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 breathless 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
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 breathless 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
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