by Kay Hooper
Rushton frowned again. “Why not simply kill her? I mean, if he had no compunction about killing Tate, and if he’s responsible for the Bradshaw girl’s death, it’s clear he doesn’t balk at murder. Why shouldn’t he have taken the easiest and most foolproof way to keep Julia from you permanently?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because it amused him to see her married to an animal. He’s…arrogant beyond belief, I feel that. Intricate plans seem to please him, and I think he is or was convinced of his own infallibility. Perhaps he was confident he had put her beyond my reach and, moreover, had found a weapon for himself in Drummond.”
Shifting a bit in his chair, Rushton murmured, “My God, Cy, if you’re right about this monster—”
“Yes, I know. Frightening. You don’t seem quite so disbelieving now, Gabe.”
“The whole thing’s insane,” Rushton said flatly, but immediately added, “Go on. How did he arrange the marriage?”
“He killed again. I’ve found out from one of his friends that Julia’s father didn’t care much for Drummond, and wasn’t happy to have the man courting his daughter. Rather than openly object to Drummond, he’d told them he didn’t want her to marry until she turned twenty-one. She’s twenty-one now.”
“You mean your enemy was afraid she’d still be single when you came back to Richmond?”
“I believe so.” Cyrus paused, frowning in thought. “Here’s where I may be able to gather some hard evidence, given time. A little over two years ago, Richard Brand made a series of bad business investments; so far, I haven’t been able to find out who was advising him. If I can, I may be a step closer to identifying my enemy—because it was he. It had to be. In any case, Brand was up to his ears in debt when he and his wife went sailing on the river and drowned. The police were never satisfied as to the reason their boat went down.”
“Another convenient accident,” Rushton said.
“Exactly. Julia found herself, at nineteen, grieving, impoverished, and alone in the world except for a young sister. Because of her father’s insistence, she hadn’t gone away to school and wasn’t trained to do anything except run a house. She had nowhere to turn. That’s when Drummond stepped in. He was well off, handsome, charming, and he’d been courting her for more than a year. He asked her to marry him. She said yes.”
Rushton leaned forward to put his cigar out in a crystal ashtray on Cyrus’s desk, sending the younger man a very direct look. “You told me he mistreated her.”
“As I said, my enemy chose well for his purposes.” Cyrus met the steady gaze just as directly. “Julia’s marriage didn’t stop me from pursuing her, but the pain and terror she had suffered at Drummond’s hands made an affair virtually impossible. Or should have. Except that I fell in love with her, which made me very determined, and by some miracle, despite her fear and the torment Drummond had put her through, she was able to feel something for me in return. Not love, not yet, but something.”
The attorney sat back, his gaze still intent on Cyrus’s face. “So, your enemy took another step to keep Julia away from you. He somehow persuaded the Bradshaw girl to deliver a false message intended to place Julia in a compromising position and alert Drummond to the danger you posed to his marriage.”
“Yes. But the plan failed. I think that’s important. He was beginning to lose his mastery over events. The plan should have driven another wedge between Julia and me. Instead, it alerted me to the fact that someone intended her harm. For the first time, I became aware of one of his actions.”
“And he killed the Bradshaw girl because…?”
“Because he blamed her for the plan’s failure. And because I knew who had left the message. I would have questioned her, and that would have led me to him.”
“What about yesterday? You said Drummond came home before he should have, and knew Julia was leaving him?”
Cyrus nodded. “I don’t know if my enemy planned all along to goad Drummond into trying to kill me, or if he hoped the lunatic would kill Julia. I do believe he’d realized he could no longer control Adrian, the man was coming apart, and had been for weeks. I’d done my part in pushing him, because I was trying to protect Julia and discover who was behind him. Then, yesterday, I knew I couldn’t wait. I had to get Julia away from Adrian.”
“I assume you’re trying to trace Drummond’s movements yesterday, find out who he talked to?”
“Yes, I have a Pinkerton man on that.”
