The Matchmaker

by Kay Hooper

  Lissa blushed faintly. “I think it is. He hasn’t said anything, really, but—would you mind, Julia?”

  Julia was relieved by the reply for a number of reasons, and this time her smile felt natural. “Why on earth would I mind? I believe he’d be good to you, and he can certainly take care of you properly.”

  “You don’t think I’m too young? I know Adrian does.”

  “I think you should finish school before you marry, but I wouldn’t object to an engagement,” Julia said. “It might be best not to say anything to Adrian until—if—Mark proposes.”

  Smiling, Lissa said, “No, I won’t. I just wanted to make sure you approved, even though I thought you would. Get some rest, all right? Good night, Julia.”

  I wanted to make sure you approved. Moving slowly down the hallway to the bedroom she shared with Adrian, Julia wished she could approve. She hoped her marriage was far from normal, but what guarantee did she have that Lissa would be luckier? Mark seemed a kind and decent man, but so had Adrian before she’d married him.

  And girls went into marriage blind in so many ways. Blind and ignorant. Julia had been both. Blind to assume all her problems would be solved and her life made happy with a man to take care of her; ignorant of all the shocks and painful intimacies of the marriage bed. Fiercely, she made up her mind to have a talk with Lissa, whatever it cost her in embarrassment; no girl should go to her wedding night so abysmally ignorant she didn’t even know how a man’s body differed from her own. In that way, at least, she could help prepare her sister.

  As for the rest…

  She went quietly into the bedroom, hoping desperately Adrian was still cheerful. At least then the little torments were almost playful and she could bear them. The lamp beside the bed was on, and he sat up as she closed the door. He’d kicked the covers to the foot of the bed because of the heat, and his nightshirt left his rather thin legs bare. He was frowning, but only with mild irritation.

  “What the hell took so long? You should have known I’d want to talk to you.” He gestured impatiently, beckoning her to the bed.

  Julia went to the bed and sat down on the edge, turning her back to him. She bowed her head as she felt his fingers unfasten the row of tiny buttons that began at the high neckline of her gown and continued all the way down her back. “I sent the servants to bed and then talked to Lissa for a few moments,” she said quietly.

  Adrian grunted, but still with only mild irritation.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked when she rose to her feet a couple of minutes later. She didn’t go into the dressing room, but began getting out of her clothes in the bedroom because that was the way he always wanted her to undress. She left her gown and petticoat lying over a chair, and tried not to show the utter relief she felt when she’d unfastened her stockings, unlaced her stays, and dropped the corset on top of the gown.

  “How would you like to be First Lady of Virginia?” Adrian asked, lying back on the bed and linking his fingers together behind his head as he watched her.

  Julia had no real idea of what kind of politician he was, but everything inside her recoiled at the thought of him sitting in the governor’s seat. She made certain that tangle of emotions didn’t show on her face, however. “Do you have the backing you’ll need to run?” she asked calmly.

  “I will have. It’ll be a few years, naturally. But Fred Daulton’s agreed to supporting me, and Peter Reynolds. Adam Prescott, of course. I’m not sure about Fortune yet. Leave the door open while you have your bath.”

  Chapter 5

  Since the command had followed immediately on the heels of Cyrus’s name, she was, just barely, able to keep herself from reacting to it. She nodded, remaining in the bedroom as she removed her shoes and stockings, the chemise, bust bodice, and knickers. Then, naked, she got a clean nightgown and carried it into the bathroom, her expression tranquil. She knew it was tranquil because she saw her face when she walked past the dressing mirror in the corner.

  Dear God, she hated this! Of all the torments he inflicted on her, she felt this one most deeply. Raised to be modest and naturally a bit shy, her personal privacy had always been important to her, but Adrian had lost no time in stripping her of it. She was his, he’d said, his to look at whenever and however he pleased—and he wanted to look at her naked as often as possible. To Julia, it was a ruthless invasion of her deepest self, and it hurt her so badly that she wanted to sob with the anguish of it.

