The Matchmaker (3 page)

Julia leaned back cautiously, wincing slightly as she did her best to relax in the chair. As uncomfortable as it
was for her to be at the dance, she didn't look forward to
going home.
Home.
The big, impressive house with its multitude of rooms and corridors and its quiet, efficient servants.
It was a cold place even, impossibly, in sum
mer. Or maybe, Julia thought tiredly, it just seemed so
to her.

"Hello."

She stiffened, recognizing the voice even though she'd
never heard it, because it matched the nakedly sensual warmth of black eyes. Slowly, she turned her head, recapturing her aloof mask with the ease of long and constant practice. She watched him stroll across the
room, his size and lazy
grace making her feel
a panicky,
threatened sensation. He sat down in the chair on the other side of the table and looked at her with that bold
stare, and she felt suddenly exposed.
Vulnerable.

With all the coldness she could muster, she said, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

His well-shaped mouth curved in a smile. "No, but
then, we know who we are, don't we? I'm Cyrus
Fortune, and you're Julia Drummond." The words were terse to the point of rudeness, his manner was definitely arrogant—but the voice was elegant black velvet.

Julia began to understand Anne's warning about the need for a chastity belt. She would have sworn she was
the last woman in Richmond who could have felt any
temptation to break her marriage vows, but that voice affected her like nothing ever had. In her mind was a strangely vivid little image of the way a cat arched its back when it was stroked, in an instinctive ripple of unthinking pleasure, and she wondered dimly if the
sound of her racing heart was anything like a purr.

"I've been watching you tonight," he said. "But you
know that. Do you know I've been watching you for
days?"

That was a shock, but one she endured silently. She had to stop this before... before it was too late. Her own thoughts were scattered, panicked, and she didn't
know why or how he could affect her like this. She drew
a deep breath; it felt as if she hadn't breathed at all until then. "Mr. Fortune—"

"Cyrus." It was less a request than a command.

Julia ignored it. "Mr. Fortune, I'm a married
woman—"

"Drummond must have robbed the cradle to get you,"
Fortune said "abruptly, cutting her off without civility
. "
Somebody said you'd been married for two years, but
you can't be a day over eighteen."

Oddly enough, Julia knew she couldn't accuse him of
trying to flatter her; she had a strong conviction that
Cyrus Fortune was too blunt a man to waste time with
insincere compliments—even to get a woman into his
bed. He wouldn't need to resort to such tricks, she
admitted to herself silently, and was appalled at the
realization.

Holding her voice even, she said, "I'm twenty-one,
Mr. Fortune. And I am very married."

His mouth quirked again in that mocking little smile.
"Not tempted to stray? Drummond can't be such a good
lover; the man's heavy-handed with his horses."

The sheer effrontery of that remark made Julia gasp. Her own nature was toward frankness—or it had been,
before her marriage—and she was hardly a prude, but
for any man to speak to a woman in such a way went
beyond the bounds of good taste and decency. But
before she could gather her wits, he was going on, and if she'd thought he had gone as far as possible already, she
was in for another shock.

"Drummond isn't making you happy, and we both know it, Julia. You're frozen inside; I can see it. You
were never meant to be that way. Red hair is a badge of
passion, and yours is like fire. I've never seen hair so red
or eyes so wildly green. Or such an erotic mouth, like a
lush flower. You have a magnificent body, a body made
for pleasure. Even those dull colors and fabrics you wear can't hide your wonderful form. And you move with such grace, as if you hear music."

"Don't—" she got out in a strangled gasp, but he went on in his black velvet voice that made even the repre
hensible words a sensual caress.

"Drummond wouldn't know what to do with a woman
like you. I'm sure of it. He can't appreciate the fire in
you. He probably takes you in the dark with your nightgown pulled up and thinks of nothing but his own
pleasure. Does he apologize when he turns to you with his carnal appetites, Julia? Does he make it a hurried,
shameful act instead of something joyful?" Fortune
uttered a low laugh that was derisive. "Gentlemen like
Drummond believe there are only two kinds of women: ladies and whores—and only whores enjoy bedding
men. So the gentlemen marry ladies and fumble in the dark to breed. Is that all you want? To be a brood mare
and never feel the hot pleasure of real passion?"

He laughed again, his eyes blacker than anything
she'd ever seen, and filled with a heat that burned her.
"I'm no gentleman, Julia. I don't want a lady or a whore
in my bed—just a woman.
A beautiful woman.
I won't
apologize for wanting her and I'll look at her naked in the
light because God meant for a woman to be seen by a
man.
And touched by a man."

She wasn't conscious of moving until she was halfway across the room, her heart thudding,
the
smothering sensation of panic overwhelming her. She didn't go to
the door that led back to the ballroom but another one,
and she had no idea where it would take her. It didn't matter.
Anywhere.
Anywhere as long as she could
escape him.

"Julia."

That voice. It tugged at her—and the realization she could scarcely resist terrified her. Her hand on the door handle, she half turned to stare at him. He had risen to his feet, but didn't move toward her. He was smiling
almost gently.

"I want you. I want you in my bed."

"No." It didn't come from morals or consciousness of
her marriage vows, or anything else of which society
would have approved. It didn't come from a lack of
attraction, shocking though that was to her; she felt the
attraction, the strange, irresistible pulling at all her
senses. The denial came from deep inside her, without thought, spurred by instinct.

"I can make you happy," he said.

"You can destroy me," she heard herself whisper. Then she wrenched the door open and fled, as if from a devil.

