The Matchmaker

by Kay Hooper

  As far as Julia knew, he realized painfully, he was no better or worse than Drummond. She might even believe he was worse. His reputation as a rake certainly was. She lived with a man who appeared in public as the perfect husband, who had deceived everyone with his boyish charm, and no one had even come close to guessing her private torment. There was no gossip, no hint that Drummond was anything but what he seemed to be.

  And the bastard had probably convinced her all men were like he was, that a wife’s lot in life was agony and terrified silence. She was an innately proud woman and had no close friends. Who could tell her differently even if she could bring herself to ask? She hadn’t confided in Lissa, Cyrus was sure. The younger girl’s unshadowed adoration of her brother-in-law was proof enough of that.

  “I must go,” Julia murmured, looking toward the buggies with a slight frown.

  For one of the very few times in his life Cyrus felt helpless. Trust had to be earned, and Julia’s had been abused so dreadfully she might never be able to trust completely. Not trust a man, at any rate. He could make her feel desire, but the fear her husband had taught her was stronger.

  His hands tightened gently on her shoulders, then released her. He didn’t say another word, because he didn’t trust himself to speak. He remained where he was, watching her walk away from him and, moments later, drive the buggy along the rutted track to the main road. As she disappeared from his sight, the resolve in his mind was cold, clear, and utterly implacable.

  Julia was bound to Drummond legally and through fear. The only way to free her was to break those ties.

  Chapter 6

  “Stupid bitch.” He slapped her viciously, his normally handsome face twisted in a mask of rage. His voice was a chilling contrast to the enraged expression, because it was unnaturally calm, even conversational. “I told you what to do. I told you.”

  Helen Bradshaw cowered against the wall, her doe-soft eyes huge and frightened. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She was in shock. “I—I did what you said, I delivered the message to Julia.” Her voice sounded high and thin to her own ears.

  “Couldn’t you have had sense enough to look for her if she wasn’t at the house?” he asked in that eerie tone. “I told you to make sure she received the message at nine o’clock—not at noon. She was too late, goddamn you. And it gave them another chance to be alone together.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  He slapped her again, with his left hand this time. It was a flat blow with the full strength of his arm behind it, and would have sent her to her knees if she hadn’t been wedged into a corner of the stable.

  Helen held a hand to her bleeding mouth and stared at him in growing terror. What had happened to the lover who had brought her such pleasure last night—and all the nights before? It had been a delicious secret, her love affair with an older man. She hadn’t told Lissa or any of her other friends, hugging to herself the knowledge of her own daring behavior.

  It hadn’t seemed wrong, even if she’d broken all the rules. He’d sworn he would marry her, after all. And it had been exciting, just as he’d promised, to slip away in order to meet him clandestinely. Barely eighteen, she’d been a virgin, but he had been so loving and gentle that first time, teaching her the ecstasy her body could feel. Teaching her so many exciting, pleasurable things.

  It hadn’t seemed wrong. But now she had a vivid mental image of herself lying in a smelly stable with her clothes half off while she moaned and panted beneath him and the taste of bile filled her mouth. Had she really done that? Had she let him— Dear God. Her flesh was crawling at the knowledge that he had done those intimate things to her, touched and—and used her that way.

  It was as if she’d been blind until now. She suddenly had a dim, superstitious idea that he’d cast a spell over her. Now it was gone. Now she could see the grotesque darkness of what he really was.

  “You ruined everything. Witless cow. I can’t trust you anymore, you understand?”

  His eyes were empty, she realized. Dead. Why hadn’t she seen before? “You can,” she gasped, trying to press herself harder into the corner. As if that would help, would protect her somehow. “You can trust me.”

  “You’re a bad liar as well as stupid, Helen. That is your name, isn’t it? Helen? You can’t wait to rush out of here and tell someone about me, and we both know it. But I’m afraid I can’t let you do it.”

  “Please,” she whispered, the appeal born out of an instinctive certainty of what he meant to do.

