The Matchmaker (31 page)

The watcher wanted to howl, to rant and rave and tear
something apart with his hands. His twin had been
blind, but so had he, and he hadn't known it. He had
discounted the importance of the woman except as a
vessel for new life, never realizing it was her union with
his twin that was the binding thread of fate. Like his own hate, love was the core of his twin's strength; now that he loved, he was stronger, and when she loved him he would be whole.

And invincible.

A muted sound erupted from the watcher's throat, low
and primal. His lifeless eyes, empty even of the rage that
was malignant inside him, stared through the window while the brilliant, dark brain behind them coldly considered.

He had to kill the woman. It was the only way, now, to destroy his twin.

August ended more pleasantly than it had begun, with frequent afternoon thunderstorms damping the heat of
summer. Autumn arrived early, blowing cooling breezes
through the drying leaves prematurely in September,
and by the end of the month it was obvious summer was
over.

For Julia, the passing days were almost dreamlike.
With Lissa back at school, she and Cyrus had more time
alone together, and her confidence as a woman, as well as his wife, grew more secure with every passing day. He talked to her, and listened when she talked, his interest in her thoughts and opinions unfailing. He began teaching her to understand business matters, saying it was her right as his wife to have a complete knowledge of his affairs—now their affairs—and he was both patient and
thorough in teaching her.

He continued to encourage her blooming sensuality,
making love to her with tenderness and passion. He
taught her to laugh again, teasing her with obvious
delight.

And he gave of himself so completely that the only
shadow on Julia's happiness was the barrier she knew existed inside
herself
. It was deep within her, a wall around her heart, and no matter how often she tried to
break it down, it stood firm. There were times, brief
moments, when she thought she could reach through it,
but she was never able to.

Some instinct, hardly understood, told her there were
victories that couldn't be gained by force, and that she
had to be patient, so she tried. Whenever her awareness of the barrier began troubling her, she found something
to occupy her mind.

There was always something. She was spending a
great deal of time now at the new house, which was
nearly finished. Cyrus had given her a completely free
hand with decorating, offering his opinions when she
asked but showing behind a gleam of amusement the
traditional male indifference to colors and furnishings.
Felice, who had become Julia's first real friend, said that
Noel had found sly ways of keeping her busy during the first months of their marriage, and it had proven to be a
wise tactic. She had emerged from her guarded shell
without even being aware of it.

"And so are you," Felice said with a smile, "in case you
haven't noticed."

"I have." Julia looked up from a jumble of fabric and
wallpaper swatches on the worktable set up in the foyer
of the new house. They were alone for the moment,
though the sounds of hammers and saws came from
other parts of the house as the carpenters completed the
final interior work. "Part of me wants to hold back," she
confessed. "To wait and see. I'm not afraid Cyrus will
hurt me, it's just that.
.."

Felice nodded. "I know. When you've been knocked
down often enough, it's difficult to believe it won't
happen again."

"But what am I waiting for?" Julia asked, bewildered.
"I trust him."

After a thoughtful moment Felice asked, "Has Cyrus
lost his temper with you?"

"No," Julia replied instantly. She hesitated, then
added, "He was angry when he.
..
when he saw my
back, but he wasn't angry at me, and I knew it."

"Then that's what you're waiting for."

Julia felt a faint shock. "I don't want him to be angry
with me," she protested.

"No, but you're afraid to trust him completely until he
is angry and still doesn't hurt you."

It made sense once Julia thought about it. Since she'd
been with him, Cyrus had never so much as raised his
voice to her. In fact, his voice held a gentleness that
seemed only to have deepened during the past weeks, a
constant and consistent part of his personality. She
trusted his gentleness, but since she had never felt his
anger, how could she trust that?

Somewhat helplessly, she said, "What am I supposed
to do, deliberately make him angry at me?"

Felice sat down on the third tread of the stairs, and sighed, a look of rueful amusement on her face. "You
know, I'm really not sure you even could. From what
Noel's told me, Cyrus has never had a temper, and the
only time I've seen him in a bad mood was when he was
upset because the two of you couldn't be together. You may never see him lose his temper with anyone—much
less you."

"Then what can I do? Felice, I don't want to hold back,
not with him.'

The older woman shook her head. "I don't know.
Unless... Well, if you could somehow convince
yourself he simply isn't capable of becoming violent,
even in the worst of situations, then that would probably
do it."

Increasingly anxious, Julia thought during the next
days about what Felice had said. Cyrus frequently told her he loved her, and she believed him; more and more
she was painfully aware of the responses she wanted to make and couldn't. The barrier inside her stubbornly
resisted the words that represented the ultimate act of faith and trust.

She told herself he wasn't capable of violence, not
Cyrus, but no matter how insistently she tried to
convince herself, there was still a tiny doubt, a wary
hesitation in her mind. What if he were?

October brought chilly winds and rains, and no resolution for Julia. She was kept busy with the house and
the few social functions she and Cyrus chose to attend,
still surprised by the guarded acceptance she encountered. By the third week in October the house was
virtually complete and the moving had begun. One by
one, the rooms in the city house were emptied and
closed, the furnishings hauled out to the new house. The valuables Cyrus had packed and stored before their
marriage were also moved, as well as innumerable
trunks and boxes filled with items that wouldn't be
needed until they were settled in the new house.

