DeButy & the Beast

by Linda Jones

  “Show me you love me, Anya,” he whispered.

  It was, evidently, the wrong thing to say. Her entire body stiffened. “We cannot do this,” she said, drawing away from him.

  “What do you mean we can’t?”

  She scooted away from him. “It is too late.”

  “How can it be too late?” he asked, exasperated.

  Anya drew her legs up and hid her body beneath the quilt. “Sebastian will kill you.”

  It was more than he could stand. “Sebastian again, son of a bitch.” He left the bed and raked his hair back with the fingers of both hands. “So you really want to be queen, is that it?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I am promised to Sebastian, now. Even if I did… want you, it would not be right.”

  “Anya, you’re my wife—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “My grandmother bought you for me. You did your job well, and now our time is done. Go, Julian,” she said softly. “Travel around the world, write your books… live the life you wanted before you met me.”

  “Our marriage might have started that way, but things have changed.”

  “Have they?”

  “I love you.” Let her argue with that!

  “I know,” she whispered. “Now, please go.”

  Julian threw his hands in the air and did as she asked.

  *

  Sebastian left his guards behind and crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. He was still hungry. They never fed him quite enough in this house.

  A light still burned there. Good. If someone was about he might not have to fend for himself.

  He saw her long before she saw him. Her back was to him as she bent over some menial task at a work table. Betsy, he remembered. Her name was Betsy, and she was a servant in this household.

  As a servant, she would surely give him whatever he asked for, and at the moment his rumbling stomach was the least of his problems.

  She was attractive, in an ordinary sort of way. Brown hair, green eyes, upturned nose. But her body… beneath those plain clothes she wore she had a magnificent body. She had breasts just the right size, a waist so small he could span it with his hands, he was certain, hips that swelled in invitation.

  Betsy turned and jumped when she found him standing there. “I didn’t hear you,” she said softly. “Are you hungry?”

  He nodded once and gave her a smile to still her nervousness. The smile did not work on her, as it usually did on females of all ages. It seemed to frighten her. “Why do you work so late?”

  Betsy turned and resumed her task. “I have no choice. We’re shorthanded, and have more guests than usual, and I can’t get Hilary to do a thing in the kitchen. The part-time girl who was supposed to help me tonight was scared away by one of…” She stopped abruptly.

  “One of what?” Sebastian prompted as he walked up behind her.

  “One of your men,” she finished crisply. “Alice had never seen a bare-chested man before, and she was quite frightened.”

  “Silly Alice,” he said, coming upon Betsy and laying his hands on her hips.

  She squealed, spun around, and pushed her small, ineffectual hands against his own bare chest. “How dare you?” she said, blushing a pretty pink.

  “I want you,” he said with a smile. “Come to my bed.”

  In answer, she lifted her small hand and slapped him soundly across the cheek. He was so surprised his head snapped back.

  “I’ll have you know I’m not that kind of girl,” she said indignantly.

  “What kind of girl are you?”

  “I’m a… I don’t… You shouldn’t…”

  “Ah,” he said, suddenly enlightened and forgiving Betsy for her inappropriate striking of his face. “You are a virgin.”

  She huffed and turned away from him, but he trapped her against the table. His body touched hers, his hands reached around her and grasped the edge of her worktable. Yes, Betsy was trapped, and she trembled. “Do not be afraid. I like virgins, truly.”

  “Please go away,” she said softly.

  He had thought her trembling was caused by desire, but when he realized it was fear that made her tremble, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “You are very beautiful,” he said. “Why are you a virgin?”

  With some distance between them, she felt safe enough to turn and face him. Good. He liked watching her face as she spoke. It was more than ordinary, he decided. That face was quite beautiful. “I’ve spent enough time with Miss Anya to know that on your island things are different, but here nice girls don’t sleep with men until they’re married.”

  “So you are waiting for marriage?”

  She scoffed and crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m never getting married.”

  “Why not?” Was she afraid? In love with someone she could not have? He found he wanted to know why such a woman would choose a life of loneliness.

  “I have eleven brothers and sisters,” she said. “Most of my life I’ve been more mother than sister to all of them. Why do you think I work here? I spent half my life wishing to get away from home. Why would I trade it for a bunch of kids of my own?”

  “You do not want children?”

  “No,” she said emphatically. “Therefore, I want no husband. Besides,” the ever intriguing Betsy added, “I don’t like you.”

  Sebastian was taken aback. Everyone liked him! “Why not? Have I offended you in some way?”

  “You’re going to take Miss Anya away, when everyone knows she loves Dr. DeButy. It just isn’t right.”

  “She wishes to go,” he contradicted in a dangerous tone.

  “No, she doesn’t, you dolt,” Betsy argued.

  He paused. In a way, Betsy was right. Anya did love Julian. She had admitted it freely. So why was she leaving this place? So she could be queen? So her child would be heir to the throne? No, he suspected her reasons were more personal. To be honest, if she changed her mind he would not berate her, or force her to return to Puerta Sirena. He liked Anya. He wanted her to be happy.

