The Matchmaker (12 page)

Now, stifling her moans and whimpers, she moved with him the way he'd taught her, lifting and
undulating
her hips wildly as the unbearable pleasure carried her
along on a rising wave. She squealed when the wave peaked, her body stiffening for a long moment and then
going limp. Trembling and panting, she dazedly ac
cepted his quickening thrusts until, silent as always, he
went briefly rigid and then collapsed on her.

She wrapped her arms around as much of him as she
could with a blissful feeling of satisfaction and delicious wickedness as he breathed heavily into her neck. He was
so much larger. She scarcely could breathe under his
weight, but she loved the sensation of being pinned in
place by his body. She loved the way he made her feel.

It never occurred to her to think there was anything ugly or distasteful about being taken in a smelly stable with her clothing half off and her lover's trousers down around his knees. Months before, she wouldn't have
been able to imagine such a thing without a shudder of
horrified repugnance, but now it not only seemed
perfectly natural, it seemed delightful.

He lifted his head and then raised himself on his
elbows, smiling down at her. "Good?" he murmured.

"Ummm."
She sighed happily, her flushed and sweat
ing breasts glistening as they lifted and fell.

He put his hands on them, kneading slowly, and
pressed his loins into hers in tiny, subtle movements.
"I'll have you in a bed soon. You'll like that, won't you,
honey?"

"Oh, yes," she said throatily, her eyes drifting half
shut as her body responded to his skilled touch. She
forced herself to think. "You said it wouldn't be long.
You'll divorce your wife, and speak—speak to my par
ents. "

"Soon," he said, lowering his head briefly to tease her stiff nipples with his tongue. "Then we'll be together all the time." His movements against her and inside her
became more deliberate.

She moaned, tension filling her, and her thighs tightened around him convulsively. Rational thought scat
tered like leaves in the wind. "I love you," she
whispered, arching to thrust her breasts harder into his pleasure-giving hands.

"I love you too," he murmured, his narrowed gaze intent on her face as he built her arousal slowly and expertly, until she was writhing beneath him and utter
ing desperate little pleas. Then he went still, holding
himself deep inside her tense, quivering body. "I need
you to do something for me.
Something important.
Will you, honey?"

"Yes," she
gasped,
her eyes glazed and wild. "Yes,
anything.
..
oh, please!"

"I'll tell you what I want you to do before you leave,"
he said in his soft, seductive voice. "And you'll do exactly
what I say, without questions, and without telling any
one. Won't you, baby?"

"Yes! I will, I promise. Please.
.."

He broke the grip of her legs and withdrew from her, ignoring her whimper of protest. Before she knew what
was happening, he had lifted and turned her, his im
mense strength handling her slight body easily.

"Oh! What are you—
"

"You'll like this, honey," he promised softly, pushing
her skirt and petticoat up over her back.

She might have protested again because this, at least,
was deeply shocking to her young mind, but his hard
flesh sank into her feverish body and his hands were on
her aching breasts—and she did like it.

On her hands and knees with the hay caught in her
tangled hair and clinging to her damp skin, she whim
pered and rocked back to meet his hard thrusts, and
never noticed the smell of corruption mingling with the
scents of hay and sweat and horses and manure.

A few days after the party, Julia drove her buggy out of
the city. As soon as she was clear of the more congested
streets, she anxiously urged the horse to a trot. The
message from Helen Bradshaw, a friend of Lissa's, had
been waiting for Julia when she'd returned to the house
at noon, and it had sounded urgent. Unfortunately, it
had been delivered in the morning, hours before. Julia
had been held up longer than she'd expected, first
because of the crowded shops and later because of an
accident in the streets that had snarled traffic for over an hour.

She kept the horse at a brisk pace, mentally apologiz
ing to the poor animal for forcing him to exert himself in
the building heat of the day. But most of her attention was fixed on recognizing landmarks as she left the city behind. She felt a touch of relief when she saw a
tumbledown barn off to the right, and looked immedi
ately to her left for the road turning between two giant
oak trees.

No more than a hundred yards from the barn she slowed her horse and turned him onto the road. The ruts cut deeply into the dirt as if heavy wagons had frequently come this way. It was impossible to see much for
a few yards, but then she saw a clearing ahead where a large house was under construction. The place seemed
deserted, but she saw a buggy under one of the big
trees, and guided her own horse toward it.

Now she felt puzzled as well as anxious. Lissa had left
this morning with several of her friends, planning to
spend the day with another friend who had recently
given birth to her first child. But didn't she live on the
other side of Richmond? Why would Lissa be far from
the city where there was nothing but a newly begun
house?

"Julia?"

She stopped her horse, her head jerking around in response to a voice she recognized instantly. He was coming toward her, moving with the ease of muscles under unthinking control, like a big cat, and it was more than surprise that kept her eyes fixed on him. He wasn't
wearing a hat or coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up
to reveal powerful forearms. His tie had been loosened
and several buttons were unfastened at his throat; the first curls of the black hair on his chest were visible.

Julia's mouth went dry as he stopped beside the
buggy, and she wished he weren't so tall, wished she didn't have the feeling they were very, very alone out here.

"What's wrong, Julia?" Cyrus asked, lifting one hand
to rest on the back of her seat. As always, and even
though his voice was the familiar black velvet, he spoke
to her a little abruptly, direct and to the point.