She found herself in a corridor, turning blindly, then again into a shorter hallway, ending up finally in a small
sitting room. It was deserted. Julia closed the door
behind her and locked it with shaking fingers. She didn't realize she was pacing until her wildly swinging skirt caught the leg of a delicate table, causing the vase on it to rock precariously.

Standing perfectly still now, her hands on the vase,
she was conscious of her heart thudding and her breath
coming in jerky gasps. She felt... shattered. Adrian had never been able to do that to her, no matter how
he'd tried. She'd discovered a way to escape him, a way
to preserve
herself
. In the first months with him, she had found a place inside herself that was quiet and safe,
and when it became unbearable, she always went there.
Where he couldn't reach her.
Where she felt nothing.

She understood, if only vaguely, why that place was
inaccessible to her now. Cyrus Fortune hadn't touched her, hadn't threatened her with harm; what he had said, though certainly incredibly indecent, had not been an
attack. She knew she was afraid of him, and yet—it wasn't a simple fear, and escape wasn't possible.

Fortune would hardly force himself on her, Julia
reassured herself, but her fear didn't ease. What he
intended, she knew, had been plainly stated and was beyond question.
Seduction.
His own relentless, insidious, dreadfully effective brand of seduction.
He had decided he wanted her, and she had the curious certainty he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He meant to add her name to his list of conquests.

What shocked her so deeply was that he could have any effect on her at all in an erotic sense.
That any man
could.
But she had felt it. His frank sensuality, bold
eyes, and disgracefully forthright words had penetrated her mask, settling in her body like glowing embers and evoking a heat she'd never felt before. It was something she didn't know how to fight.

Slowly, she turned toward the door. Her heartbeat
had steadied, and her breathing. She was calm again. A
few more weeks, she thought, and Lissa would return to school. Adrian was always more careful when Lissa was
in the house. All Julia had to do was to avoid any chance of meeting Cyrus Fortune alone, and try her best to limit
the possibilities of attending the same social functions.
She had to stay out of his
way, that
was all.

She made her way back to the ballroom and slipped up beside Lissa at the refreshment table, where a number of young men had congregated. That wasn't surprising;
Lissa was very pretty.

"There you are," she said cheerfully to Julia. "I was
beginning to worry that you—" She broke off to look
searchingly at her sister's face. "Julia, you're still pale. Do you feel all right?"

"A little tired."
She could feel his eyes on her again,
and had to fight not to look across the room. "I'll be fine,
don't worry. Some of the guests are beginning to leave;
we should be able to go in another hour or so. Why don't
you go and have a few dances."

"Are you sure? I can stay here and help."

"No, go ahead." Smiling, Julia kept her gaze on her sister as Lissa chose a partner and whirled away in his arms. Lissa would be eighteen soon; the upcoming year
was her last in school unless she chose to go on to
college. Adrian was encouraging her to do that; if she
didn't continue in school, she was likely to marry quickly
and leave the Drummond household for good.

Julia wanted her sister married. She believed that
Lissa wasn't ambitious enough to use a higher education
to her advantage—but even if she had been, Julia would have encouraged her to marry instead. She had to be put beyond Adrian's reach... and only a husband could
guarantee that.

A good husband, please God.

Across the room, Cyrus Fortune lounged against a wall
and watched her. He had seen her for the first time less
than a week before, walking through the park on her
husband's arm. Her lovely face had been shadowed by
the stylish hat she'd worn, but Cyrus had seen a more
somber shadow. Not a happy marriage, he'd thought,
vaguely disturbed by the darkness he'd fleetingly
sensed.

The uneasiness had faded quickly, leaving a hot,
intense desire behind. He had watched them walking
together sedately, his attention wholly on Julia. She was
a stunning woman, her body petite yet richly
curved,
her coloring vivid, and her face delicately beautiful. She carried herself with pride, and a grace that was unusually
sensuous.

She intrigued him. And he'd immediately found out
all he could about Julia Drummond. It was little enough.
A younger sister in her charge, she had married Drum
mond two years before. No children yet, which made her less likely to take a lover if Cyrus knew women at
all—and he did. Her reputation as the perfect wife was complemented by being well-liked. But she seemed to have no close friends.

Nothing of what he found out discouraged Cyrus in the least. He managed to see her from a distance several
times during the next few days, and had attended the
charity dance only because he had discovered that she would be there. Luckily, she had arrived without her
husband's escort, and Cyrus had grasped the first oppor
tunity offered to be alone with her. He could have kissed
the pretty little sister who had obviously talked Julia into
giving up her duties at the refreshment table tempo
rarily.

Now, as he watched her, he frowned. After being
closer to her and gazing into the vividly luminous depths
of her green
eyes, his desire was
stronger than ever, but
something was bothering him and he didn't know what it
was. He felt oddly uneasy.

He'd been satisfied with her reaction to him and to
what he'd said to her; she might have run from him, but she hadn't been able to hide her own awareness of an
attraction. It was a good beginning. And though her final
words might have daunted another man, Cyrus more or less ignored them simply because destruction wasn't what he had in mind.

Still, there was something about her that he couldn't
bring into focus. He thought about it for a while,
watching her steadily,
then
pushed the question aside impatiently.
To hell with it.
Perhaps he was sensing in her a stronger than usual unhappiness. She was young, after all, younger than any of his other women in recent years; the young tended to feel things more deeply. Or thought they did, at least.