
“Julian will help me dress.”
“Good heavens, that will not do.” The older woman crossed the room and faced Anya. They were almost eye to eye, though Anya stood a little bit taller. Perhaps an inch, perhaps less. Grandmother could look very determined, when she wished to. “Besides, can you imagine the look on your husband’s face when you come down the stairs in that gold satin gown I purchased for you? With your hair fixed and the sapphire pendant around your neck? I promise you, the sight of you walking down the stairs will take his breath away.”
Anya was suddenly interested. “Are you sure?”
Grandmother smiled. “I chose well for you, when I picked Julian, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“I thought so. At first I had my doubts, but lately…” The elderly woman smiled coyly. “I see the way you two look at each other.”
“You bought him for me,” Anya said accusingly.
“Yes, I did. I bought him for the price of a ship and the financing of his research he loves so dearly. But he will stay for another reason entirely.” Grandmother laid a small, soft hand on Anya’s arm.
“Because he loves me,” Anya said softly.
“Yes. When I first thought of Julian, I hoped you two might suit. I had no idea if you would or not, but… I did hope.”
“And when I come down the stairs dressed as you say I must be dressed for this evening, I will take Julian’s breath away?”
“I promise.”
It was a rather pleasant thought.
*
Julian had been expecting to find Anya waiting in their room when the hunt was over, but the chamber had been ominously empty. He loved her, he wanted her, but Anya on the loose could be a disastrous prospect.
The servant who had laid out his evening clothes had assured him that his wife was in a room down the hall with her grandmother and cousin, getting ready for the ball. Julian DeButy was never rash, he was not an emotional or spontaneous man. But it took all his resolve to dress for the evening without storming down the hall to knock on every door until he found the room where Anya was preparing herself for the evening. Not because he was worried about what she might do on her own, not because he thought she might embarrass herself if left unattended. He wanted to hunt her down because he needed her with him. He wanted to lay her on the bed where they’d kissed and make love to her until neither of them could move. It took every ounce of resolve he possessed not to hunt down his wife and carry her into this room they shared.
Julian had won that battle and now he stood, his collar tighter than it should be and his every nerve on end, waiting at the foot of the stairs. Where the hell was she? All around him peop
le mingled and laughed and drank champagne. Those guests who had not been invited to spend the weekend but would attend the ball arrived one after another. Overly friendly and much too loud greetings filled the air, as he stood at the foot of the staircase and waited impatiently.
He tapped his fingers against the railing, then paced a while. William Mathias, who had turned out to be a very nice fellow, walked by every two minutes or so and asked if Julian had seen Valerie yet.
Finally, after an excruciating half hour, Julian was able to say “yes,” and point to the top of the stairs.
William lifted his eyes, swallowed hard, and went red in the face. Even his ears blushed pink. Valerie walked down the stairs, and even Julian had to admit that she looked lovely. Her embellished pink gown was more low cut than usual, her hair more elaborately styled. She had been corseted so tight her waist was small and her breasts were prominently displayed.
If the expression on William’s face was any indication, he did not admire Valerie for her money.
Mathias did manage to regain most of his natural color before Valerie reached the bottom of the stairs. Anya’s cousin smiled then, at William and then at Julian. “Anya is almost ready,” she said sweetly. “She’ll be right down.”
Julian nodded, as William mentioned the grand buffet to Valerie and took her arm to lead her there.
A minute passed. Two. Where was his wife?
A rustle at the top of the stairs made him look up. Mrs. Sedley stood there, resplendent in matronly plum. She made her way down the stairs with a satisfied smile on her face. “Anya will be down shortly,” she announced as she reached the bottom of the stairway.
So he had heard. If Mrs. Sedley was smiling, he could be relatively certain that Anya would not come down the stairs dressed in silk scarves and all the jewelry she could lay her hands on.
Mrs. Sedley greeted an arriving friend and walked away with a swish of fabric. Julian lifted his head to watch the top of the stairs and wait. He didn’t have to wait long.
Was this woman really his wife? God in heaven, she was gorgeous. Anya smiled and hesitated at the top of the stairs, gold fabric swirling around her legs, softly curling tendrils of red hair barely touching her bare shoulders. Somehow her grandmother had talked her into wearing a corset, and the effect was startling. His heart got caught in his throat. His fingers itched. And then she started to descend, with her own style of grace. Each step was a seduction, and the brilliant smile she gave him was real and for him alone.
Her transformation was perfect. His wife was the ideal melding of the naked savage he had married and the fine lady she was by birth. He lifted his hand as she came near, and when she was able she took it, laying her soft, golden hand in his and wrapping her fingers around his palm.
“You are beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “So are you.”
“I will be the envy of every man here tonight.” He glanced at her exposed cleavage. The corset had elevated her already bountiful breasts up and out, making them look as if they were about to spill over.
“Grandmother wanted to cover the freckles with a white powder,” Anya whispered, “but I would not allow it.”
“Good.”
“When you look at me like this, I tremble down deep,” she said, just as softly.
His eyes caught hers and held them. He had fought her for months, but Anya forced him to think with his body and his heart instead of his brain. She made him look deep within himself, at his own desires and failings. Margaret had hurt him, and he had been determined to never again let something so common as lust rule his life. But this… this was more than lust. He brought Anya’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“How utterly charming.”
He turned toward the grating voice, barely lifting his head. Anya’s smile died. Speak of the devil.
