The Matchmaker

by Kay Hooper

  He kissed her, which distracted her from the question of where he was taking her, and the next thing she knew she was being lowered into wonderfully cool water. One of the maids had apparently readied the bathwater before they’d come upstairs, though she hadn’t noticed the light on in the room. The tub was large, which was a good thing; he never could have joined her in a smaller one.

  She looked at him bemusedly in the bright light of the bathroom, and said the first thing she could think of. “We’re getting water on the floor.” She was vaguely grateful her hair was still up.

  Cyrus eyed the small waves lapping over the rim of the tub and shrugged. “I’ll have to remember,” he murmured. “A bigger tub for the new house.”

  “Is this decent?” she asked, grappling with a dim idea that it wasn’t.

  He leaned over to kiss her, his wet hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders. “Of course it is, love.” Then his smile faded a little, and his eyes grew intent. “If you don’t want me to join you like this—”

  “No.” She felt the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks, which was, she told herself, absurd. “No, I—I like it. I think.” She had yet to feel at all shy or self-conscious with him, which surprised her. And she didn’t feel humiliated the way she had whenever Adrian had looked at her naked.

  “Good.” He kissed her again, then reached for soap and a washcloth. “I want to take care of you, sweetheart. Will you let me?”

  Julia could only nod a wordless acceptance, still bemused by him and by herself. It seemed there was much more to intimacy with a man than she’d known or even suspected, and this new experience was both strange and very pleasurable. He handled her body with a gentle, familiar touch, kissing her often in a teasing way that made her smile at him. He clearly enjoyed touching her, yet he was also matter-of-fact with the mechanics of bathing so she wasn’t made to feel at all self-conscious.

  She even returned the favor, a bit timid at first but encouraged by his pleased smile. She hadn’t caressed him when he made love to her, mostly because her own emotions and sensations had overwhelmed her, and now, for the first time, she became aware of a need to touch him. She loved the way his hard body felt under her soapy hands, and when she realized he was becoming aroused, the knowledge sent a dart of pleasure through her.

  “I can’t seem to get enough of you, my sweet,” Cyrus murmured, a familiar heat kindling in his black eyes. He drew her closer in the tub and kissed her, his hands stroking her body with none of the earlier matter-of-factness. And her body certainly understood the difference.

  She was still touching him, slowly exploring both above and below the water’s surface, her desire building so quickly that she was only mildly surprised when she realized—

  “Here?”

  “Here,” he replied huskily.

  —

  He saw her naked back for the first time that night. It was after he’d pulled himself from the tub reluctantly and wrapped a towel around his lean middle, then held another open for her.

  “Come on out, sweetheart.”

  She had forgotten her scars and did not worry about rising naked from the water or stepping out of the tub—only wondering if her trembling legs would hold her up. She’d never felt so blissfully spent, and stood a bit dazedly as he gently dried her. It wasn’t until he began to turn her that she stiffened.

  He went still and waited, looking gravely into her eyes. She wanted to refuse him, but couldn’t somehow. After a long moment she slowly turned her back to him, unconsciously bowing her head. There was only a brief pause before he began moving the thick towel gently over her back, and he didn’t say a word.

  After the way it had hit him so hard to see only part of her scars, Cyrus had braced himself to see all of them. But there was no way, he acknowledged now, to be even remotely prepared for the evidence of such cruelty. No way to look at what had been done to her and not feel intolerable rage and agony tearing him apart.

  Adrian had chosen her back as his target, and that terrifyingly fragile, delicate area from the nape of her neck to her waist bore the atrocious brand of his insane rage. The broader welts of a strap were only faint marks, healed now; more awful were the thin white scars of some kind of whip, crisscrossing her back, and the tiny pale crescents that were the wounds of a ring or buckle. There were so many.

  Cyrus dried her gently, then wrapped the big towel around her and drew her back against his body, holding her. “My poor darling,” he murmured. “What you’ve suffered…I’m so sorry, love. No wonder you’ve been so afraid.”

