The Matchmaker (8 page)

She looked at him, her green eyes appearing strangely blind,
her
lips quivering in a twisted smile when she
whispered, "Probably not."

His hand tightened over hers. "It's what we both
want, Julia, what we both need."

"I can't." She held her voice as steady as she could.
"And if you—if you really do want me willing, then you have to believe I mean what I say. I won't betray my husband."

Cyrus rose to his feet with such an abrupt motion that she started and then looked at him nervously as he took
a couple of steps away from her. His big, powerful body
seemed unusually stiff, either through tension or pure
anger—and it was the latter possibility that made her
apprehensive. She couldn't see his face; he was standing in the center of the barn hall gazing toward the house. It wasn't until he spoke in a very low voice that some of her anxiety eased.

"Do you realize you've never said my name? Will you
at least do that much, Julia?"

"Cyrus," she murmured.

He sighed. "If I wasn't so damned sure this was tearing you to pieces... but I am sure. I'm also sure if I did seduce you, you'd hate me for it."

She wondered if she would, but didn't voice the question.

Cyrus turned to look at her. He was smiling faintly,
but his facial expression was a bit grim. "If I catch
Drummond near the edge of a cliff, I'm going to push
him over."

"There aren't any cliffs nearby," she said, trying for lightness because she was sure he didn't mean what he'd
said.

"No, I suppose not. And I suppose it'll do me good to
face the fact that I can't always have what I want. But I
won't pretend I like it."

Julia didn't know how to answer, and so she said
nothing.

"You don't have to worry about meeting me in public,
and I won't try to see you privately. Whatever I feel, I'll
keep to myself."

"Thank you."

He bowed from the waist, a gesture that was only partly mocking. "I know how to be a gentleman, even if
I wasn't born one and never bothered to try to be one
until now." He paused, then added in a voice more
serious than any she'd heard from him, "Julia, if you ever
need anything, any kind of help, then please come to
me. I won't ask anything in return, I promise you. Just
know you can trust me, and count on me if you're ever in need."

"Thank you," she repeated, shaken.

He gazed at
her,
an odd look of hesitation crossing his
dark face, then shook his head as if to throw off a
disturbing thought. "Will you attend the concert tonight?" he asked in his normal tone.

Julia was grateful the barn hall was dim, because she
was afraid of what he might see in her eyes. "Yes.
With
Adrian and Lissa."

Cyrus nodded. "I had meant to go, but I believe I
won't. And I'll send my regrets to your party as well, if
you wish." When she started in surprise, he added,
"Your husband invited me yesterday."

Unnerved, Julia couldn't help wondering if Adrian was merely interested in Cyrus because he was wealthy, or if he had some suspicion— No, ridiculous.
Unless some
one had seen her walking with Cyrus in the park?
She
didn't know, but the possibility was there.

"Julia?" Cyrus's voice was gentle. "Shall I send my
regrets?"

Her thoughts whirled,
then
settled with a leaden
feeling of dread. If Adrian did intend to cultivate an acquaintance with Cyrus for political reasons, he wouldn't let a social refusal stop him; if he was suspicious, he
wouldn't rest until he could judge for himself if there was
any reason to be. Either way, the party was a hurdle she
had to get over.

She cleared her throat.
"No, of course not.
If Adrian
invited you, he'll expect you."

"I don't give a damn what he expects," Cyrus said. "Will it ruin your pleasure if I come?"

It had been so long since Julia had thought of a party
with pleasure that for a moment she could only look at
him blankly. Then she shook her head. "No."

He frowned slightly as he looked at her, that same hesitant expression returning for a brief moment. "All
right," he said finally. "I'll see you on Friday, then."

Julia remained where she was long after he'd gone,
sitting on the hard bench, staring at nothing. What a peculiar ending, she was thinking, to something that had
barely begun. He had come to her today still bent on
seduction, but different somehow. Today he'd been
more aware of her emotions, and more responsive to them. She had no doubt at all he had decided to stop
pressing her because he believed it was tearing her to
pieces.

She should have been relieved. He wasn't a man to
betray his feelings unless he chose to. Neither Adrian
nor anyone else would see any hint of desire in his black eyes when they rested on her. She wouldn't have to
worry about encountering him in public or in private and
having her resolve tested. There would be no more improper or seductive remarks, no more heated kisses.

Her body would forget the astonishing pleasure it had known so briefly.

Julia rose slowly to her feet, feeling nothing but an
empty ache now. It would pass, she thought wearily.
Pain always did, given enough time.

She went into the house that seemed cool again, drawing the threads of her control around her tightly.
She reminded herself that she must not betray knowl
edge of Adrian inviting Cyrus to the party—and concen
trated on schooling her features into an emotionless mask so that she wouldn't betray herself when he did mention it. She didn't have to wait long, because Adrian
brought up the subject that evening as they were on
their way to the concert.

"Julia, I've invited Cyrus Fortune to the party," he
said, his tone easy because Lissa was sitting across from
them in the carriage. "And he'll be one of the dinner
guests."

The darkness aided her ability to hide her thoughts, but it also denied her the chance to try to gauge his. She replied in a tone to match his. "Oh? Where would you
like him seated at dinner?"

"On your right," Adrian said.

Lissa spoke up then, asking the question Julia wanted
answered. "Is he important to you, Adrian?"

"He could be, if I make a bid for governor one day." Adrian laughed with a touch of dryness. "'Fortune' is an apt name. He was rich before he went west, and has more luck than a riverboat gambler. I just heard that in 'ninety-eight he bought up a few thousand acres of supposedly worthless East Texas property—and where
do you
suppose they struck oil last year?"

