The Matchmaker (29 page)

The storm of the day before had broken the heat wave, but it was still August and the humid, heavy warmth of
the afternoon lingered in the quiet bedroom even
though it was late. Julia was aware of that, aware their bodies were damp with sweat, but she was too utterly
drained to think much about it. She murmured a protest
when he withdrew from her, but couldn't manage to
open her eyes until he lifted her off the bed and into his
arms.

He kissed her, which distracted her from the question of where he was taking her, and the next thing she knew
she was being lowered into wonderfully cool water. One
of the maids had apparently readied the bathwater
before they'd come upstairs, though she hadn't noticed
the light on in the room. The tub was large, which was
a good thing; he never could have joined her in a smaller
one.

She looked at him bemusedly in the bright light of the
bathroom, and said the first thing she could think of.
"We're getting water on- the floor." She was vaguely grateful her hair was still up.

Cyrus eyed the small waves lapping over the rim of
the tub and shrugged. "I'll have to remember," he murmured.
"A bigger tub for the new house."

"Is this decent?" she asked, grappling with a dim idea that it wasn't.

He leaned over to kiss her, his wet hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders. "Of course it is, love." Then his smile faded a little, and his eyes grew intent. "If you don't want me to join you like this—"

"No." She felt the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks, which was, she told herself, absurd. "No, I—I like it. I
think.' She had yet to feel at all shy or self-conscious with him, which surprised her. And she didn't feel
humiliated the way she had whenever Adrian had looked
at her naked.

"Good." He kissed her again,
then
reached for soap
and a washcloth. "I want to take care of you, sweetheart.
Will you let me?"

Julia could only nod a wordless acceptance, still bemused by him and by
herself
. It seemed there was
much more to intimacy with a man than she'd known or
even suspected, and this new experience was both
strange and very pleasurable. He handled her body with
a gentle, familiar touch, kissing her often in a teasing
way that made her smile at him. He clearly enjoyed
touching her, yet he was also matter-of-fact with the
mechanics of bathing so she wasn't made to feel at all
self-conscious.

She even returned the favor, a bit timid at first but
encouraged by his pleased smile. She hadn't caressed
him when he made love to her, mostly because her own
emotions and sensations had overwhelmed her, and
now, for the first time, she became aware of a need to
touch him. She loved the way his hard body felt under
her soapy hands, and when she realized he was becom
ing aroused, the knowledge sent a dart of pleasure
through her.

"I can't seem to get enough of you, my sweet," Cyrus
murmured, a familiar heat kindling in his black eyes. He
drew her closer in the tub and kissed her, his hands
stroking her body with none of the earlier matter-of-
factness. And her body certainly understood the difference.

She was still touching him, slowly exploring both
above and below the water's surface, her desire building so quickly that she was only mildly surprised when she
realized—

"Here?"

"Here," he replied huskily.

He saw her naked back for the first time that night. It was after he'd pulled himself from the tub reluctantly
and wrapped a towel around his lean middle, then held
another open for her.

"Come on out, sweetheart."

She had forgotten her scars and did not worry about
rising naked from the water or stepping out of the
tub—only wondering if her trembling legs would hold
her up. She'd never felt so blissfully spent, and stood a
bit dazedly as he gently dried her. It wasn't until he
began to turn her that she stiffened.

He went still and waited, looking gravely into her
eyes. She wanted to refuse him, but couldn't somehow.
After a long moment she slowly turned her back to him, unconsciously bowing her head. There was only a brief
pause before he began moving the thick towel gently over her back, and he didn't say a word.

After the way it had hit him so hard to see only part of
her scars, Cyrus had braced himself to see all of them.
But there was no way, he acknowledged now, to be even
remotely prepared for the evidence of such cruelty. No way to look at what had been done to her and not feel
intolerable rage and agony tearing him apart.

Adrian had chosen her back as his target, and that terrifyingly fragile, delicate area from the nape of her
neck to her waist bore the atrocious brand of his insane
rage. The broader welts of a strap were only faint marks,
healed now; more awful were the thin white scars of some kind of whip, crisscrossing her back, and the tiny pale crescents that were the wounds of a ring or buckle. There were so many.

Cyrus dried her gently, then wrapped the big towel around her and drew her back against his body, holding her. "My poor darling," he murmured. "What you've
suffered... I'm so sorry, love. No wonder you've
been so afraid."

A little shudder went through her, and Julia let her
head fall back against his shoulder as she relaxed in his embrace. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered, realizing it was true, realizing she trusted him. Some part of her, she thought, had always trusted him. "I know you won't hurt me."

His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her shoulder. "Never," he promised in a low voice.

They stood silently for a time, the closeness creating
an aura of peace and contentment. When they did move,
it was slowly, and they were still silent. Cyrus took her
hair down and brushed it for her. He let the water out of
the tub and turned off the lights while she went into the
bedroom, and when he rejoined her she was waiting for
him, naked under the sheet.

He turned out the lamp on the nightstand and slid into
bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. She cuddled
close with a little sigh, so weary that giving in to the
need for sleep was like tumbling into a well of warm
darkness.
Her
only clear thought before that pleasant
state claimed her was a wistful yearning. She wished she
could love him.