  “Oh, don’t beg. It’s so undignified. Besides, you should be thanking me. I was generous enough to let you enjoy yourself first. It’s a pity that has to end, and I am sorry about it. You weren’t bad at all, once you got the hang of it. There’s just something about a sweet little virginal lady rolling around in the straw and bucking under me. Never met one yet who couldn’t wait to hike her skirts and spread her legs, as ready for it as a cat in heat. You were no exception.”

  Helen nearly gagged, the taste of blood and revulsion thick in her tongue. “Don’t—”

  “Don’t what? Don’t shatter all your pretty, romantic illusions?” He shook his head in mild puzzlement. “We rutted in a barn, sweetheart. I dropped my pants, you lifted your skirt, and we used each other.”

  “I loved you,” she whispered, tears beginning to trickle down her ashen cheeks. “I—I might even be—I might have a baby.” It was the only thing she could think of that could possibly save her. But he shook his head again, amused this time.

  “Nice try. Believe me, if my seed were any good, I’d know by now. It isn’t. I’m one of a kind. Or will be, soon enough.”

  She didn’t understand him, except to know he was finished with her. Sobs jerked her slight body, and her voice was terrified when she said, “Please…please don’t hurt me.”

  He tilted his head to one side, an empty little smile quirking his lips. “Your mouth’s bleeding.”

  “It—it doesn’t matter. I won’t say anything, I promise.”

  “Oh, you won’t say anything.” Still smiling, he stepped closer, his hands rising to her pale throat. “You won’t say anything at all.”

  —

  It was the longest, most severe heat wave anyone in Richmond could remember, and as July drew to a close it showed no sign of being broken. The sun burned the grass dry and brown, seared the midsummer flowers, and dulled the leaves that hung limp and motionless from the trees. Heat bounced from the pavement to shimmer in the air, so unbearable each afternoon, few stirred out of doors unless they absolutely had to.

  All the energy seemed to drain from the city until every living thing moved slowly, and tempers were worn ragged by the heat. The sky was blindingly blue, day after day, with not a wisp of a cloud to hint at rain. Even the James River seemed to draw in on itself, receding from its banks and slowing to a muddy crawl.

  The social activities in Richmond more or less ground to a halt. No one wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder in crowded rooms for any reason, and since the demand for ice had seriously depleted the supply, socializing had lost even the attraction of chilled drinks. Most preferred to remain in their relatively cool homes wearing the absolute minimum of clothing while they waited miserably for the weather to break.

  Cyrus was one of the few who remained active in the heat. He allowed his work crew at the new house time off during the intolerable midday, but kept them busy in the early mornings and late afternoons. Surprising most of his friends, he bought office space in the city and began to handle his business affairs there rather than out of his house. Until he hired a couple of clerks who seemed to be frantically active, not even his friends had suspected he had so many business affairs.

  “When did you buy a sugarcane plantation?” Noel demanded as he stood in Cyrus’s office on a Wednesday afternoon in the first week of August. One of the clerks had just left to file paperwork that had raised the subject.

  “Last year.” Cyrus was sitting at a huge oak desk, his coat off
and sleeves rolled up as he dealt with more paperwork. He didn’t look at Noel as he asked dryly, “Did you stop by to stick your nose into my business?”

  Unoffended, Noel said, “No, I stopped by because you have the coolest office in Richmond. I don’t understand it, since both the windows in here face the southwest, but this is the most comfortable room I’ve found in the city, even in the afternoons. Why is that, Cy?”

  “I have no idea.” Cyrus leaned back in his chair and watched his friend move aimlessly around the room for a moment, then said, “I meant to ask you earlier—have they found the Bradshaw girl yet?”

  “No. That’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it? A pretty girl from a good family steps out one afternoon to run a few errands, and no one sees her again. If there’d been an accident, she would have been found by now. The whole city’s been searched. The police believe someone’s got her.”