Cyrus said they should have' stayed in a hotel during that final week of the month when both houses were in total confusion, but since Julia enjoyed the bustle and
needed to supervise all the activity anyway, he didn't
insist. He did complain once, mildly, when he discov
ered every pair of shoes he owned except the ones on his
feet had been packed and moved to the new house two
days before they were due to take up residence there,
but only laughed at Julia's guilty dismay.

Moving day was chilly but sunny, and with numerous hired wagons as well as extra workmen to do the loading
and transporting, the last of the furniture was taken out
to the new house by midafternoon. All the servants, as well as both Julia and Cyrus, were kept busy arranging
and unpacking, and it wasn't until nearly five o'clock that
Julia realized something had been left behind.

She was in the master bedroom, working with one of
the maids to unpack the last of the trunks, and as she
hung one of Cyrus's coats in his wardrobe she noticed
what was missing.

"Cathy, did you pack that long, narrow wooden box I
left on the windowsill in the old house?"

The young maid looked up, frowning a little. "No, Miss Julia, I don't remember seeing it."

The cane.
It had been left in the old house. Julia
hesitated, then went to the window and looked out. The
bedroom was at the rear of the house, and she could see
Cyrus down below talking to a well-dressed man who
was apparently a business associate; she'd seen him
coming and going a few times during the past week. She
turned away from the window, thinking, and rapidly
made up her mind.

"The buggy's still hitched, and tied out front; I'm
going to drive back to town."

"I'll fetch Nelson," Cathy said, beginning to get up from her kneeling position beside an open trunk.

"No, it isn't necessary. He's helping Stork downstairs.
I can make the trip in an hour or less, and be back by dark. Finish up in here, would you, please, Cathy?"

"Yes, Miss Julia."

Julia found her gloves and a coat, but didn't bother
with a hat. She went down the curving staircase and crossed the foyer, hearing the sounds of busy people but
encountering no one. The front of the house was de
serted, all the wagons and extra men gone now, but the
horse and buggy she usually drove was there.

A few minutes later she was on the road to Richmond, the horse moving at a brisk pace. She had a faintly guilty thought that Cyrus wouldn't like her going back to town
alone like this, but she was less worried by that than by
what could happen to his cane, left in an unlocked
house. She had every hope of being able to get it and
return before he even knew she was gone.

There was little traffic, and she made good time. She
pulled the buggy over to the sidewalk in front of the
house and used the tether block, then went inside.
Empty now, there was an almost eerie feeling of vastness
and silence in the house, and Julia wasted no time in
heading for the master bedroom. She caught a whiff of kerosene as she went up the stairs, and paused for a
moment before continuing on, a little unnerved. All her instincts told her to get out of the house, and she could
feel goose bumps breaking out all over her body.

Definitely hurrying now, she went on to the bedroom, and felt a sharp pang of relief when she saw the box just
where she'd left it on the windowsill. It was half hidden
by the drapes, which was probably why no one had seen
it. She went to the window and lifted the lid of the box,
relieved again to see the dull gleam of gold and polished
wood.

"Hello, Julia."

Cyrus broke off in the middle of a sentence, his eyes widening as he stared through John Stevens. He saw nothing, but he felt shock and fear, and he knew it was
Julia's.

"Mr. Fortune?" The Pinkerton man's question was quick and sharp. "What is it?"

"My wife!"
He heard his voice as if from a great
distance, the sound of it hoarse and afraid. "She's—God,
she's gone back to the house alone. And he's there."

Instantly, Stevens turned away, shouting for Nelson. Cyrus didn't wait to have confirmation; he ran for the stables and saddled his fastest horse, a terror unlike
anything he'd ever felt before clawing inside him. He
should have told her, should have warned her instead of
believing she didn't have to know of the threat. But he
hadn't. And now—now, when he'd finally gotten the
evidence he needed to put a name and face to his
enemy—Julia was miles away facing the soulless monster.

Alone.

It didn't occur to Cyrus until he was halfway to town
that he wasn't armed, but he made no attempt to slow his
horse's headlong gallop. Instead, he urged the animal
even faster, crouching low in the saddle as the wind whistled past. He didn't need a gun. He didn't need the Pinkerton men no doubt only minutes behind him. All he needed was enough luck to reach the house in time.
That was all he asked.

Julia felt very cold as she looked at the man standing only a few feet away from her in the empty bedroom. She
knew him. He had dined in her house when she'd lived with Adrian, had talked to her at various social events, had even danced with her. He was handsome and had always been charming, smiling.

He was smiling now. A lighted kerosene lamp hung
from one hand, its bright glow holding the gathering darkness outside the house at bay, and he was swinging
it gently back and forth as if to some music only he
heard.

"You look so surprised, Julia." His normally pleasant
voice was toneless and remote. "Didn't you know it was I? Couldn't you feel it?"

The first shock of his presence had faded quickly, but
Julia felt trapped. "I don't know what you're talking
about," she whispered, a strange, primitive terror surging inside her. She wanted to run, to get as far away from
him as she could. But she couldn't move.