Cyrus slept deeply as well, but only for a few hours. It
was before dawn when he woke abruptly, something pulling at him. He got out of bed, careful not to wake Julia, and crossed the dark room to one of the windows.
This room was at the front of the house, facing the street, and in the predawn hours all was dark and silent outside.
The night was still, warm, humid.

It took him a few moments to realize his eyes were
intently probing the darkness, and when he did, he had no idea what he was looking for. A threat, he thought.
Danger.
But he saw nothing except the normal shadows
of night.

There were two Pinkerton men in his house playing the roles of footmen while they watched over Julia and
Lissa; two more shared the task of keeping guard
outside; yet another investigator was working to find the
answers—and the evidence—Cyrus needed to identify
his enemy. He should have felt some sense of security, of
safety for those he loved, because he had taken every possible precaution. Instead, his strongest certainty was
that whatever was meant to happen would.

There were things he could change. He knew it, had
known it for a long time now. But his own future was set, marked in a pattern he could see only vaguely and had
little hope of altering. The next few months would be
critical,
he felt it with everything inside him.

And he felt, for the first time, a kind of loneliness. He
had said to his old friend and attorney that he couldn't be
complete without Julia; he wasn't complete, and he'd never been so aware of the empty place inside him. She had given him her body, and, astonishingly, she had
given him her trust, but unless and until she gave him
her love, he'd never be whole.

"Cyrus?"
Her voice, soft and drowsy.

He turned away from the window and the nebulous danger he felt out there, and went back to her. She made a sound of contentment when he rejoined her and drew her into his arms, her delicate body utterly relaxed. She was already deeply asleep again, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He held her close, one hand stroking her
back gently. He could feel the scars.

Adrian might be roasting in hell, but Cyrus knew
there was another man just as guilty of sick cruelty, just as responsible for hurting Julia—and he was still walking
around alive. He was worse than Adrian had been, not so
much demented as evil. Cyrus could almost feel the
darkness,
almost smell the rotten odor of corruption. But
what disturbed him most of all, what had begun to torment him, was the growing conviction that there was some deep connection, some bond, between him and his enemy.

He held Julia in his arms and stared into the darkness
of night. He didn't sleep again for a long time.

Adrian Drummond was buried on Sunday with surpris
ingly little fanfare. The mayor of Richmond was laid to
rest in the cemetery of his family's church with few well-wishers in attendance to bid him good-bye. Report
ers far outnumbered the mourners, and though his
fellow councilmen showed up, they had clearly agreed
among themselves to betray no emotion and make no
comments to the press. They were successful on both
counts.

Neither the widow, her sister, nor Cyrus Fortune
attended the funeral.

The evening edition of the city's newspapers con
tained numerous articles running the gamut from a rancorous interview with an ex-employee to a summary of Drummond's will—which had been read, in private, to those his attorney summoned to hear the details. The story concerning the will was a definite spur to gossip, especially since it accurately stated that Drummond's widow and sister-in-law inherited nothing. Drummond, it seemed, chose to leave his money to his political party.

That information wasn't news to Cyrus, and since Julia
wanted nothing at all from her late husband, it suited her
perfectly, but it gave the people of Richmond something
else to talk about. Those outside the social circle the Drummonds had occupied talked the loudest; those who
had known the couple, or thought they had, were more
quiet and thoughtful.

On the following Friday afternoon Julia Drummond married Cyrus Fortune in a private ceremony in the neighborhood church. The bride was attended by her sister, the groom by his best friend, Noel Stanton, and
the only guests were Felice Stanton and Mark Tryon.

The newspapers, uncharacteristically subdued, ran
simple announcements followed by the information that
the newlywed couple had chosen to postpone a honey
moon trip.

The people of Richmond shook their heads, but since
rumors had been flying thick and fast from the day of
Drummond's death, no one knew what to think. Most
settled down to await developments, puzzled and curious—and unusually reluctant to judge.

"But Cyrus, I don't need a footman." Julia kept her voice
low, partly because the stalwart young man in question
was only a few feet away, waiting by the door to
accompany her. She was venturing out alone for the first
time since Adrian's death and less than a week since her
quiet marriage. It had taken her this long to get up the
nerve to show her face in public without the comfort of
Cyrus's presence. They had walked in the park a few times, and he'd taken her to the new house more than
once, but since they hadn't encountered anyone they
knew during those outings Julia's courage hadn't been
put to the test.

She thought it was time. Lissa was out with friends, Cyrus had an appointment at his office in the city, and she needed to do some shopping. He had arranged
accounts for her and Lissa at a number of shops as well
as providing extremely generous allowances for both of
them.

He seemed reluctant to have her go out alone. He
betrayed his feelings by a subtle, almost imperceptible
tightening of his handsome features, but Julia knew him
better now and she caught the fleeting expression.

"Humor me," he said lightly, smiling down at her. "Take Nelson along with you."

Julia drew on her gloves, a twinge of unease disturbing the peace she'd found these last days. "Why?" she asked finally. "Because of what happened to Helen? Is that why you've hired a footman to stay with Lissa and a footman to stay with me?"