The Matchmaker (28 page)

"I'm looking for connections," Cyrus told him. "Who
ever he is, my enemy is close by, and whatever his evil
is, I can't see it. He knew Drummond well, and he
knows me. Anything you can tell me could help."

Julia was alone in the blue parlor, studying the newspa
per Felice had left. She frowned. The paper carried a
photograph taken a month or two before, after the
election of the new city council. The nine members were
in a stiffly posed group with Adrian in the center. Julia
had seen it before, but hadn't studied it until now.

There was something disturbing about it, but she
couldn't quite pinpoint the reason. She knew all the men
in the photo at least by name; they were all part of the
social group to which she belonged. Her eyes went from
one face to another, finally resting on the man at Adrian's right.

His eyes... She felt a curious chill. Odd she'd
never noticed that about his eyes before, and she had
seen him countless times during the last years.
A trick of the camera, perhaps?

She was trying to decide why it bothered her so much
when her sister walked into the room.

"Stork says Cyrus is in his study with Mr. Rushton," Lissa said without preamble. "Isn't he Adrian's attor
ney?"

Looking up from the paper, Julia nodded. "And
Cyrus's as well. I believe he represents most of the
prominent men in Richmond. Why?"

"I was just wondering." Lissa hesitated,
then
sat down beside her sister on the settee. "Monica came to call, and
we walked in the garden. You've been with Mrs. Stan-
ton, haven't you?"

"Yes, she left only a few moments ago."

"She is nice, isn't she?" Lissa asked, eager to have her own opinion confirmed.

Julia smiled, conscious of the feelings her -visitor had
inspired in her. The sadness, anger, and relief of know
ing she wasn't alone in what she'd suffered.
The comfort
of understanding and support.
And the seeds of hope.
"Yes, she's nice. She's very nice."

"I knew you'd think so." Lissa hesitated again, eyeing
her sister,
then
said, "Monica told me what people are
saying, Julia. Actually, it isn't too bad. They're shocked Adrian went berserk the way he did, of course, and they're surprised we're here. But it's rather strange.
Monica says quite a few people have spoken up against
Adrian. She—she knew, Julia. That he'd been hurting
you. She says it was probably the servants who put the word out, and apparently they did it to defend you."

More surprised than appalled, Julia stared at her
sister. The Drummond servants had always seemed
distant to her; but perhaps they had feared Adrian as
much as she had? Once he was dead, they might have
freely condemned him. Or had they truly meant to
support her? How many other people had she underestimated?
she
wondered dimly.

"Julia? Do you mind terribly? Monica told me people
are saying Cyrus is in love with you, and there aren't
many of them spreading ugly gossip about it."

Conjuring a faint smile, Julia said, "I can't say it's a pleasant feeling to have my private life on public display.
But I'll survive it, Lissa."

"You are going to marry Cyrus, aren't you?"

"Of course she is," Cyrus said, coming into the room and smiling at them both. "Lissa, Mark Tryon's just called to see you. I've put him in my study."

Lissa's hand went to her bruised cheek, and she was
obviously both pleased and anxious. "Oh, dear, and I
look—"

"You look very pretty. Go and see the young man before he paces a hole in my rug."

She smiled at Cyrus as she rose, leaving the room with
no further hesitation, and when she'd gone, Julia said, "You handle her very well."

Cyrus sat down beside her, his smile turning a bit
sheepish. "I've always been partial to girls."

"So I've heard," she responded with only a touch of dryness.

His smile remained, but his eyes were very intent on her face. "I can't go back and change the way I've lived my life, sweetheart. I don't regret any of my choices-— except the one that took me away from Richmond four years ago."

Julia was a little surprised.
"Why that one?"

Lightly, he said, "If I'd been here when you came out,
you never would have married Drummond."

"You're very sure of yourself," she murmured, but she
was smiling faintly.

He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek for a moment,
then leaned over and kissed her. It was a slow, warm,
intimate kiss, deepening into a hunger so intense it
awoke
her own
burning desire. She was trembling when
he lifted his head, and looked at him with dazed eyes.
He was still touching her, his fingers gentle as they
rested on her neck, and his thumb brushed her throb
bing bottom lip in a rhythmic caress. She had uncon
sciously grasped his wrist, and now became aware of the
steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips.

"I'm sure of what we have," he said huskily. "I'm sure we belong together." Then he smiled. "You are going to
marry me next week, aren't you, love?"

"I think I am," she said, somewhat awed by her own
ready response.

Since Stork coughed politely in the doorway just then to announce supper was ready, Julia said no more. But it
was enough. Cyrus kissed her again, reining the desire
this time, and his black eyes were alight when he rose to his feet and helped her up. She was grateful for the help; she felt more than a little shaken.

It wasn't until hours later, when she walked beside him up the stairs and into the lamplit bedroom they shared, that a sudden wave of panic swept over her.
What was she doing? Marriage was enslavement, a
prison sentence; no matter what anyone said, she knew
it was true. She couldn't marry Cyrus, the risk was too great. She couldn't marry anyone, not again—

"Julia." He surrounded her face with his big hands,
making her look at him. "Don't, sweetheart. Don't be afraid." His voice was low and achingly tender.

"I can't marry you," she whispered, foreboding clawing at her even though she struggled against it.