  Besides, there were other interesting women in the world, he decided. Other women who would argue with him. As for the bloodline that ruled on his island, perhaps it was time for a change.

  “If you will not come to my bed, will you at least feed me?” he asked, taking a step toward Betsy.

  “Of course,” she said. “That’s my job.”

  He was aching for a woman, and almost wished that that woman Anya did not like—what was her name?—was still around. Perhaps even she would be better than no woman at all.

  Mother’s servants, Maida in particular, would not be averse to a night in his bed. She had accommodated him on occasion during the long voyage from Puerta Sirena to America.

  But Sebastian found he did not want Maida, or even that woman whose name he could not recall. He did not even want Anya, who slept above his head.

  He wanted this woman, the one who had refused him, the one who had called him a dolt.

  But for now, he would settle for the plate of food she prepared and placed on the kitchen table. He could charm her, if not tonight then certainly tomorrow. No woman could resist his charms.

  “Sit with me?” he asked as she poured him a glass of cider.

  “I have work to do,” she protested.

  “Please.”

  When a king said please, you obeyed. Betsy sat beside him. “Tell me,” he said as he picked up a piece of sweet bread and brought it to his mouth, “all about your brothers and sisters.”

  *

  It was well after midnight when Peter found his way to the pantry. The kitchen was dark, so he assumed Betsy had finished and gone to her bed. Like him, she had a room in a wing off the kitchen. All three of the live-in servants had chambers there. There were two other rooms along that corridor, but as Anya had turned the household upside down, they never kept help very long, these days.

  He carried his single candle to the end of the long, narrow pantry, and sat on the stool there. Placing his can
dle on an empty space on the shelf, he reached behind a few canned goods and found the bottle he had stashed there. Some days he needed a good stiff drink more than others.

  His time here was almost done. He didn’t know where he’d go next, but he knew it was time to move on. He’d stayed all this time for the children who were not his own. Valerie had William Mathias, now, a good man to take care of her. Anya had Julian DeButy, if she’d come to her senses; a king to care for her if she did not. Seymour… Seymour was beyond hope.

  He tilted his head and took a long swallow.

  When the door opened, he tried to hide the bottle, but it was too late. Beside, it wasn’t the lady of the house checking on her butler or her brandy, it was that damned queen who had been following him everywhere! Every time he turned around, she was there. Demanding something, asking questions, watching him with those haunting eyes.

  His patience was gone. “What do you want?”

  She closed the door behind her and walked toward him. Dark hair swinging, hips swaying. She lifted her hand and pointed at the bottle in his hand. “Some of that would be nice.”

  He offered her the bottle, and she lifted it to her lips to take a long swig. Her slender throat worked as she swallowed.

  Her arms and legs were bare, that red silk chemise she wore was not much better than nothing at all. The woman was demanding, annoying, a nuisance!

  And Peter was reminded of how long it had been since he’d had a woman he hadn’t paid for.

  He started to stand. “Please, have a…”

  She laid her hands on his shoulder and forced him back down, then perched on his knee. “I will sit here.”

  “You really… shouldn’t.” She handed him the bottle, and he took another drink.

  “You are a practical man,” she said, resting her hands easily on his shoulders while she sat on his knee. “I cannot sleep for all the questions in my mind. Perhaps you can answer them for me?”

  “If I can.”

  “Sebastian cannot father children, and he is my only child. My husband Terrence and I wanted more, but he became ill not long after Sebastian was born. He had a fever that kept him in bed for more than the cycle of the moon, and after that… after that he could no longer be a true husband to me. As queen, I should have taken a lover. It was my responsibility to provide an heir. But we had Sebastian, and I did love my husband. Very much. Too much to take another man into my bed while he lived.”

  “How long has your husband been gone?”

  “Two years,” she said softly. “He stepped down from the throne and made Sebastian king, when he knew he had such a little time left.”

  Peter nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you have a wife?”

  He shook his head. “I was married once, but she’s gone, now.”

  “Dead?”

  Peter nodded, and was surprised to feel a soft hand in his hair.

  “I am sorry, too.”

  “You want Miss Anya for the baby, don’t you?” he asked, more kindly than he had intended.

  “Yes. She is my only hope.” The queen shifted, leaned closer to him. “Well, until a while ago I thought Anya was my only hope. Now… I wonder.”

  “You wonder what?” he asked, taking another long drink.

  “If I had another child,” she said, tracing a finger over his face. “The line would continue. I am not yet forty years old. It is not too late for me to have a child. Or two.” She laid her hand over the hardening length in his trousers.

  Peter jumped. He would have stood, but the queen’s position prevented him. “Your, uh, majesty. Queen—”

  “Carola,” she said softly. “You will call me Carola.”

  “No, I should—”

  She laid her mouth on her ear. “Carola,” she whispered.

  “Carola,” he said, giving in too easily.

  “You are the man I have chosen to be the father of my child.”

  “Why me?” he asked, settling his hands at her waist and trying to decide if he should argue or simply comply. His brain said argue. His body said comply.

  “You are handsome and strong, and I like you.”

  “Why on earth do you like me?”

