The Matchmaker (14 page)

His methods were different from Adrian's, but the
result would be the same. One man controlled her mind
through pain and fear; the other sought to seduce her
mind by seducing her body. What she wanted counted for nothing.

"No, please," she whispered when his mouth left hers to feather over her upturned face.

"I want you so much, Julia," he said thickly. "And you
want me. You can't deny that."

She was shaking with the desire he'd brought to life in
her body and knew he felt it, knew she couldn't deny the painful truth. She couldn't force her arms to fall away from him, or struggle to free
herself
from his embrace.

So she clung to the only protest she could make, the only
fact that was indisputably real. "I'm married!"

Cyrus lifted his head and stared down at her, his gaze
fierce. "To a man who beats
you!
He might have married
you in a church, but he broke his vows to you and God a long time ago. You owe him nothing. Julia, no one
would blame you for leaving him."

"I can't."

"Come to me. I'll take care of you."

A chill trickled along her spine, and she finally found the will to put her hands against his chest and push herself back away from him. He let her withdraw only far
enough to put an arm's length between them, his hands
on her shoulders preventing her from completely escaping him.

"That's what Adrian said," she murmured.

For a moment Cyrus was so stunned by the comparison that his first emotion was sheer, incredulous rage.
How could she liken him to the sadistic monster she'd
married? Then he saw the blind look in her beautiful,
wounded eyes, and for the first time he had some real
understanding of how deep her scars went.

As far as Julia knew, he realized painfully, he was no
better or worse than Drummond. She might even
believe he was worse. His reputation as a rake certainly
was. She lived with a man who appeared in public as the
perfect husband, who had deceived everyone with his
boyish charm, and no one had even come close to
guessing her private torment. There was no gossip, no
hint that Drummond was anything but what he seemed
to be.

And the bastard had probably convinced her all men
were like he was, that a wife's lot in life was agony and
terrified silence. She was an innately proud woman and
had no close friends. Who could tell her differently even if she could bring herself to ask? She hadn't confided in Lissa, Cyrus was sure. The younger girl's unshadowed adoration of her brother-in-law was proof enough of that.

"I must go," Julia murmured, looking toward the
buggies with a slight frown.

For one of the very few times in his life Cyrus felt helpless. Trust had to be earned, and Julia's had been abused so dreadfully she might never be able to trust completely. Not trust a man, at any rate. He could make her feel desire, but the fear her husband had taught her was stronger.

His hands tightened gently on her shoulders, then
released her. He didn't say another word, because he
didn't trust himself to speak. He remained where he
was, watching her walk away from him and, moments later, drive the buggy along the rutted track to the main road. As she disappeared from his sight, the resolve in
his mind was cold, clear, and utterly implacable.

Julia was bound to Drummond legally and through fear. The only way to free her was to break those ties.

"Stupid bitch."
He slapped her viciously, his normally
handsome face twisted in a mask of rage. His voice was a chilling contrast to the enraged expression, because it
was unnaturally calm, even conversational. "I told you what to do. I told you."

Helen Bradshaw cowered against the wall, her doe-soft eyes huge and frightened. A trickle of blood ran from
the corner of her mouth. She was in shock. "I—I did what you said, I delivered the message to Julia." Her voice sounded high and thin to her own ears.

"Couldn't you have had sense enough to look for her if
she wasn't at the house?" he asked in that eerie tone. "I told you to make sure she received the message at nine o'clock—not at noon. She was too late, goddamn you. And it gave them another chance to be alone together."

"I'm sorry—"

He slapped her again, with his left hand this time. It was a flat blow with the full strength of his arm behind it,
and would have sent her to her knees if she hadn't been
wedged into a corner of the stable.

Helen held a hand to her bleeding mouth and stared
at him in growing terror. What had happened to the
lover who had brought her such pleasure last night—and
all the nights before? It had been a delicious secret, her
love affair with an older man. She hadn't told Lissa or any of her other friends, hugging to herself the knowledge of her own daring behavior.

It hadn't seemed wrong, even if she'd broken all the
rules. He'd sworn he would marry her, after all. And it
had been exciting, just as he'd promised, to slip away in
order to meet him clandestinely. Barely eighteen, she'd been a virgin, but he had been so loving and gentle that first time, teaching her the ecstasy her body could feel.
Teaching her so many exciting, pleasurable things.

It hadn't seemed wrong. But now she had a vivid mental image of herself lying in a smelly stable with her clothes half off while she moaned and panted beneath him and the taste of bile filled her mouth. Had she really
done that?
Had she let him— Dear God.
Her flesh was
crawling at the knowledge that he had done those
intimate things to her, touched and—and used her that
way.

It was as if she'd been blind until now. She suddenly had a dim, superstitious idea that he'd cast a spell over her. Now it was gone. Now she could see the grotesque darkness of what he really was.

"You ruined everything.
Witless cow.
I can't trust you
anymore, you understand?"

His eyes were empty, she realized.
Dead.
Why hadn't she seen before? "You can," she gasped, trying to press
herself
harder into the corner. As if that would help,
would protect her somehow. "You can trust me."

"You're a bad liar as well as stupid, Helen. That is your
name, isn't it? Helen? You can't wait to rush out of here
and tell someone about me, and we both know it. But
I'm afraid I can't let you do it."

"Please," she whispered, the appeal born out of an
instinctive certainty of what he meant to do.