“All right,” Rushton said slowly. “Now Julia’s here, under your roof, and you plan to marry her as soon as possible. You believe your enemy’s still too wary to strike directly at you? That he’ll try to hurt Julia?”
“I’m sure of it. For now, at least, he doesn’t want to come after me. If he can take Julia away from me before…”
“Before what?” Rushton asked intently.
Cyrus half closed his eyes, struggling to grasp the elusive snippet of knowledge. “I don’t know.” He sounded frustrated. Was frustrated. “Julia being with me, even marrying me, isn’t the worst threat to him. There’s something else. And he’s running out of time. The pattern is…reweaving itself. He can’t control it any longer. I’m almost where I was meant to be now, despite everything he’s tried to do to change that, because Julia’s a part of my life, as she was intended to be.”
“So you’ll be able to fight him, unless he manages to—to alter the pattern by taking Julia away from you?”
“Yes. I can’t tell you how I know, but I’m certain of it.”
Gabriel Rushton was silent for a long time, his gaze turned inward now as he brooded. Finally, his eyes focused on Cyrus again, and his voice was matter-of-fact. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to argue any of this to a jury. But I believe it. All right, I’ll tell you all I know about Drummond’s business affairs, if you think it might help.”
“I’m looking for connections,” Cyrus told him. “Whoever he is, my enemy is close by, and whatever his evil is, I can’t see it. He knew Drummond well, and he knows me. Anything you can tell me could help.”
—
Julia was alone in the blue parlor, studying the newspaper Felice had left. She frowned. The paper carried a photograph taken a month or two before, after the election of the new city council. The nine members were in a stiffly posed group with Adrian in the center. Julia had seen it before, but hadn’t studied it until now.
There was something disturbing about it, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason. She knew all the men in the photo at least by name; they were all part of the social group to which she belonged. Her eyes went from one face to another, finally resting on the man at Adrian’s right.
His eyes…She felt a curious chill. Odd she’d never noticed that about his eyes before, and she had seen him countless times during the last years. A trick of the camera, perhaps?
She was trying to decide why it bothered her so much when her sister walked into the room.
“Stork says Cyrus is in his study with Mr. Rushton,” Lissa said without preamble. “Isn’t he Adrian’s attorney?”
Looking up from the paper, Julia nodded. “And Cyrus’s as well. I believe he represents most of the prominent men in Richmond. Why?”
“I was just wondering.” Lissa hesitated, then sat down beside her sister on the settee. “Monica came to call, and we walked in the garden. You’ve been with Mrs. Stanton, haven’t you?”
“Yes, she left only a few moments ago.”
“She is nice, isn’t she?” Lissa asked, eager to have her own opinion confirmed.
Julia smiled, conscious of the feelings her visitor had inspired in her. The sadness, anger, and relief of knowing she wasn’t alone in what she’d suffered. The comfort of understanding and support. And the seeds of hope. “Yes, she’s nice. She’s very nice.”
“I knew you’d think so.” Lissa hesitated again, eyeing her sister, then said, “Monica told me what people are saying, Julia. Actually, it isn’t too bad. They’re shocked Adrian went berserk the way he did, of
course, and they’re surprised we’re here. But it’s rather strange. Monica says quite a few people have spoken up against Adrian. She—she knew, Julia. That he’d been hurting you. She says it was probably the servants who put the word out, and apparently they did it to defend you.”
More surprised than appalled, Julia stared at her sister. The Drummond servants had always seemed distant to her; but perhaps they had feared Adrian as much as she had? Once he was dead, they might have freely condemned him. Or had they truly meant to support her? How many other people had she underestimated? she wondered dimly.
“Julia? Do you mind terribly? Monica told me people are saying Cyrus is in love with you, and there aren’t many of them spreading ugly gossip about it.”
Conjuring a faint smile, Julia said, “I can’t say it’s a pleasant feeling to have my private life on public display. But I’ll survive it, Lissa.”
“You are going to marry Cyrus, aren’t you?”