  It wasn’t only that he looked at her naked in the light. It was the way he looked at her. Coldly greedy and lewd. Almost gloating, as if he’d won some prize, even though he made frequent disparaging comments about her body whenever he was in one of his moods. She could feel his eyes on her now as she stepped into the tepid bathwater, and though her flesh didn’t betray her, inside she cringed.

  “What did you think of Fortune?” he asked, watching as she settled into the tub.

  She couldn’t relax with his gaze on her, but the cool water at least made her feel she wasn’t going to melt into a puddle. “Polite,” she answered. “Lissa was right about that.” For an instant she was conscious of a hysterical urge to laugh. How she kept harping on the man’s manners! It was as if it were the only safe thing she could think to say about him.

  Perhaps it was.

  “He’s a cagey bastard,” Adrian said with a slight touch of resentment. “Couldn’t pin him down. He kept saying he wasn’t inclined to politics, but he sure as hell knew about everything that’s going on, in Washington as well as here. Hurry up, Julia, it’s late.”

  She glanced through the open door to see him frowning, and quickly began washing. Were all men like Adrian? She didn’t know. His facade was so convincing; perhaps every man possessed a public and private side so dreadfully opposite. Her own father had been a stern man, and Julia had no idea if her mother’s frequent “spells” during which she’d kept to her darkened bedroom had been the result of abuse. There was no other married woman Julia felt close to, not close enough to ask such terribly personal questions, so she had no way of knowing if her situation was unusual.

  Not that it really mattered, except that she was afraid for Lissa.

  She got out of the tub and dried herself, then pulled on the thin nightgown with a sense of relief. He usually allowed her to keep the nightgown on, and even if the thin cotton was a frail covering, at least she wasn’t naked. She put out the light in the bathroom and went into the bedroom, sitting at her dressing table to take down her hair and brush it. He was silent while she smoothed the heavy, waist-length mass, but she could feel his eyes. She could always feel them. She began to braid her hair for the night, but Adrian spoke from the bed.

  “No.”

  It wasn’t an unusual command; he liked her hair to be loose in bed, and had forbidden her to wear a nightcap. But something she heard in his voice made nervous tension steal through her despite the normality of the order. She laid her brush aside and got up, going over to the bed, feeling chilled now. She crawled onto her side and lay back on the pillow without reaching for the sheet.

  He extinguished the light, and in the darkness his voice was thoughtful. “Would you like to be First Lady, Julia?”

  “I suppose any woman would,” she answered neutrally, conscious of the heat of his body beside her.

  “I want to go to the White House, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “A man should leave his mark on the world. And he should leave a son behind to carry on his name.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, her stomach churning. God, no! He was in that state again, his mind filled with grandiose schemes and plans to “leave his mark” on the world, so strong and sure of his superiority. He excited himself with those thoughts, aroused himself physically as a sense of power and promise filled him.

  It had happened only a few times since their wedding night, but she dreaded it above all else.

  “It’s your fault I haven’t been able
to get a son on you, Julia. You know that, don’t you?” His voice was growing thick, his breathing faster. The material of his nightshirt rustled as he pulled it up.

  He hadn’t touched her.

  “Yes,” she said from between dry, trembling lips, taking the blame because any other response from her made him furious. In the dark, it was always in the dark. Maybe because he couldn’t bear to look at her then. Maybe because he couldn’t bear for her to look at him. Or maybe it was because on some deep level of himself, he believed what Cyrus had so bluntly stated most gentlemen believed, that there were only two kinds of women—ladies and whores.

  Adrian could—and did, she supposed—treat her like a whore, in private, most of the time. Like a possession he’d bought and paid for, his to use as he wished. But when he was like this, when he wanted a son, then she had to be a lady. They had to be a gentleman and a lady making a baby in their marital bed.

  The problem was Adrian didn’t really want a lady in his bed.

