DeButy & the Beast (24 page)

Already, grandmother was shaking her white head. "I only did what I thought was best."

"And I thank you," Anya said softly. "I thank you for the gift of love. If not for you, I never would have met Julian. I would not have known love, and I would not be carrying a child. Love is the grandest gift of all."

Grandmother's expression softened.

"Valerie found her love in a different manner, but it is love all the same. You must forgive her for defying you, and you must also understand that she would be miserable without the man she has chosen. If you love her, you will be happy for her."

"It's not so simple."

"It is," Anya said softly. "It is just that simple."

Chapter 14

She had lost Valerie not much more than a week ago, she did not want to lose Julian, too!

"Take me with you," she pleaded as he rushed about the room, throwing a change of clothing and a comb into a bag. The letter he had just received was lying on the bed. His aunt had taken ill, and a letter came from a concerned neighbor.

"You shouldn't travel," he said sensibly.

She pouted. "You are always telling me what I should not do, and you are always wrong."

"Not always."

Anya plopped down on the bed. Something she did not like welled up inside her. Panic. Fear. This was the way she always felt when she knew a storm was coming. "I am afraid you will not come back," she said softly.

Julian stopped packing, laid his eyes on her, and smiled softly. "You know I will return as soon as I can. No one else could drag me away from you now. My aunt raised me. I owe her more than I can ever repay, so I have no choice but to see to her well-being. I'll check on her, arrange care for her if necessary, and return to you quickly."

"I know," she said, "but I also fear. How long will you be gone?"

"A few days."

"How many is a few?" How would she sleep without him? What would she do if a storm came?

Julian sat beside her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I will come back to you as soon as I can." He kissed her quickly. "You know I will."

"But..."

He jumped from the bed and pulled her to her feet. "Come with me." He led her out of the room, leaving his bag behind. He walked gingerly down the stairs, ever careful of what he called her delicate condition. Holding her hand, he led her through the north parlor and into the garden. He studied the roses there carefully, as if searching for just the right one. Finally he stopped before a yellow rosebush.

"I suppose you are wearing your knife, against my wishes."

"Of course."

"May I borrow it?"

Anya lifted her skirt and removed the knife from its sheath.

Julian shook his head as he took it from her. "How will I ever convince you that you do not need a weapon in your own home?"

He apparently expected no answer, as he leaned forward to cut a tight yellow bud from the bush. When he handed it to her, she took the stem between two fingers, careful of the thorns. "We will put this in water," he said, "and before the first petal falls I will be home."

"Promise?" she whispered.

"Promise." He offered the knife to her.

Anya laid her hand over his, and over the handle of the knife. "You should keep it," she said. "I will be home and safe. You might have need of a weapon on the road."

"The roads are quite safe," he assured her.

"Still," she said softly. "I will feel better if you keep it." She removed the sheath from her thigh and handed it to him. "I will sleep better at night knowing you have something of me with you."

"My love, I always have something of you with me."

His endearments always made her smile, even in sad times.

Back in the house, she put the rosebud in a slender silver vase, and placed it on a table in the south parlor. She was staring at the flower when Julian came back downstairs with his bag in hand. She did not see the knife, but she knew he wore it. Somewhere.

"My party is in two and a half weeks," she reminded him.

"I will be home long before your birthday. I'll be gone a few days, no more."

She wanted to ask him again to promise, but did not. He would think her silly. She thought herself silly! Julian loved her, he loved their child. He would be home as soon as possible.

He would.

* * *

Julian had never given any credence to what was called the sixth sense, but as he took the North Road he felt as if someone watched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His every muscle tensed. It hadn't been dark long, and with any luck he would be at his aunt's house before midnight. He only hoped he could arrange quickly for the care her neighbor insisted she needed. On occasion his gaze twitched to the forest at the side of the road, to the shadows and dangers there. And chills ran down his spine. Why did he feel as if something dark awaited him?

It was leaving Anya that put him on edge, he reasoned. She was carrying his child. She was liable to do anything without his supervision.

And already he missed her. Against all reason, he missed her voice and her smile and the way she touched him.

How could a small slip of a woman force him to so easily abandon his ideals? Easy. His ideals had been false barriers, an excuse to keep anyone who might break his heart at bay. Anya had battered down those barriers, not with her body but with her own vulnerable heart.

A child. He smiled at the very thought, he who had never even remotely desired a family! The thought of his son or daughter growing inside Anya warmed places in his heart that he did not know existed.

As he approached a bend in the road, his thoughts of Anya faded and he glanced to the rear. Again, the hairs on the back of his neck stood. His instincts warned him that someone watched his every move.

Two men on horseback left the shadows of the forest and approached quickly. One of them grabbed Julian by the back of his jacket and hauled him off the saddle. He hit the ground hard. His breath left him, the world went gray, for a moment. By the time he had the strength to move, the larger of the two ruffians was upon him. Julian's hands were wrenched behind his back, and a dark hood was shoved over his head.

The large man kept Julian's arms immobilized, while the other stepped in noisy circles around them both.

Thieves. Murderers? Julian had no idea what he faced. The world was black, thanks to the hood over his head, but his other senses worked well. He smelled the men; their nauseating scent was a mixture of sour clothing and whiskey and something one of them had stepped in, along the way. There was no other sound but his own pounding heart and the shuffle of the pacing thief. There was no promise of rescue in the far-off sound of horses' hooves on the road.

