The Matchmaker

by Kay Hooper

  She put on her nightgown and dressing gown, and splashed water on her face, then paused to gaze into the mirror above the basin as she realized that her body, in its normal cycle, was signaling the absence of new life. She wasn’t pregnant. The wave of disappointment she felt surprised her in its intensity; she hadn’t known until that moment how much she wanted to have a child. Cyrus’s child.

  Adrian had desperately wanted a son, and all she’d felt about it was her sense of duty as his wife; she had been aware of no urge to be a mother. Cyrus had said nothing about children, but she wanted them so fiercely it hurt now to know she wasn’t pregnant already. She wanted to feel his child inside her.

  “His child,” she whispered, vaguely aware of the shock on her face but with no clear idea of what she was feeling. It was the strangest sensation, as if she were poised on the brink of some understanding just beyond her reach.

  Then a soft knock on the door distracted her, and the peculiar feeling faded.

  “Julia? Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  She dried her face and went to open the door, smiling up at her concerned husband. “I’m fine. Sorry I woke you.”

  He shook his head slightly, dismissing the apology, and his eyes were intent on her face. “You’re in pain.”

  She supposed the discomfort she felt might have been visible, but doubted it. He simply knew, just as he seemed to know so many things. Still smiling, she murmured, “One of the trials of being a woman.” By now she knew Cyrus well enough not to expect him to react as Adrian had—and she had a better understanding of just how abnormal her first husband had been. Adrian’s attitude toward the perfectly natural female cycle of her body had been open disgust.

  Quick understanding flashed in Cyrus’s black eyes, and the concern remained. He put his arms around her gently, one hand slipping down to massage the small of her back in a steady rhythm. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, love. Can I help?”

  The ache in her back diminished under his touch, and she was barely aware of the murmur of pleasure she made as she relaxed against him. He hadn’t gotten dressed, and she rubbed her cheek against the thick, soft mat of hair covering his broad chest as her arms went around his waist. “That helps,” she said.

  “You should rest,” he said after a few moments, still massaging her back gently.

  Julia tilted her head back to look up at him, slightly amused but warmed as well. “I’m fine, really. In a few hours there won’t even be an ache.” She hesitated, then said, “I didn’t think about it until just now, but do you want children, Cyrus?”

  “A little girl with green eyes,” he said promptly, smiling.

  That surprised her. “I thought all men wanted sons.”

  “Not this man.” He bent his head briefly to kiss her, then looked down at her gravely. “I’d love to have a child with you, sweet, girl or boy, but having you is what matters to me. I don’t want you to feel it’s your duty, or any of that nonsense. We don’t have to have children if you’d rather not. There are ways to prevent it happening.”

  She could think of only one way, and the very idea of no lovemaking absolutely appalled her. She didn’t realize it showed so clearly in her expression, until he grinned down at her.

  “No, my love, I don’t mean separate bedrooms—or even beds, if it comes to that.”

  “I should hope not,” she murmured, her face hot.

  Cyrus chuckled and kissed her again. “I’m so glad you agree with me on that point. No, I meant other ways. If you’d rather not have children, we’ll talk about those ways.”

  Julia was staring intently at a point somewhere near his chin. She was mildly curious to learn how to prevent a pregnancy, but not interested enough to ask at the moment. “I want a baby,” she said almost inaudibly. Your baby. Why couldn’t she say that, she wondered, say it was his child she wanted?

  “Are you sure, Julia? You’re still very young; we could wait a few years, just to be sure it’s what you want.”

  “I’m sure.” Her eyes met his, steady and certain.

  He smiled crookedly. “Then we’ll relax and let it happen, if and when it does.”

  “If?”

  “Not all men are able to father children, love,” he told her seriously. “And some women are barren. We’ll have to wait and find out if we can have a baby together.”

  She wanted to tell Cyrus she’d be happy with him even if they didn’t have children, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she managed a nod and smile, and kept to herself the puzzling inability to tell him how she felt.