"Yes, you can," he said, his gaze very steady. "I love you, Julia. I swear to God I'll do everything I can to make you happy."

The panic was still inside her, but as she looked into his eyes she knew the emotion couldn't hold against his
determination. Neither could she. And when he bent his
head to cover her mouth with his own, the heat of desire
he'd kindled in her hours before with another kiss flared
so strongly it overwhelmed her.

Her body hadn't forgotten what he had taught it to feel. Her body remembered the incredible delight of
belonging to him.

Last night she had been aware of exhaustion and a
kind of numb peace, not even realizing she could never have slept in his arms if some part of her hadn't trusted him. Tonight what she felt was a yearning so intense, nothing else mattered. Her response to his passion was
almost wild, so frantic she would have been embarrassed
if she'd been given a moment to think about it.

Cyrus didn't give her a moment. His mouth on hers
was hard with hunger, his fingers swift and sure as he
unfastened her dress and pushed it off her shoulders. Her petticoat dropped in a pool of material around her
feet, and she was only vaguely aware of her own actions
when she fumbled with his tie and vest buttons. All of
her—body and soul—was filled with him, his taste, the
heady male scent of him,
the
hot intensity of his desire.

Looking back later, she didn't remember much of
those moments except for the driven urgency inside her.
Clothing was left in jumbled confusion on the floor, and
when he carried her naked to the bed she wasn't
thinking of anything but her need for him. His lean face
was taut, eyes burning with the black fire that never
failed to push
her own
passion even higher.

He didn't put out the lamp, and she was glad. The way
he looked at her made her feel far more beautiful and
desirable than she'd ever imagined she could feel. He was different this time; his need seemed greater, or perhaps because she wasn't nervous, frightened, or
confused he merely felt able to express that need
without holding himself back in any way. His hands
trembled as they touched her body, and his own pow
erful form was hard and filled with fever.

The same fire was consuming Julia. She held his head,
whimpering, when his mouth caressed her breasts, her
body shaking as the incredible pleasure seared her
senses. She couldn't breathe, couldn't be still, because the spiraling tension was becoming unbearable. When
his hand slipped down over her stomach, her legs parted
eagerly for him, and a ragged moan caught in her throat.

"So beautiful," he said thickly against her breasts,
teasing her stiff nipples with his tongue as his fingers
gently probed the soft, damp folds of her sex. "So warm
and sweet... my sweet Julia.
..
I love you so
much.
.."

Already, the taut, building pleasure was a torment
that seemed to be burning her alive. Her hips rose to his
touch, and her fingernails bit into his shoulders as
another moan tore free of her. Her body knew what it
wanted, and the need was a fierce, primitive demand, a
desperate necessity. She couldn't plead with him be
cause the words wouldn't emerge from her tight throat.
All she could do when he lifted his head to look down at
her was plead with her eyes and pull mutely at his
shoulders.

Cyrus covered her mouth with his, kissing her so
deeply she felt bombarded by the intensity of his
passion. Her thighs cradled him eagerly as he slipped
between them, and through her half-closed eyes she
stared into his black ones as her body accepted his slow penetration.

She made a little sound. Her total awareness focused
on the burning invasion. It was almost painful, still a
shock to her body, but great shudders of pure pleasure
rippled through her as her tight passage stretched to admit him. She didn't realize she was kissing him
frantically, gripping him with her arms and legs as well as her pulsing inner flesh, and when his weight settled
fully onto her, she didn't hear the guttural moan of satisfaction that came from somewhere deep inside her.

Cyrus lifted his head to look down at her, an almost
savage expression of pleasure on his hard face, his
night-black eyes luminous, and his incredible voice was
low and raspy when he said, "God, you feel so good, love." His arms slipped under her shoulders, he moved slightly, pressing deeper inside her, and a sound like a
growl escaped him. He moved again, every rigid muscle quivering with the strain of holding himself to the slow, lingering thrusts.

Julia could feel him, feel the throbbing fullness her
body held so tightly, and the tension was building,
coiling in her until it was maddening. The prolonged
retreat and return of his manhood was a blissful, searing
pleasure she could hardly bear. Dimly, she thought
there had to be a point when pleasure was simply too
intense, and she thought she'd reached that tormenting
moment, but he pushed her past it.

There was only sensation.
The hot, slippery friction of
him moving inside her.
The way the powerful, quivering
muscles of his back and shoulders and the sweat-
dampened slickness of his skin felt beneath her fingers.
The rasp of his hairy chest over her aching breasts, and
the smooth hardness of his hips between her thighs.
The sound of harsh breathing, hers and his.
The musky,
drugging scents of their heated bodies.

Julia bore the wild, exquisite lovemaking as long as she could, but she broke before he did. Her body surged beneath him, demanding an end to the magnificent
torture, and a whimper of intolerable need was
wrenched from her throat. An answering sound rumbled from Cyrus's chest and his thrusts immediately quickened. She matched his rhythm perfectly, taking him as
surely as he took her and insisting on a woman's ultimate
satisfaction.

When it finally came, the release was so devastating it
flung her into a storm of sensation. She cried out, her
body going taut and then convulsing as wave after wave
of pleasure swept over her. The internal spasms of her
climax held him deeply inside her, caressing him, and he
groaned harshly as the soft inner contractions spurred
his own shattering culmination. Shuddering violently in
unbelievable ecstasy, he poured himself into her.