He was tempted to shake the big man off and go for the knife he had tucked in his boot. He didn't. Not yet. The man at his back had him truly disabled with steadfast, meaty hands.

"If it's money you want," he said calmly, "take it. I don't have much, but you're welcome to it."

"Fine horse," the man who circled around Julian said. "Fine clothes. You even smell like money."

Julian didn't respond by noting aloud how they smelled. "Take it all," Julian said, maintaining his calm. "I—" He got no further, as the pacing man hit him over the head with something heavy.

Anya
, he thought as his knees buckled and his world went truly black.

* * *

The house seemed empty without Julian. Anya paced in the south parlor, her eyes on the yellow rosebud. He had promised he would be back before the first petal fell. Julian always kept his promises. He was kind, and honest, and would never break his word to her.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Anya?" Peter asked, stepping into the room so silently she did not hear him.

Startled, she spun around. "No," she said sharply. Then she relaxed. "But thank you for asking."

"You didn't eat enough at supper," he admonished gently. "A woman in your condition—"

"I will eat more tomorrow," she interrupted.

Peter accepted her proposal and turned to leave the room.

Anya stopped him with a question. "Peter, why are you not married?"

He stood in the doorway, his stiff back to her, for so long that she thought he might not answer. A few weeks ago she would have commanded a response.

But now... if he walked away she would not follow and make any demands. Finally he turned around to face her.

"I was married, a very long time ago," he said softly.

"Where is she?"

"Dead," he said succinctly.

Her heart lurched, breaking a little for him. It must be so terrible to bury a loved one with whom you had planned to spend your life. "Did you have children?"

Peter's eyes clouded. "A daughter. She is also dead," he added before Anya could ask.

"I am sorry," Anya said sincerely. "What happened to them?"

A flash of pain crossed his face.

"You do not have to answer," Anya said quickly. "I had no right to ask. Julian always tells me that I should not be so insolent."

"It is not an insolent question," Peter said, stepping out of the doorway and into the room. "I can tell that you ask because you care, not because you are curious. My wife and daughter died while I was at war. They were lost in a fire, the same fire that consumed the small hotel that had been in my family for three generations."

"I am so sorry," she said again, at a loss for proper consoling words.

"It was long ago."

"I cannot imagine that a thousand years would be enough to erase the pain of such a loss."

He cocked his head. "Erase? Never. But I have learned to live with what happened."

"How did you come to work here?" She remembered more and more about this place where she had lived as a child, as the days went by. Happy memories, most of them. Peter was often there.

"Your father and I fought in the same unit. We were traveling toward home together, the damnable war finally over. He was with me when I arrived home and discovered what had happened."

A picture of a smiling blue-eyed man flashed in her mind, and she dismissed it. "My father was your friend?"

"Friend, fellow soldier. Life saver. He refused to leave me behind, even when I insisted that he do so. He practically dragged me away from the grave markers of my wife and child."

"And he brought you here," Anya said softly.

Peter almost smiled. "That he did. I made him think I didn't mind staying in this house, knowing that at some point he would think me recovered from my loss. At that time I would say my good-byes, leave this place, return to the graves of those I loved"—he set his eyes on her—"and join them."

"You planned to take your own life."

"Yes, I did," he said without emotion. "Until one afternoon a red-haired devil of a little girl who had molasses cookie crumbs all over her mouth and hands came up to me, crawled into my lap, and offered me half of her last cookie because I looked like I was hungry."

"Me?"

"You. I refused the less-than-appetizing cookie, but you were so insistent you would not be dissuaded. You shoved a corner of that cookie into my mouth, a wide grin on your face, and wiggled it in until I took a bite and you were satisfied." Peter looked suddenly... younger. "You giggled. And I didn't want to die anymore."

"Peter..."

He continued, uninterrupted. "Your grandmother needed someone to run the household, and managing the Sedley Mansion was not so much different from running the hotel. I did finally save enough money to leave this place and start again, but I didn't. Valerie and Seymour's father took to the sea and was rarely at home. I felt it was my duty to watch over them. And you..." He shook his head. "You did not replace my daughter, but you did remind me that there was much beauty in the world."

"No wonder all my memories of you are so warm," Anya confessed as she crossed the room to stand before Peter. She surprised him with a quick hug.

"Miss Anya," he said, taking a step back when she released him. "If I had known you were alive after the shipwreck, I would have looked for you. I would have searched until I found you."

Anya smiled. "I know."

"We were assured that everyone was lost, that there was no possible way for anyone to have survived."

She laid a comforting hand on his cheek. "You are a good man," she said. "Almost as good as my Julian."

Peter smiled. "It does me good to see you and Miss Valerie both happily married. You and your cousins have become very important to me over the years." His smile faded. "If only Seymour would straighten up and become a man...." Peter shook his head. "I have just about given up hope for that boy."

* * *

Julian waited until they stopped to care for the horses. He could see nothing since the hood remained in place. His head ached since he'd been knocked out, tied up, and tossed over his horse's saddle like a sack of meal.

But he was still alive, thank God. Why hadn't they taken his money and horse and left him unconscious on the road? For no good reason, he was sure. Did they mean to kill him? Or hold him for ransom?