  “I like the lines of your face.” She traced his jaw with her finger. “I like the strength of your body.”

  Her other hand raked down his chest. “I like the way you care for the people in this house. And most of all I like the way you look at me.”

  “I… I don’t look at you at all,” he protested. And when he did, he had been very careful to make sure no one was watching him.

  “Yes, you do.” She turned to straddle him, her legs parting and wrapping around him. “And I have dreamed about you, every night since I came here.”

  “You have?”

  “My dreams are highly regarded among my people. They often come true.” She flicked her tongue across her bottom lip and moved the hand in his lap. “Sometimes you have to make dreams come true.”

  Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Why not?” He didn’t tell her that as she began to remove his clothing she was making quite a few of his recent dreams come true.

  Chapter 19

  After a restless night, Julian woke with the sun. He combed his hair with his fingers, and threw on a shirt and a pair of dark trousers. If Anya was in the garden with that blasted half-naked king, she needed a chaperon.

  But no one was in the garden. In fact, it seemed the rest of the house slept—all but a cheerfully humming Betsy who was already at work in the kitchen.

  Julian stood in the garden alone, for a while, and watched the day come alive. What next? He would not allow Anya to simply sail off. Letting her go that way would be impossible. He loved her, she loved him. And he couldn’t quite figure out what was getting in the way. She didn’t love Sebastian, and he didn’t believe that she wanted to be queen of Puerta Sirena so badly that she’d sacrifice their marriage for the throne.

  Dammit, if he had to he’d follow her. If Anya could learn to be civilized, he could learn to be a barbarian.

  Something had happened while he’d been gone. Something to make Anya question her feelings for him. He could plead with her to tell him, he could follow her and her contingent of guards around and beg for an explanation he could understand… or he could show her why she was wrong. He could remind her, in a way she was sure to understand, that she was his wife and always would be.

  He returned to the house and made his way to the kitchen. Above stairs, people were beginning to stir. He heard their muted movements. Soon the house would be alive. What would the day bring? It was impossible to guess.

  Coffee. He desperately needed a cup of Betsy’s coffee.

  “Good morning, doctor,” the servant said brightly as he entered the kitchen. She even cast a bright smile over her shoulder.

  “Good morning,” he responded, suspiciously narrowing one eye.

  “It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?” she continued. Betsy was usually so reserved. So quiet. Not this morning.

  “Beautiful,” he muttered.

  “The heat of summer is gone, the morning is autumn mild. Why, we couldn’t ask for a more beautiful day.”

  “Is the coffee ready?” Julian asked. He was really in no mood to hear how lovely the new day was.

  “Of course, sir,” Betsy said sweetly. “You have a seat in the dining room and I’ll bring it right out, along with a nice, big breakfast. You look like you could use a bit of fattening up. Didn’t those nasty kidnappers feed you?”

  Julian shook his head. “They fed me as well as they could.”

  Betsy shooed him out of her kitchen, that wide smile on her face. Julian took a chair at the dining room table and settled back, stretching his legs.

  Jeremiah might arrive at any time. With any luck, he’d have the name of the person who had arranged the kidnapping. It had to be Seymour, though Julian refused to move forward and accuse Anya’s cousin until he had proof. Once he did ha
ve proof, he was going to kick Seymour’s scrawny ass from here to Wilmington.

  The violent thought surprised him, but he didn’t deny it was exactly what he intended to do.

  Betsy flew into the room, a cup of coffee in her hand. “Here you go, doctor,” she said cheerfully, setting the cup before him. “You drink this while I make you a breakfast fit for a king.” She leaned forward, so she could look at his face. “And doctor, don’t worry,” she added in a lowered voice, “everything’s going to be all right.”

  Then she patted him on the head as if he were still a lad in short pants. Julian sipped at his hot coffee and watched Betsy return to the kitchen with a spring in her step. The woman had lost her mind.

  *

  Anya stayed in bed as long as she dared, not ready to face Julian or Sebastian or anyone else in this household. But eventually she had to rise and dress. She was hungry, she was tired of lying in bed with the covers over her head, and besides… she wanted to see Julian. She could not love him, she could not stay with him; but at the moment she had a deep and undeniable desire to see him.

  She dressed in a comfortable linen blouse and a pale blue skirt. Perhaps it would be best if she wore something more suited to this civilized country, for the remainder of her time here. She even twisted her hair up and pinned it atop her head. A few tendrils escaped, but for the most part her red tresses were contained.

  For now, she would deny the wild aspect of her personality. Her husband—the man who had once been her husband—had tried to seduce her last night. A prim woman would be more steadfast in resisting a man like Julian, she supposed. For now, she would be the proper wife he had taught her to be.

  No, she reminded herself as she left the room. She was not his wife any longer. Queen Carola had declared the marriage undone. While that might not be of any importance in North Carolina, as Julian said, Anya had spent too many years on Puerta Sirena to dismiss the queen’s decree.

  Hector and Angelo leaned against the wall on either side of the door. As Anya stepped into the hallway, they jerked away from the wall and stood up straight.

  “Were you here all night?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Hector answered, his eyes on the floor. “We are to be your guardians.”