  “Or had her,” Cyrus said quietly.

  Noel looked at him. “You think she’s dead?”

  Cyrus nodded.

  “Dammit, so do I. What do we have police for, I’d like to know, if not to prevent that kind of thing?”

  “They do what they can. But sometimes evil doesn’t wear a recognizable face.”

  Noel gave him a sharp look, then frowned as he drifted restlessly around the room.

  After a couple of minutes, Cyrus said, “You didn’t come here to talk about tragic news, my business affairs, or the temperature of my office. What’s on your mind?”

  Noel settled finally in the visitor’s chair before the desk, and sighed. He sent his friend a curiously intent look. “I ran into Adam Prescott a little while ago. He wants to bring Drummond to the game tonight.”

  Cyrus didn’t change expression. “So?”

  “So, I thought you might want to know about it.”

  Lifting an eyebrow that was mildly questioning and nothing more, Cyrus waited.

  Noel felt frustrated, and sounded it. “Dammit, Cy, I can’t figure out what you’re up to. Ever since their party, Drummond hasn’t missed a chance to buttonhole you. He’s even come here half a dozen times.”

  “He wants my political support,” Cyrus said calmly.

  “He wants your money,” Noel snapped.

  “That too.”

  “You have no intention of supporting him, and we both know it. You can’t stand the man, no matter how well you pretend otherwise. So why are you stringing him along? From what I’ve seen, you hesitate and hedge just enough to keep his hopes up. In fact, I’d say you went out of your way to encourage him to believe you might back him politically, all the while being very careful not to commit yourself.”

  “It amuses me.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Noel met those black eyes squarely. “What would amuse you would be to break the man’s neck with your own hands.”

  After a moment Cyrus gave him a curiously chilling smile. “That would he too easy. I’d much rather break every bone in his body. Inch by inch.”

  Noel barely felt his jaw drop, and had to try twice before he could ask, “What’s he done to you?”

  “Not a damned thing.”

  “For God’s sake, Cy, you don’t express a desire to murder a man—especially like that—unless he’s crossed you in some way!”

  “He breathes the same air I do. That’s enough of an offense.”

  Noel stared at him, feeling very peculiar. Cyrus was still smiling, but his black eyes were deadly and Noel had never seen them like that. Without even thinking about it, he said, “It’s because of Julia, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus said flatly.

  “Because you want her and she belongs to him?”

  “She doesn’t belong to him. She’s tied to him—there’s a difference.”

  Noel was conscious of another shock. If any other man had said those words in a voice so intense it shook, he would have believed…But, no. It couldn’t have happened to Cyrus, surely, not so quickly. Managing a protest, Noel said, “Not in the eyes of God or the law.”

  “God turned His eyes away from that marriage a long time ago. And the law doesn’t always recognize evil if it wears an appealing face.”

  “Evil? Cy, what—”

  Cyrus immediately shook his head just once, a clear refusal to explain what he meant, and Noel didn’t repeat the question. But he had another one, and he asked it.

  “What is it you mean to do?”

  “Strip away the charm. Expose the hideous face underneath.”

  Noel wanted to ask And then? but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to hear the answer.

  —

  Julia was still puzzled and disturbed by the message that had sent her to Cyrus, and Helen Bradshaw’s disappearance made the questions even more troubling. Until Lissa had returned home that evening in perfect health and spirits, it hadn’t occurred to her the message might have been a deliberate ruse, and when she did consider it, she found the possibility chilling.

  A casual question had provided the information that Helen hadn’t gone with the others, and Julia’s butler, Wilson, was positive it had been she who had left the message.

  But why? If it had been a deliberate attempt to put Julia in a compromising position by causing her to arrive on Cyrus’s property when Adrian was there, it seemed incredibly involved—particularly for an eighteen-year-old girl who, in any case, had no reason to plan it. There was no malice in Helen that Julia had ever seen, and like many young women, she didn’t notice very much beyond her own self-centered interests. If she had suspected there might be something between Julia and Cyrus, she might have giggled and gossiped, but she wouldn’t have done anything to either confirm or disprove her suspicions.