She forced herself to think. "I—I received a message that Lissa was here and needed me."

He frowned slightly.
"A written message?"

"No. It—my butler said a young lady delivered the message a few hours ago.
A friend of Lissa's.
She said that Lissa was ill, and was waiting for me here with
another of her friends."

"I haven't seen her," Cyrus said, shaking his head. "And I've been here since early this morning."

Julia bit her lip and shifted the reins so that she could
begin to turn her horse. "There must have been a
mistake. I have to return to Richmond."

He reached out and grasped her hand. "Wait."

A flare of panic made her stiffen. "No. I have to—"

"Julia." His voice was quiet and steady. "Your horse I needs to rest a bit before you start back to the city. So do
you. This is the hottest part of the day; if you don't wait
for at least an hour or two, you'll make yourself ill."

"I can't stay here," she said, the very idea sending a pang of dismay through her.

Cyrus took the reins away from her, knotted them
loosely, and then put his hands on her tiny waist and
lifted her easily out of the buggy. "Yes, you can."

She was so startled by the abrupt action that for a
moment she could only stare at him.

"No one will know," he said, wondering almost angrily
how many times he'd said those words to her; every time
he said them they seemed more and more wrong to him.

"But—"

"My workmen are gone for the day and I'm not
expecting anyone else." He hesitated,
then
reluctantly
dropped his hands from her waist. He wanted to pull her
into his arms and kiss her with all the hunger that had
surged wildly inside him at the first touch of her, but he couldn't. Not now, at least, not until he found some way
to avoid hurting her.

For the first time in his life, he was wishing another
man dead, and it was an effort to keep the grinding
emotion out of his voice. "You don't have to worry about
Drummond; he's halfway to Norfolk by now."

"Norfolk?" Julia watched him get the tether block from
the buggy and tie her horse. She felt bewildered. "How
do you know he's going there?"

"He and some friends of his stopped by here hours ago, and that's where they were headed. Didn't you
know?"

She didn't. It was so like Adrian, she thought, to say nothing to her about a day-long trip; he preferred her to believe he was always near.

Cyrus took her arm and led her away from the
buggies. He had been sitting among the clutter of lumber, brooding, when she'd driven up, and now
guided her there. It was hardly cool even under the spreading oak, but at least the force of the sunlight was
deflected and the lumber provided a place for her to sit.
He folded his coat to make a cushion for her.

"I can't—"

"Sit down, Julia."

She sent him a glance and obeyed, saying only, "Your
coat will be ruined."

"It isn't important." He reached into a bucket on
another stack of lumber near Julia and pulled out a dark bottle. "Most of the ice has melted," he commented, "but this should still be fairly cool." He opened it and
handed the bottle to her.

"Thank you," she murmured. It was fruit juice, and it
was cool. She drank a little, feeling tense. They were too
alone out here. And he was frowning, obviously not
happy with his thoughts. Had she made him angry?
Hesitantly, she said, "I'm sorry if I intruded."

He looked at her, and the frown faded as he smiled.
"You could never do that." He was leaning back against the lumber no more than a couple of feet away from her,
his arms crossed over his powerful chest, and his gaze
was very intent on her.

She couldn't guess what he was thinking. Those
eyes... they were so relentlessly black, they gave
away very little of his emotions. Desire kindled a dark fire in them, amusement made them laugh, and anger made them fierce, but whatever else he felt remained enigmatic, hidden in the liquid ebony depths.
At least
with her.

Julia was even more conscious of the heat when he looked at her, more conscious of him, and she glanced
away nervously. "I suppose Helen must have given the wrong directions, or my butler could have misrememb
ered them. I really should try to find Lissa."

"She's with friends, you said. They'll take care of her."
His tone was reassuring.

"Yes, but, if she sent for me.
.."

Cyrus wondered if she had, but didn't question aloud. He had a strong and strangely painful feeling Julia would never be able to confirm that Lissa's friend had sent any
message at all. But he couldn't tell her so. Julia was
already disturbed; he didn't like to think of how she'd
react if he told her he thought she'd been deliberately
sent out here. If she had received the message when it had been delivered, she would have arrived just about
the same time Drummond had stopped by—and even the most indulgent of husbands might be forgiven a
twinge of suspicion when his wife turned up in this out
of the way place with an excuse that couldn't be proven.

Especially when the place was a lonely construction
site where a reputed scoundrel was building a house.

He wondered who could be suspecting she was unfaithful to Drummond or wanting it to look that way. It
had to be someone who would have known Drummond meant to pass this way today, and when. Any number of
people might have been aware of the information, he supposed. Except for Julia, who had been surprised at the
knowledge.

"Lissa will be fine, Julia," he said at last.

"You can't know that."

"Yes, I can," he said absently, occupied with his
thoughts. And he didn't like any of them. If someone had
gone to all the trouble to arrange this, the malicious intent was obvious. Had that person meant to hurt Julia,
or simply to take the carelessly arrogant Drummond
down a peg or two by planting the idea his young wife
could betray him? He was certainly rabid on the subject of unfaithful wives or, at least, children sired by lovers instead of husbands.

Julia felt peculiarly reassured, though she couldn't have said why. Searching for a casual subject to discuss,
she said finally, "You're building a new house?"