"East Texas?" Lissa guessed.

"Yes. Fortune won't be able to live long enough to spend all the money he's making. I've heard he's never had any political leanings, but it can't hurt to better my acquaintance with him."

"I like him," Lissa announced in a definite tone.

Julia managed not to jump in surprise. "I didn't know you'd met him," she murmured.

"I've seen him at parties, of course, but we were never really introduced until— Well, I know you'll say it wasn't
proper, Julia, but there was really nothing I could have
done. It was the other day when I was coming out of the
library. My arms were full of books, and somehow I
tripped. I hadn't even seen him until then, but Mr.
Fortune caught me. Wasn't that splendid of him?"

"It was lucky for you," Adrian said.

"I know
,
I might have broken my neck. He was very
nice, and even carried my books to the carriage. I don't know why people say his manners are dreadful. They seemed perfectly all right to me. He was very polite and acted rather like an uncle. And even if his eyes are the blackest I've ever seen, they laugh in the nicest way."

"Don't lose your heart to him," Adrian warned in a
light tone that deceived Lissa but not Julia. "Rumor has
it that the last thing he wants is a wife—unless it's
someone else's."

Lissa laughed. "I just think he's pleasant, Adrian, that's all."

They reached their destination then, for which Julia was grateful. All she could think of, unnervingly, was that she had never seen the laugh in Cyrus's eyes that so
many people seemed to notice. It was a strangely painful realization. But she pushed it out of her mind, just as she
had all the stray thoughts of him that had been tormenting her since the interlude at the stables. She pulled on her social mask and became the perfect wife.

"The other one isn't big enough?" Noel Stanton guessed
,
watching two dozen men busily working on the founda
tion of a huge house-to-be on lovely acreage that sloped gently back to the James River.

"Did you say something, Noel?" Cyrus asked
,
looking
up from the blueprints spread out atop a corded stack of lumber.

"I was being nosy," Noel explained with an apologetic
air. "Tate left you a perfectly good house closer in to the
city, and God knows it's big enough to hold an army;
why re you building out here?"

Cyrus, his coat off and sleeves rolled up, bent over the
plans again. "The city gets more congested with every
year, as you very well know. I want room to stretch."

"You'll have it," Noel said. He eyed a growing pile of gray stone nearby as another wagonload was deposited, and said thoughtfully, "That rock reminds me of the old
buildings they've pulled down recently."

"It should." Cyrus glanced up at him again. "I'm using
stone dating from colonial days. Since the city fathers
have been merrily destroying their heritage, I thought
I'd have a try at preserving a little of it."

Studying his friend, Noel pulled his hat off and began fanning himself absently. They were standing beneath the shade of a huge oak tree, but the heat wave hadn't relented and there wasn't a hint of a breeze to disturb
the hot, still air. Cyrus, as usual, hadn't worn a hat, and even though he'd removed his coat, the heat didn't seem
to bother him.

"Preservation, eh?"
Noel's voice was mild. "Is that
why you've had most of the Fortune family paintings and
valuables removed from the house, crated, and stored?"

Cyrus looked up again, this time in surprise. "How did
you know about that?"

"Your groom told mine. You've got your servants in a tizzy,
Cy
, they don't know what to make of all this."

After a brief frown, Cyrus shook his head slightly.
"There's no mystery. I wanted everything inventoried
and decided I might as well get the packing done at the same time."

"It'll be months before this house is completed."

"I'm aware of that, Noel."

Bushy eyebrows rising, Noel
said,
"Are you also aware
of the fact that a bear with a toothache would be 'more
amiable than you've been these last days?"

Cyrus stared at him for a long moment, but then a crooked smile tugged at his mouth. "Don't say I've been that bad."

"Worse. Your company manners never were much to
brag about, but when even the ladies begin to notice
you're in a temper as black as your eyes, the case has to be desperate."

"What ladies?"

"My wife, for one.
Felice passed you on the street this
morning, and swore that when she said hello, you
growled in response."

"I'll offer my apologies the next time I see her," Cyrus
stated.

"I'm less interested in apologies than explanations.
Yes, I know you never explain, but this time you've really got me worried,
Cy
. What the hell's wrong with
you?"

"Nothing," Cyrus said, frowning as he gazed toward the busy workmen.

"Maybe someone else would accept that," Noel retorted, "but I won't. I've known you for twenty years.
When you left after Tate died, I thought you might come
back changed, but you didn't. It's since you came back that you've changed. I thought at first it was because of Julia Drummond, but—" He broke off as Cyrus looked at him, then added quietly, "Maybe she does have something to do with it, after all."

Wanting to distract his friend from that possibility,
partly because he didn't want to admit to himself how
difficult he found it to accept her refusal, Cyrus said
abruptly, "I received a package the other night.
A
gold-handled cane, very beautiful, in a wooden box.
There was a note inside that said my father wanted me to
have it."

"Your—?"
Noel was effectively distracted because of sheer surprise.
"Your real father?"

"Apparently.
Did you ever know Tate to use a cane?"

"No. But who could have sent it to you?"

"I've been unable to find out. The package was left on the doorstep after dark. As far as I can determine, no one
saw it delivered. I've taken the cane to half a dozen
shops around town, including two jewelers, and all I've been told with any certainty is that it's very old. The craftsmanship of the gold is exquisite, but if the artist signed his work or left his mark, I haven't been able to find it."