The newly arrived Margaret, long out of mourning, wore red. Her gown was every bit as low cut as Anya’s, and yet… she simply looked vulgar. “I did not know you two would be here,” she said.
“Mrs. Sedley and Mrs. Mansfield are close friends.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Julian wondered if Margaret would have come to the ball if she’d known he and Anya would be in attendance. He had once been drawn to Margaret because she could appear to be the ideal woman—when it suited her. Her deceit went so deep, it was as much a part of her as Anya’s frankness. Margaret had pretended to be the woman he wanted and needed, in order to gain his affections. Anya never pretended. Deceit was beyond her. For the first time, he felt truly lucky that Margaret had betrayed him. A lifetime with her would be miserable, for any man.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anya’s free hand flutter over her thigh. Surely she was not wearing that knife! What was he thinking? Of course she wore the knife. If she would not leave her room without it, he should have known she would not go so far from home unarmed. This could be disastrous.
He drew his wife to his side. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m starving. I hear the buffet is very well laid out.”
Margaret simply raised her eyebrows. Anya glanced over her shoulder only once, probably to see if the other woman followed, and as they entered the dining room she muttered a string of words in some foreign language. French, he thought, though her voice was too low for him to be certain.
From the tone of her voice, he was quite sure he didn’t want to know what those words meant.
*
The presence of the bitch in red, Julian’s puta, ruined what should have been a perfectly wonderful evening. Anya tried to take her husband’s advice and ignore the woman. After all, there were more than sixty people there, and Margaret March was only one.
Anya did ignore the crone, but she could not forget that the woman was close by. How could she? When the harlot’s voice was shrill and raised above the rest, and then that flash of red caught Anya’s eyes everywhere she turned, it was impossible to pretend Mrs. Margaret March did not exist.
Anya tried to think of other things. Valerie was so happy, and William Mathias paid very close attention to her. After watching them dance once, Anya had no reservations about the man. He definitely loved Valerie for her bosom; his gaze had rarely strayed elsewhere.
Julian never left her side. They had eaten, though with the bloody corset strangling her she could not eat much, and they had danced. Julian said it was improper for them to dance together so often, but he would not allow any other man to hold her, or to have the view their closeness afforded. Perhaps the corset, painful as it was, was a worthwhile sacrifice. Just for this evening.
She adored the way Julian held her when they danced. They had practiced, in the south parlor at home, but something between she and her husband had changed since those particular lessons. The air around them sparkled, she was sure of it. Her heart beat steady and hard, but every now and then something in her stomach fluttered. Desire. Anticipation. Love. Love, most of all.
She adored the way Julian looked at her. Tonight the beast lurked in his dark eyes, eyes as possessive as the arms that held her.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I suppose we could retire early.”
“Yes.”
“Your grandmother is standing near the ballroom door. As soon as she moves, we’ll sneak out.”
Anya tilted her head and smiled at her husband. “Have you ever sneaked anywhere before?”
“No.”
“I thought not.” He was so straightforward, so diligently honest. One would not think he had a devil-may-care bone in his body.
“But the alternative,” he revealed softly, “waiting until the wee hours of the morning when the party is done, is impossible.”
“You want me,” she whispered.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
Anya glanced toward the doorway, where Grandmother stood. When would she move away? To dance, to eat, to visit with an old friend. Finally, she spotted Mrs. Mansfield and moved to the o
ther side of the room.
“Grandmother has departed from the doorway.”
“Good.” Julian took her arm, and they turned toward the wide doorway. Their escape was going well, until an agitated red-faced young man came up from behind and grabbed Julian by the shoulder.
“Dr. DeButy,” the intruder said breathlessly. Anya recognized him as Katherine Mansfield’s youngest son, James, the one Seymour had been rooming with during their stay here. “Would you please come with me? One of the maids has burned herself.”
“I’m not really…” Julian began, protesting, but James turned and ran back to the kitchen, and he had no recourse but to follow. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
Anya sighed and searched the crowded room for a familiar face. A friendly face. She knew so few of these people. Grandmother was seated on the opposite side of the room, with her good friend Mrs. Mansfield. They seemed to be having a pleasant conversation, and Grandmother even tapped her foot in time to the music.
Seymour was also on the other side of the room, a fact Anya noted as if minding the location of a poisonous snake. She had no desire to speak to Seymour any more than she had to. She had noticed her cousin and Margaret March dancing earlier in the evening. They were a well-suited couple: two vipers.
Finally she caught a flash of Valerie’s gown, a pale pink, and headed in that direction. Anya wanted to tell her cousin that Grandmother had been right. She had taken Julian’s breath away. The corset, while painful, was perhaps a useful contraption after all.
As she drew closer, stepping around the edge of the crowded dance floor, she saw that Valerie stood with a small group of people. William Mathias was there, standing very close to Valerie, as well as a number of others. They seemed to be crowded around someone or something of great interest. As Anya came closer a few in the group laughed, though Valerie did not.
When she was close enough to see the flash of red through the crowd, Anya’s heart leaped in an unpleasant way. She would rather pass the time speaking to Seymour than to listen to Margaret March prattle on! She knew how deadly dull the woman’s idea of conversation could be.
The music ended, and suddenly there was a lull, a long moment of silence. A voice rising from the crowd filled the room. “She was a king’s whore and a savage. Anya DeButy might dress in a fine gown and speak with a charming accent, but she’s still and always will be a whore and a savage.”