  A little shudder went through her, and Julia let her head fall back against his shoulder as she relaxed in his embrace. “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, realizing it was true, realizing she trusted him. Some part of her, she thought, had always trusted him. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

  His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her shoulder. “Never,” he promised in a low voice.

  They stood silently for a time, the closeness creating an aura of peace and contentment. When they did move, it was slowly, and they were still silent. Cyrus took her hair down and brushed it for her. He let the water out of the tub and turned off the lights while she went into the bedroom, and when he rejoined her she was waiting for him, naked under the sheet.

  He turned out the lamp on the nightstand and slid into bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. She cuddled close with a little sigh, so weary that giving in to the need for sleep was like tumbling into a well of warm darkness. Her only clear thought before that pleasant state claimed her was a wistful yearning. She wished she could love him.

  Cyrus slept deeply as well, but only for a few hours. It was before dawn when he woke abruptly, something pulling at him. He got out of bed, careful not to wake Julia, and crossed the dark room to one of the windows. This room was at the front of the house, facing the street, and in the predawn hours all was dark and silent outside. The night was still, warm, humid.

  It took him a few moments to realize his eyes were intently probing the darkness, and when he did, he had no idea what he was looking for. A threat, he thought. Danger. But he saw nothing except the normal shadows of night.

  There were two Pinkerton men in his house playing the roles of footmen while they watched over Julia and Lissa; two more shared the task of keeping guard outside; yet another investigator was working to find the answers—and the evidence—Cyrus needed to identify his enemy. He should have felt some sense of security, of safety for those he loved, because he had taken every possible precaution. Instead, his strongest certainty was that whatever was meant to happen would.

  There were things he could change. He knew it, had known it for a long time now. But his own future was set, marked in a pattern he could see only vaguely and had little hope of altering. The next few months would be critical, he felt it with everything inside him.

  And he felt, for the first time, a kind of loneliness. He had said to his old friend and attorney that he couldn’t be complete without Julia; he wasn’t complete, and he’d never been so aware of the empty place inside him. She had given him her body, and, astonishingly, she had given him her trust, but unless and until she gave him her love, he’d never be whole.

  “Cyrus?” Her voice, soft and drowsy.

  He turned away from the window and the nebulous danger he felt out there, and went back to her. She made a sound of contentment when he rejoined her and drew her into his arms, her delicate body utterly relaxed. She was already deeply asleep again, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He held her close, one hand stroking her back gently. He could feel the scars.

  Adrian might be roasting in hell, but Cyrus knew there was another man just as guilty of sick cruelty, just as responsible for hurting Julia—and he was still walking around alive. He was worse than Adrian had been, not so much demented as evil. Cyrus could almost feel the darkness, almost smell the rotten odor of corruption. But what disturbed him most of all, what had begun to torment him, was the growing convicti
on that there was some deep connection, some bond, between him and his enemy.

  He held Julia in his arms and stared into the darkness of night. He didn’t sleep again for a long time.

  —

  Adrian Drummond was buried on Sunday with surprisingly little fanfare. The mayor of Richmond was laid to rest in the cemetery of his family’s church with few well-wishers in attendance to bid him good-bye. Reporters far outnumbered the mourners, and though his fellow councilmen showed up, they had clearly agreed among themselves to betray no emotion and make no comments to the press. They were successful on both counts.

  Neither the widow, her sister, nor Cyrus Fortune attended the funeral.

  The evening edition of the city’s newspapers contained numerous articles running the gamut from a rancorous interview with an ex-employee to a summary of Drummond’s will—which had been read, in private, to those his attorney summoned to hear the details. The story concerning the will was a definite spur to gossip, especially since it accurately stated that Drummond’s widow and sister-in-law inherited nothing. Drummond, it seemed, chose to leave his money to his political party.

