"That's our carriage. Thank God," he added in a lowered voice.
They made their escape through the throng, and Julian assisted Anya, a bit too forcefully, into the carriage. One glance out the window revealed that Mrs. Margaret March watched with great interest as Julian took the seat next to her.
As their carriage took off, drawing away from the theater, Julian sighed and ran his fingers through his long dark hair, mumbling something too low for Anya to understand.
"Did you really wear your knife to the theater?" he asked.
"Yes." Did he think she would leave the house without her weapon?
"It is entirely unacceptable—"
"She was your lover," Anya accused. The confines of the carriage were dim, but the moonlight lit the interior well enough for her to see her husband's face.
"Don't be..." he began, and then faltered. "That's not—"
"I have never lied to you," she interrupted. "And I do not believe that you have lied to me. Do not start now, Julian. You do not seem to be very good at it."
He turned so that his face was mostly in shadow, and looked down at her. "Yes, you're right. But I was very young, and foolish, and I had not yet studied the debilitating effects of the physical relationship."
Anya snorted.
"Don't do that," Julian chastised lightly.
"Tell me about her," Anya insisted.
Julian sighed. "I don't see why—"
"We have a long ride ahead of us, and I want to know. We are married. There is no reason for you not to tell me all about your intimacy with that horrid woman."
"I'd rather not," he replied coolly.
"If you asked me to tell you all about my time as King Sebastian's concubine, I would comply."
"I have never asked."
She scooted over, just a little, so her hip rested against his. "Why not?"
Julian ran his fingers through his hair again, made a noise no more polite than her snort, and mumbled beneath his breath.
"I could not understand you," she whispered.
"I do not want to know," he said succinctly. "There, now I've said it. It makes me a little insane to think about your blasted king. I most certainly do not want to hear details about your time with him."
Anya dropped her head against Julian's arm and smiled. He was jealous. She rubbed her cheek against the warm fabric of his gray suit and snaked her arm through his. "I simply want to know what she did to you to make you take a vow of chastity."
"She didn't..." he began.
"Do not lie to me," Anya insisted softly. She was quite comfortable, her head resting on Julian's shoulder, his arm entwined through hers. "How long ago did you know her?"
"It's been almost two years."
She smiled. "So long ago. Yes, you were much younger then. Young and foolish, I believe you said." Her smile faded. "Did you love her?"
Julian squirmed.
"Do not lie," she said again.
"I thought I did," he said softly. "I was wrong, of course."
"Of course," she whispered. Oh, she wanted Julian to love her. It was a silly wish, as most wishes were. No matter how hard she tried, she would always be much too unrefined for Julian.
"Did you... love your King Sebastian?" he asked, almost reluctantly.
"No," she answered quickly.
Julian's answer was a low grunt.
"What happened?" Anya asked.
Julian shifted, placing his arm around her and pulling her a little bit closer. "It's rather sordid, Anya. I hate to subject you to such things."
"I am a savage, remember?" she said, a hint of anger coloring her voice.
"You are not," he said, cupping her cheek in one hand and forcing her to look him in the eye. "You are a far better woman than Margaret March could ever be."
"And yet you loved her."
He returned her head to his shoulder, perhaps so she could not see his face, and tightened his arm around her. "I thought I did. She was a widow, grieving for the loss of her husband just a year earlier."
"She is young to be a widow."
"Her husband was much older, and in ill health. And wealthy." He sighed. "I thought she was the ideal woman. Decent, kind, soft-spoken, modest—"
"Yes,
They made their escape through the throng, and Julian assisted Anya, a bit too forcefully, into the carriage. One glance out the window revealed that Mrs. Margaret March watched with great interest as Julian took the seat next to her.
As their carriage took off, drawing away from the theater, Julian sighed and ran his fingers through his long dark hair, mumbling something too low for Anya to understand.
"Did you really wear your knife to the theater?" he asked.
"Yes." Did he think she would leave the house without her weapon?
"It is entirely unacceptable—"
"She was your lover," Anya accused. The confines of the carriage were dim, but the moonlight lit the interior well enough for her to see her husband's face.
"Don't be..." he began, and then faltered. "That's not—"
"I have never lied to you," she interrupted. "And I do not believe that you have lied to me. Do not start now, Julian. You do not seem to be very good at it."
He turned so that his face was mostly in shadow, and looked down at her. "Yes, you're right. But I was very young, and foolish, and I had not yet studied the debilitating effects of the physical relationship."
Anya snorted.
"Don't do that," Julian chastised lightly.
"Tell me about her," Anya insisted.
Julian sighed. "I don't see why—"
"We have a long ride ahead of us, and I want to know. We are married. There is no reason for you not to tell me all about your intimacy with that horrid woman."
"I'd rather not," he replied coolly.
"If you asked me to tell you all about my time as King Sebastian's concubine, I would comply."
"I have never asked."
She scooted over, just a little, so her hip rested against his. "Why not?"
Julian ran his fingers through his hair again, made a noise no more polite than her snort, and mumbled beneath his breath.
"I could not understand you," she whispered.
"I do not want to know," he said succinctly. "There, now I've said it. It makes me a little insane to think about your blasted king. I most certainly do not want to hear details about your time with him."
Anya dropped her head against Julian's arm and smiled. He was jealous. She rubbed her cheek against the warm fabric of his gray suit and snaked her arm through his. "I simply want to know what she did to you to make you take a vow of chastity."
"She didn't..." he began.
"Do not lie to me," Anya insisted softly. She was quite comfortable, her head resting on Julian's shoulder, his arm entwined through hers. "How long ago did you know her?"
"It's been almost two years."
She smiled. "So long ago. Yes, you were much younger then. Young and foolish, I believe you said." Her smile faded. "Did you love her?"
Julian squirmed.
"Do not lie," she said again.
"I thought I did," he said softly. "I was wrong, of course."
"Of course," she whispered. Oh, she wanted Julian to love her. It was a silly wish, as most wishes were. No matter how hard she tried, she would always be much too unrefined for Julian.
"Did you... love your King Sebastian?" he asked, almost reluctantly.
"No," she answered quickly.
Julian's answer was a low grunt.
"What happened?" Anya asked.
Julian shifted, placing his arm around her and pulling her a little bit closer. "It's rather sordid, Anya. I hate to subject you to such things."
"I am a savage, remember?" she said, a hint of anger coloring her voice.
"You are not," he said, cupping her cheek in one hand and forcing her to look him in the eye. "You are a far better woman than Margaret March could ever be."
"And yet you loved her."
He returned her head to his shoulder, perhaps so she could not see his face, and tightened his arm around her. "I thought I did. She was a widow, grieving for the loss of her husband just a year earlier."
"She is young to be a widow."
"Her husband was much older, and in ill health. And wealthy." He sighed. "I thought she was the ideal woman. Decent, kind, soft-spoken, modest—"
"Yes,
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