  Julia felt him shift suddenly, heard the whisper of cloth as he tugged his nightshirt higher, and sickness rose in her throat so strongly she nearly choked. Not tonight, please God, she couldn’t bear it tonight. She’d rather be beaten.

  “Lift your nightgown,” he said hoarsely, and rolled on top of her, his hands fumbling.

  —

  The stable smelled of sweet hay, leather, horses, and manure. It was hot and dusty, but she didn’t notice either. She didn’t care that hay made a poor cushion for her naked back and surging buttocks, or that the white blouse he’d taken off her would get dirty, or even that he’d torn her knickers instead of removing them. Her skirt and petticoats were rocked up around her waist, her stockinged legs wrapped about his hips, and the fingers of one hand were clenched in his thick hair while her other hand was pressed to her mouth to muffle the sounds she made.

  He had pulled the top of her chemise down to bare her breasts, and the rough cloth of his vest rubbed her tight nipples rhythmically as he heaved on top of her. She hadn’t worn her corset; the last time he’d taken her, the unnatural constriction of the garment, combined with his forceful passion, had caused her to faint dead away and left her feeling she’d been nearly broken in half.

  Now, stifling her moans and whimpers, she moved with him the way he’d taught her, lifting and undulating her hips wildly as the unbearable pleasure carried her along on a rising wave. She squealed when the wave peaked, her body stiffening for a long moment and then going limp. Trembling and panting, she dazedly accepted his quickening thrusts until, silent as always, he went briefly rigid and then collapsed on her.

  She wrapped her arms around as much of him as she could with a blissful feeling of satisfaction and delicious wickedness as he breathed heavily into her neck. He was so much larger. She scarcely could breathe under his weight, but she loved the sensation of being pinned in place by his body. She loved the way he made her feel.

  It never occurred to her to think there was anything ugly or distasteful about being taken in a smelly stable with her clothing half off and her lover’s trousers down around his knees. Months before, she wouldn’t have been able to imagine such a thing without a shudder of horrified repugnance, but now it not only seemed perfectly natural, it seemed delightful.

  He lifted his head and then raised himself on his elbows, smiling down at her. “Good?” he murmured.

  “Ummm.” She sighed happily, her flushed and sweating breasts glistening as they lifted and fell.

  He put his hands on them, kneading slowly, and pressed his loins into hers in tiny, subtle movements. “I’ll have you in a bed soon. You’ll like that, won’t you, honey?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said throatily, her eyes drifting half shut as her body responded to his skilled touch. She forced herself to think. “You said it wouldn’t be long. You’ll divorce your wife, and speak—speak to my parents.”

  “Soon,” he said, lowering his head briefly to tease her stiff nipples with his tongue. “Then we’ll be together all the time.” His movements against her and inside her became more deliberate.

  She moaned, tension filling her, and her thighs tightened around him convulsively. Rational thought scattered like leaves in the wind. “I love you,” she whispered, arching to thrust her breasts harder into his pleasure-giving hands.

  “I love you too,” he murmured, his narrowed gaze intent on her face as he built her arousal slowly and expertly, until she was writhing beneath him and uttering desperate little pleas. Then he went still, holding himself deep inside her tense, quivering body. “I need you to do something for me. Something important. Will you, honey?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, her eyes glazed and wild. “Yes, anything…oh, please!”

  “I’ll tell you what I want you to do before you leave,” he said in his soft, seductive voice. “And you’ll do exactly what I say, without questions, and without telling anyone. Won’t you, baby?”

  “Yes! I will, I promise. Please…”

  He broke the grip of her legs and withdrew from her, ignoring her whimper of protest. Before she knew what was happening, he had lifted and turned her, his immense strength handling her slight body easily.

  “Oh! What are you—”

  “You’ll like this, honey,” he promised softly, pushing her skirt and petticoat up over her back.

