DeButy & the Beast (31 page)

"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 candle 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 have 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."

Anya sighed in disgust. "Go to bed," she commanded.

"But, my queen," Angelo began.

"I am not queen yet," Anya snapped. "But I soon will be. And I order you to get some sleep!"

They obediently left to do as she commanded. Thank goodness! She did not want them underfoot all day long.

And she had other, more important problems, she noted as she walked down the stairs, her eyes on the man at the foot of the stairway.

This was Julian as she had never seen him. The beast she had always known lurked within him had been released. His hooded eyes were dark and dangerous, his long, wild hair fell about tensely squared shoulders. He had not shaved this morning, and a coarse beard darkened the lower half of his face. His hands balled into fists as he pinned his eyes on her.

"Good morning," he growled.

"Good morning," she said, her own voice sweet and tame.

"I had begun to think you would sleep the day away." He smiled at her, a joyless grin that made her heart lurch.

"I have been very tired lately."

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the harsh iciness of his face thawed, a little. His eyes went dreamy, for a moment. "It's the baby," he said softly. "You need lots of rest when you're carrying a child."

"I know," she whispered.

"Come," he said, reaching out and taking the hand she had not offered. "Sit in the south parlor and I'll bring your breakfast in on a tray. Everyone else has already eaten."

"I will eat in the kitchen," Anya protested.

Julian's grip on her hand was firm. Warm. Unyielding. "Betsy has started preparing lunch," he explained. "You'd just be underfoot."

"I... do not want to be underfoot," she agreed softly.

Julian, his hand gripping hers, led her into the south parlor. He guided her to the couch, stood before her as she dutifully sat. Then, instead of releasing her hand, he remained before her, legs spread wide so she had no hope of escape.

He lifted her hand to his mouth. "You look beautiful today," he said, laying his lips on her knuckles, the back of her hand, and then twisting it to kiss her wrist. His tongue flickered there, and Anya's heart almost came through her chest. "Of course, you have always been beautiful to me." He reached out and touched a freckle on her nose, trailing that finger down over her lips and her chin to rake across her neck. His progress was stopped only by the high neckline of her blouse. Thank goodness she had not worn those scarves today! If he touched her more intimately than he already had, she would capitulate without so much as a word of dissent!