"Oh, don't beg. It's so undignified. Besides, you
should be thanking me. I was generous enough to let you
enjoy yourself first. It's a pity that has to end, and I am sorry about it. You weren't bad at all, once you got the hang of it. There's just something about a sweet little virginal lady rolling around in the straw and bucking under me. Never met one yet who couldn't wait to hike her skirts and spread her legs, as ready for it as a cat in heat. You were no exception."

Helen nearly
gagged,
the taste of blood and revulsion
thick in her tongue. "Don't—"

"Don't what? Don't shatter all your pretty, romantic illusions?" He shook his head in mild puzzlement. "We
rutted in a barn, sweetheart. I dropped my pants, you
lifted your skirt, and we used each other."

"I loved you," she whispered, tears beginning to
trickle down her ashen cheeks. "I—I might even
be—
I
might have a baby." It was the only thing she could think
of that could possibly save her. But he shook his head
again, amused this time.

"Nice try. Believe me, if my seed were any good, I'd know by now. It isn't. I'm one of a kind. Or will be, soon enough."

She didn't understand him, except to know he was finished with her. Sobs jerked her slight body, and her
voice was terrified when she said, "Please... please
don't hurt me."

He tilted his head to one side, an empty little smile
quirking his lips.
"Your mouth's bleeding."

"It—it doesn't matter. I won't say anything, I prom
ise."

"Oh, you won't say anything." Still smiling, he
stepped closer, his hands rising to her pale throat. "You
won't say anything at all."

It was the longest, most severe heat wave anyone in
Richmond could remember, and as July drew to a close it showed no sign of being broken. The sun burned the
grass dry and brown, seared the midsummer flowers,
and dulled the leaves that hung limp and motionless from the trees. Heat bounced from the pavement to
shimmer in the air, so unbearable each afternoon, few
stirred out of doors unless they absolutely had to.

All the energy seemed to drain from the city until every living thing moved slowly, and tempers were worn
ragged by the heat. The sky was blindingly blue, day
after day, with not a wisp of a cloud to hint at rain. Even
the James River seemed to draw in on itself, receding
from its banks and slowing to a muddy crawl.

The social activities in Richmond more or less ground
to a halt.
No one wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder in
crowded rooms for any reason, and since the demand for
ice had seriously depleted the supply, socializing had
lost even the attraction of chilled drinks. Most preferred to remain in their relatively cool homes wearing the absolute minimum of clothing while they waited miser
ably for the weather to break.

Cyrus was one of the few who remained active in the heat. He allowed his work crew at the new house time off during the intolerable midday, but kept them busy in the early mornings and late afternoons. Surprising most
of his friends, he bought office space in the city and
began to handle his business affairs there rather than out of his house. Until he hired a couple of clerks who
seemed to be frantically active, not even his friends had
suspected he had so many business affairs.

"When did you buy a sugar cane plantation?" Noel
demanded as he stood in Cyrus's office on a Wednesday
afternoon in the first week of August. One of the clerks
had just left to file paperwork that had raised the subject.

"Last year." Cyrus was sitting at a huge oak desk, his coat off and sleeves rolled up as he dealt with more
paperwork. He didn't look at Noel as he asked dryly,
"Did you stop by to stick your nose into my business?"

Unoffended, Noel said, "No, I stopped by because you
have the coolest office in Richmond. I don't understand
it, since both the windows in here face the southwest,
but this is the most comfortable room I've found in the
city, even in the afternoons. Why is that,
Cy
?"

"I have no idea." Cyrus leaned back in his chair and
watched his friend move aimlessly around the room for a
moment, then said, "I meant to ask you earlier—have they found the Bradshaw girl yet?"

"No. That's a hell of a thing, isn't it? A pretty girl
from a good family steps
out one afternoon to run a few errands, and no one sees her again. If there'd been an
accident, she would have been found by now. The whole
city's been searched. The police believe someone's got her."

"Or had her," Cyrus said quietly.

Noel looked at him. "You think she's dead?"

Cyrus nodded.

"Dammit, so do
I
. What do we have police
for,
I'd like
to know, if not to prevent that kind of thing?"

"They do what they can.
But sometimes evil doesn't wear a recognizable face."

Noel gave him a sharp look,
then
frowned as he drifted restlessly around the room.

After a couple of minutes, Cyrus said, "You didn't
come here to talk about tragic news, my business affairs,
or the temperature of my office. What's on your mind?"

Noel settled finally in the visitor's chair before the
desk, and sighed. He sent his friend a curiously intent look. "I ran into Adam Prescott a little while ago. He wants to bring Drummond to the game tonight."

Cyrus didn't change expression. "So?"

"So, I thought you might want to know about it."

Lifting an eyebrow that was mildly questioning and nothing more, Cyrus waited.

Noel felt frustrated, and sounded it. "Dammit, Cy, I can't figure out what you're up to. Ever since their party, Drummond hasn't missed a chance to buttonhole you.
He's even come here half a dozen times."

"He wants my political support," Cyrus said calmly.

"He wants your money," Noel snapped.

"That too."

"You have no intention of supporting him, and we
both know it. You can't stand the man, no matter how well you pretend otherwise. So why are you stringing him along? From what I've seen, you hesitate and hedge
just enough to keep his hopes up. In fact, I'd say you
went out of your way to encourage him to believe you might back him politically, all the while being very careful not to commit yourself."

"It amuses me."