  She might have protested again because this, at least, was deeply shocking to her young mind, but his hard flesh sank into her feverish body and his hands were on her aching breasts—and she did like it.

  On her hands and knees with the hay caught in her tangled hair and clinging to her damp skin, she whimpered and rocked back to meet his hard thrusts, and never noticed the smell of corruption mingling with the scents of hay and sweat and horses and manure.

  —

  A few days after the party, Julia drove her buggy out of the city. As soon as she was clear of the more congested streets, she anxiously urged the horse to a trot. The message from Helen Bradshaw, a friend of Lissa’s, had been waiting for Julia when she’d returned to the house at noon, and it had sounded urgent. Unfortunately, it had been delivered in the morning, hours before. Julia had been held up longer than she’d expected, first because of the crowded shops and later because of an accident in the streets that had snarled traffic for over an hour.

  She kept the horse at a brisk pace, mentally apologizing to the poor animal for forcing him to exert himself in the building heat of the day. But most of her attention was fixed on recognizing landmarks as she left the city behind. She felt a touch of relief when she saw a tumbledown barn off to the right, and looked immediately to her left for the road turning between two giant oak trees.

  No more than a hundred yards from the barn she slowed her horse and turned him onto the road. The ruts cut deeply into the dirt as if heavy wagons had frequently come this way. It was impossible to see much for a few yards, but then she saw a clearing ahead where a large house was under construction. The place seemed deserted, but she saw a buggy under one of the big trees, and guided her own horse toward it.

  Now she felt puzzled as well as anxious. Lissa had left this morning with several of her friends, planning to spend the day with another friend who had recently given birth to her first child. But didn’t she live on the other side of Richmond? Why would Lissa be far from the city where there was nothing but a newly begun house?

  “Julia?”

  She stopped her horse, her head jerking around in response to a voice she recognized instantly. He was coming toward her, moving with the ease of muscles under unthinking control, like a big cat, and it was more than surprise that kept her eyes fixed on him. He wasn’t wearing a hat or coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. His tie had been loosened and several buttons were unfastened at his throat; the first curls of the black hair on his chest were visible.

  Julia’s mouth went dry as he stopped beside the buggy, and she wished he weren’t so tall, wished she didn’t have the feeling they were v
ery, very alone out here.

  “What’s wrong, Julia?” Cyrus asked, lifting one hand to rest on the back of her seat. As always, and even though his voice was the familiar black velvet, he spoke to her a little abruptly, direct and to the point.

  She forced herself to think. “I—I received a message that Lissa was here and needed me.”

  He frowned slightly. “A written message?”

  “No. It—my butler said a young lady delivered the message a few hours ago. A friend of Lissa’s. She said that Lissa was ill, and was waiting for me here with another of her friends.”

  “I haven’t seen her,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “And I’ve been here since early this morning.”

  Julia bit her lip and shifted the reins so that she could begin to turn her horse. “There must have been a mistake. I have to return to Richmond.”

  He reached out and grasped her hand. “Wait.”

  A flare of panic made her stiffen. “No. I have to—”

  “Julia.” His voice was quiet and steady. “Your horse needs to rest a bit before you start back to the city. So do you. This is the hottest part of the day; if you don’t wait for at least an hour or two, you’ll make yourself ill.”

  “I can’t stay here,” she said, the very idea sending a pang of dismay through her.

  Cyrus took the reins away from her, knotted them loosely, and then put his hands on her tiny waist and lifted her easily out of the buggy. “Yes, you can.”

  She was so startled by the abrupt action that for a moment she could only stare at him.

  “No one will know,” he said, wondering almost angrily how many times he’d said those words to her; every time he said them they seemed more and more wrong to him.

  “But—”

  “My workmen are gone for the day and I’m not expecting anyone else.” He hesitated, then reluctantly dropped his hands from her waist. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her with all the hunger that had surged wildly inside him at the first touch of her, but he couldn’t. Not now, at least, not until he found some way to avoid hurting her.