  That information wasn’t news to Cyrus, and since Julia wanted nothing at all from her late husband, it suited her perfectly, but it gave the people of Richmond something else to talk about. Those outside the social circle the Drummonds had occupied talked the loudest; those who had known the couple, or thought they had, were more quiet and thoughtful.

  On the following Friday afternoon Julia Drummond married Cyrus Fortune in a private ceremony in the neighborhood church. The bride was attended by her sister, the groom by his best friend, Noel Stanton, and the only guests were Felice Stanton and Mark Tryon.

  The newspapers, uncharacteristically subdued, ran simple announcements followed by the information that the newlywed couple had chosen to postpone a honeymoon trip.

  The people of Richmond shook their heads, but since rumors had been flying thick and fast from the day of Drummond’s death, no one knew what to think. Most settled down to await developments, puzzled and curious—and unusually reluctant to judge.

  —

  “But Cyrus, I don’t need a footman.” Julia kept her voice low, partly because the stalwart young man in question was only a few feet away, waiting by the door to accompany her. She was venturing out alone for the first time since Adrian’s death and less than a week since her quiet marriage. It had taken her this long to get up the nerve to show her face in public without the comfort of Cyrus’s presence. They had walked in the park a few times, and he’d taken her to the new house more than once, but since they hadn’t encountered anyone they knew during those outings Julia’s courage hadn’t been put to the test.

  She thought it was time. Lissa was out with friends, Cyrus had an appointment at his office in the city, and she needed to do some shopping. He had arranged accounts for her and Lissa at a number of shops as well as providing extremely generous allowances for both of them.

  He seemed reluctant to have her go out alone. He betrayed his feelings by a subtle, almost imperceptible tightening of his handsome features, but Julia knew him better now and she caught the fleeting expression.

  “Humor me,” he said lightly, smiling down at her. “Take Nelson along with you.”

  Julia drew on her gloves, a twinge of unease disturbing the peace she’d found these last days. “Why?” she asked finally. “Because of what happened to Helen? Is that why you’ve hired a footman to stay with Lissa and a footman to stay with me?”

  Cyrus hesitated, then nodded. He bent his head to kiss her, a gesture that no longer made her feel the slightest bit embarrassed no matter who was watching, and said, “It’s partly that, yes.”

  “Partly? What else?”

  He was stroking her cheek gently, as he so often did, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed. “We’ll talk about it later, all right, sweetheart?”

  Julia felt uneasy about whatever it was, but her trust in Cyrus had been growing steadily and she was able to smile at him. “All right.”

  He kissed her again, lingeringly this time. “And don’t stay out too long in this heat,” he said.

  “No, I won’t.”

  Cyrus stood looking after her even when the closed door hid her from his sight. He hated letting her go out without him. The fear of losing her was with him constantly now, a coldness that never eased. He’d made no progress in identifying his enemy, and his odd instincts told him there wasn’t much time left. But those same instincts also told him he would bring about the very thing he wanted desperately to avoid if he didn’t allow Julia as much freedom as possible: he would lose her.

  He had done what he could to keep her safe without locking her up with an armed guard to stand watch. All he could do now was trust in his precautions—and wait.

  Julia was aware of her unobtrusive escort, though not particularly troubled by his presence, and the worry about what Cyrus hadn’t told her was also on her mind, but most of her attention was focused on keeping her chin up and her expression calm. She wasn’t wearing the social mask she had created during her first marriage; that had been a lie and she was determined never to lie—to herself or anyone else—ever again.

  When the first acquaintance she passed on the sidewalk tipped his hat with a murmured greeting and slight smile, she felt a bit more secure, and by the time she had visited two shops her confidence was much steadier. People she knew spoke to her, guardedly perhaps, but without condemnation, and no one asked awkward questions or looked at her as if there were any reason she should feel defensive or defiant.