“Of course she is,” Cyrus said, coming into the room and smiling at them both. “Lissa, Mark Tryon’s just called to see you. I’ve put him in my study.”
Lissa’s hand went to her bruised cheek, and she was obviously both pleased and anxious. “Oh, dear, and I look—”
“You look very pretty. Go and see the young man before he paces a hole in my rug.”
She smiled at Cyrus as she rose, leaving the room with no further hesitation, and when she’d gone, Julia said, “You handle her very well.”
Cyrus sat down beside her, his smile turning a bit sheepish. “I’ve always been partial to girls.”
“So I’ve heard,” she responded with only a touch of dryness.
His smile remained, but his eyes were very intent on her face. “I can’t go back and change the way I’ve lived my life, sweetheart. I don’t regret any of my choices—except the one that took me away from Richmond four years ago.”
Julia was a little surprised. “Why that one?”
Lightly, he said, “If I’d been here when you came out, you never would have married Drummond.”
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she murmured, but she was smiling faintly.
He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek for a moment, then leaned over and kissed her. It was a slow, warm, intimate kiss, deepening into a hunger so intense it awoke her own burning desire. She was trembling when he lifted his head, and looked at him with dazed eyes. He was still touching her, his fingers gentle as they rested on her neck, and his thumb brushed her throbbing bottom lip in a rhythmic caress. She had unconsciously grasped his wrist, and now became aware of the steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips.
“I’m sure of what we have,” he said huskily. “I’m sure we belong together.” Then he smiled. “You are going to marry me next week, aren’t you, love?”
“I think I am,” she said, somewhat awed by her own ready response.
Since Stork coughed politely in the doorway just then to announce supper was ready, Julia said no more. But it was enough. Cyrus kissed her again, reining the desire this time, and his black eyes were alight when he rose to his feet and helped her up. She was grateful for the help; she felt more than a little shaken.
It wasn’t until hours later, when she walked beside him up the stairs and into the lamplit bedroom they shared, that a sudden wave of panic swept over her. What was she doing? Marriage was enslavement, a prison sentence; no matter what anyone said, she knew it was true. She couldn’t marry Cyrus, the risk was too great. She couldn’t marry anyone, not again—
“Julia.” He surrounded her face with his big hands, making her look at him. “Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid.” His voice was low and achingly tender.
“I can’t marry you,” she whispered, foreboding clawing at her even though she struggled against it.
“Yes, you can,” he said, his gaze very steady. “I love you, Julia. I swear to God I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”
The panic was still inside her, but as she looked into his eyes she knew the emotion couldn’t hold against his determination. Neither could she. And when he bent his head to cover her mouth with his own, the heat of desire he’d kindled in her hours before with another kiss flared so strongly it overwhelmed her.
Her body hadn’t forgotten what he had taught it to feel. Her body remembered the incredible delight of belonging to him.
Last night she had been aware of exhaustion and a kind of numb peace, not even realizing she could never have slept in his arms if some part of her hadn’t trusted him. Tonight what she felt was a yearning so intense, nothing else mattered. Her response to his passion was almost wild, so frantic she would have been embarrassed if she’d been given a moment to think about it.
Cyrus didn’t give her a moment. His mouth on hers was hard with hunger, his fingers swift and sure as he unfastened her dress and pushed it off her shoulders. Her petticoat dropped in a pool of material around her feet, and she was only vaguely aware of her own actions when she fumbled with his tie and vest buttons. All of her—body and soul—was filled with him, his taste, the heady male scent of him, the hot intensity of his desire.
Looking back later, she didn’t remember much of those moments except for the driven urgency inside her. Clothing was left in jumbled confusion on the floor, and when he carried her naked to the bed she wasn’t thinking of anything but her need for him. His lean face was taut, eyes burning with the black fire that never failed to push her own passion even higher.