  No, if Helen had indeed left the message, it was because someone else had persuaded her to, and the implication of such a possibility frightened Julia, especially now that Helen had vanished without a trace.

  She didn’t want to believe the two things were connected, but she had a sick feeling they were. Pawns were sacrificed; what if Helen had been a pawn? Who could be ruthless enough to use an innocent young girl and then discard her when she was no longer needed? Was she even alive?

  If she wasn’t alive, and if she’d been someone’s puppet or pawn, then why? Why had someone used her in such a strange, involved way? Did someone suspect Julia had been unfaithful to her husband, or want it to appear that way? Adrian wouldn’t have done it, she thought; he was too conscious of his public image to arrange such a thing when his friends would be witnesses to the result. But if not Adrian, then who?

  It never occurred to Julia to suspect Cyrus, though she wouldn’t realize that for a long time.

  She didn’t know what to think, but she was afraid. Adrian was so involved in his political aspirations he seemed to have little time or energy for her. He had more or less left her alone these past days. But sometimes when he looked at her, she had the eerie feeling he was just waiting. That he knew something. It unnerved her all the more because of her own feelings of guilt.

  In Cyrus’s arms she had convinced herself his seduction was simply another form of male domination, and the belief had enabled her to withdraw from him. But as the days passed, she slowly realized, to her bitter resentment and shame, that it didn’t matter. He had brought something to life inside her, something she couldn’t define except to call it desire—as astonishing as she found the very idea. His reasons for seducing her had no effect on the result; he had taught her to want him.

  Now it tormented her. Her body, awakened by his touch, ached incessantly. Often it throbbed, as if the very center of her being had shifted from heart and mind to the primitive, overwhelming needs of her female flesh. Shockingly erotic dreams languid with heated pleasure disturbed her sleep almost every night, causing her to wake with silent gasps, and she would lay beside Adrian in feverish stillness, bewildered that her imagination could so vividly conjure physical sensations she had never experienced.

  Sensations she didn’t even believe were real.


  It didn’t seem to matter if she felt no trust for Cyrus, no certainty he was different from Adrian. Her body wanted his, and the force of the need was a compulsion that gained strength, day by day, until it was physically painful to her, until it seemed any risk would be worth taking if she could lie in Cyrus’s arms just once. She didn’t know if giving herself to him would bring pleasure or pain. All she knew was this terrible urgency, the confused but certain conviction that she had to belong to him. She had to.

  Soon.

  The days crept by, sluggish in the unbearable heat, and Julia struggled to hold on to her fraying self-command. In the face of so many tensions, it felt as if she would be torn apart by them. More and more her mask of calm was a tenuous thing, and when it finally shattered, she could never have guessed that her sister’s loving hand would be responsible for the blow.

  —

  “Julia, what’s wrong with Adrian?”

  Looking up from her sewing, Julia studied her sister’s troubled face for a moment before asking, “What do you mean?” They were sitting together in the parlor before lunch on the first Friday in August with the shutters closed against the heat of the day, and both had been silent for quite some time.

  “He’s so tense. He snapped at you twice last night at supper, and there was something in his face I’ve never seen before.”

  Julia hesitated. “The heat, I suppose. Everyone seems to be affected by it.”

  Lissa shook her head. “No, it was more than the heat. And you knew it too, because you were afraid of him. It was in your eyes. Don’t tell me I imagined it.”

  Again Julia hesitated, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer with the truth. Not all the truth, at any rate. Coolly, she said, “Like most men, Adrian has a temper. It seems to be the fate of a wife to bear the brunt of that, and I’ve learned to be wary.”

  “Julia—”

  “Lissa, it wouldn’t be fair to Adrian to discuss our marriage with you. Don’t you agree?”