  When she returned home just over two hours later she was smiling, bemused but intensely relieved; her happiness with Cyrus had grown stronger with every passing day, and she’d wanted nothing to mar that.

  “I’ll take these upstairs, ma’am,” Nelson murmured, indicating the several boxes he carried.

  “Thank you, Nelson.” She drew off her gloves as she watched him ascend the stairs, and turned in surprise as Cyrus came out of his study. “I thought you had an appointment,” she said.

  “I did, but it didn’t last long.” He put his hands on her small waist and pulled her to him, kissing her, then smiled down at her. “How about your meeting with public scrutiny?”

  “It was…surprising.” She absently smoothed his lapels. “Everyone was perfectly polite. Was that your doing?”

  Cyrus lifted an eyebrow at her. “How on earth could it have been?”

  Julia felt her smile growing as she gazed up at him. “I don’t know, but I have a strange feeling it was another one of those things you wanted—and got. Like magic. Perhaps I did marry the offspring of a warlock after all.”

  He was smiling, but there was something unusually hesitant in his black eyes. “Would it bother you if that turned out to be true?” he asked lightly.

  Despite the tone, his question was serious. It was a strange question, yet she was curiously unsurprised by it. And her reply was made almost without thought, matter-of-factly. “No, of course not. How could it? Wherever your…magic came from, there’s no doubt it’s a—a positive force. If anyone knows that, I do.” She reached up to touch his cheek, aware of an odd urge to comfort him. “How could anything about you disturb me?” she asked him softly.

  Cyrus wished he could see love in her beautiful green eyes, hear love in her gentle voice. But he didn’t. She felt trust, desire, and gratitude—perhaps even caring—but not love. And it was the one gift he could not get, no matter how often or winningly he asked for it.

  He hugged her briefly, reminding himself they’d been together a very short time, and that she had a great deal to put completely behind her. “You realize I have no idea who or what my father was?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

  She nodded, still looking up at him. “Yes.”

  He wanted to avoid, if possible, telling her what he knew of his elusive enemy, at least until he had more information. He didn’t want to disturb her
peace, or worry her unnecessarily, but he did want her to know about the cane, about his fruitless search so far for some clue to his beginnings. So he said now, “Shortly after you and I met, I received a package. Why don’t you come upstairs with me, and I’ll show you what was apparently a gift from my father.”

  Julia was surprised, and intrigued. She was even more intrigued when she saw the cane. Though he remained casual about the subject, she knew he was disturbed about it—how could he not be? She had no answers for him, but during the following days she found herself going often to his wardrobe and taking out the cane, studying it intently. It seemed familiar to her, as if she’d seen it, or one like it, before, but she couldn’t remember when or where.

  During those next days she became so accustomed to being accompanied by her footman whenever she left the house on her own that she completely forgot Cyrus had any reason other than Helen’s murder for asking her not to go out alone. There were so many other things for her to think about.

  Cyrus was busy, but he managed to spend time with her during the days, and at night he made love to her with a desire that seemed to grow more intense each time. More than once he woke her in the morning making love to her. It no longer either surprised or shocked her that she could feel such incredible pleasure; she was simply grateful and delighted she could.

  It wasn’t until the second week of her marriage that Julia realized there had been one argument Cyrus hadn’t used in persuading her to marry him. In all truth, it hadn’t occurred to her he might have made her pregnant, until the familiar cramps woke her just after dawn one morning. She slipped from their bed, careful not to wake him, and gathered up her nightgown and dressing gown; she always slept naked now just as he did, but kept her sleepwear near the bed in case of need. She went into the bathroom and softly closed the door.

  Her cycle was extremely regular, and her body so sensitive to its rhythms that the discomfort she felt now heralded rather than accompanied her monthly flow; she wouldn’t begin to bleed for hours yet, and once she did the cramps would diminish. As usual, she felt hot and restless, and along with sharp twinges in her lower abdomen there was a dull ache in her back and deep in her pelvis.