He didn’t put out the lamp, and she was glad. The way he looked at her made her feel far more beautiful and desirable than she’d ever imagined she could feel. He was different this time; his need seemed greater, or perhaps because she wasn’t nervous, frightened, or confused he merely felt able to express that need without holding himself back in any way. His hands trembled as they touched her body, and his own powerful form was hard and filled with fever.
The same fire was consuming Julia. She held his head, whimpering, when his mouth caressed her breasts, her body shaking as the incredible pleasure seared her senses. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t be still, because the spiraling tension was becoming unbearable. When his hand slipped down over her stomach, her legs parted eagerly for him, and a ragged moan caught in her throat.
“So beautiful,” he said thickly against her breasts, teasing her stiff nipples with his tongue as his fingers gently probed the soft, damp folds of her sex. “So warm and sweet…my sweet Julia…I love you so much…”
Already, the taut, building pleasure was a torment that seemed to be burning her alive. Her hips rose to his touch, and her fingernails bit into his shoulders as another moan tore free of her. Her body knew what it wanted, and the need was a fierce, primitive demand, a desperate necessity. She couldn’t plead with him because the words wouldn’t emerge from her tight throat. All she could do when he lifted his head to look down at her was plead with her eyes and pull mutely at his shoulders.
Cyrus covered her mouth with his, kissing her so deeply she felt bombarded by the intensity of his passion. Her thighs cradled him eagerly as he slipped between them, and through her half-closed eyes she stared into his black ones as her body accepted his slow penetration.
She made a little sound. Her total awareness focused on the burning invasion. It was almost painful, still a shock to her body, but great shudders of pure pleasure rippled through her as her tight passage stretched to admit him. She didn’t realize she was kissing him frantically, gripping him with her arms and legs as well as her pulsing inner flesh, and when his weight settled fully onto her, she didn’t hear the guttural moan of satisfaction that came from somewhere deep inside her.
Cyrus lifted his head to look down at her, an almost savage expression of pleasure on his hard face, his night-black eyes luminous, and his incredible voice was low and raspy when he said, “God, you feel so good, love.” His arms slipped under her shoulders, he moved slightly, pressing deeper inside her, and a sound like a growl escaped him. He moved again, every rigid
muscle quivering with the strain of holding himself to the slow, lingering thrusts.
Julia could feel him, feel the throbbing fullness her body held so tightly, and the tension was building, coiling in her until it was maddening. The prolonged retreat and return of his manhood was a blissful, searing pleasure she could hardly bear. Dimly, she thought there had to be a point when pleasure was simply too intense, and she thought she’d reached that tormenting moment, but he pushed her past it.
There was only sensation. The hot, slippery friction of him moving inside her. The way the powerful, quivering muscles of his back and shoulders and the sweat-dampened slickness of his skin felt beneath her fingers. The rasp of his hairy chest over her aching breasts, and the smooth hardness of his hips between her thighs. The sound of harsh breathing, hers and his. The musky, drugging scents of their heated bodies.
Julia bore the wild, exquisite lovemaking as long as she could, but she broke before he did. Her body surged beneath him, demanding an end to the magnificent torture, and a whimper of intolerable need was wrenched from her throat. An answering sound rumbled from Cyrus’s chest and his thrusts immediately quickened. She matched his rhythm perfectly, taking him as surely as he took her and insisting on a woman’s ultimate satisfaction.
When it finally came, the release was so devastating it flung her into a storm of sensation. She cried out, her body going taut and then convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure swept over her. The internal spasms of her climax held him deeply inside her, caressing him, and he groaned harshly as the soft inner contractions spurred his own shattering culmination. Shuddering violently in unbelievable ecstasy, he poured himself into her.
Chapter 11
The storm of the day before had broken the heat wave, but it was still August and the humid, heavy warmth of the afternoon lingered in the quiet bedroom even though it was late. Julia was aware of that, aware their bodies were damp with sweat, but she was too utterly drained to think much about it. She murmured a protest when he withdrew from her, but couldn’t manage to open her eyes until he lifted her off the bed and into his arms.