  —

  From his secure vantage point, he watched the house, the rage growing and twisting inside him. Bastard. The bastard had deflected the blows aimed at him. He was virtually untouched, and he was guarding his new wife with all the care of a man who had more than a suspicion of a threat.

  He knew. Not all of it, no, but enough. The “footmen” he’d hired were detectives, like the men who guarded the house at night, and they were very, very good at their jobs. Neither the woman nor her sister was ever alone.

  The watcher stood at his window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, unable to admit even to himself that he felt as much panic as rage. But the knowledge was there, burning like a brand in his mind. He was losing control, all the threads slipping from his fingers. He’d made a bad mistake in pushing Drummond when he had. The man had gone over the edge, and in so doing he had freed the woman.

  And him…He was in love with her, a fact he didn’t trouble to hide from anyone. Somehow, he’d won her trust. They were married now. Mated. A bond existed between them, a tie that gave the bastard added strength. He was almost…complete. Almost able to see the truth. When that happened, he would recognize his twin, and move immediately to destroy him.

  The watcher wanted to howl, to rant and rave and tear something apart with his hands. His twin had been blind, but so had he, and he hadn’t known it. He had discounted the importance of the woman except as a vessel for new life, never realizing it was her union with his twin that was the binding thread of fate. Like his own hate, love was the core of his twin’s strength; now that he loved, he was stronger, and when she loved him he would be whole.

  And invincible.

  A muted sound erupted from the watcher’s throat, low and primal. His lifeless eyes, empty even of the rage that was malignant inside him, stared through the window while the brilliant, dark brain behind them coldly considered.

  He had to kill the woman. It was the only way, now, to destroy his twin.

  —

  August ended more pleasantly than it had begun, with frequent afternoon thunderstorms damping the heat of summer. Autumn arrived early, blowing cooling breezes through the drying leaves prematurely in September, and by the end of the month it was obvious summer was over.

  For Julia, the passing days were almost dreamlike. With Lissa back at school, she and Cyrus had more time alone together, and her confidence as a woman, as well as his wife, grew more secure with every passing day. He talked to her, and listened when she talked, his interest in her thoughts and opinions unfailing. He began teaching her to understand business matters, saying it was her right as his wife to have a complete knowledge of his affairs—now their affairs—and he was both patient and thorough in teaching her.

  He continued to encourage her blooming sensuality, making love to her with tenderness and passion. He taught her to laugh again, teasing her with obvious delight.

  And he gave of himself so completely that the only shadow on Julia’s happiness was the barrier she knew existed inside herself. It was deep within her, a wall around her heart, and no matter how often she tried to break it down, it stood firm. There were times, brief moments, when she thought she could reach through it, but she was never able to.

  Some instinct, hardly understood, told her there were victories that couldn’t be gained by force, and that she had to be patient, so she tried. Whenever her awareness of the barrier began troubling her, she f
ound something to occupy her mind.

  There was always something. She was spending a great deal of time now at the new house, which was nearly finished. Cyrus had given her a completely free hand with decorating, offering his opinions when she asked but showing behind a gleam of amusement the traditional male indifference to colors and furnishings. Felice, who had become Julia’s first real friend, said that Noel had found sly ways of keeping her busy during the first months of their marriage, and it had proven to be a wise tactic. She had emerged from her guarded shell without even being aware of it.

  “And so are you,” Felice said with a smile, “in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I have.” Julia looked up from a jumble of fabric and wallpaper swatches on the worktable set up in the foyer of the new house. They were alone for the moment, though the sounds of hammers and saws came from other parts of the house as the carpenters completed the final interior work. “Part of me wants to hold back,” she confessed. “To wait and see. I’m not afraid Cyrus will hurt me, it’s just that…”

  Felice nodded. “I know. When you’ve been knocked down often enough, it’s difficult to believe it won’t happen again.”

  “But what am I waiting for?” Julia asked, bewildered. “I trust him.”

  After a thoughtful moment Felice asked, “Has Cyrus lost his temper with you?”

  “No,” Julia replied instantly. She hesitated, then added, “He was angry when he…when he saw my back, but he wasn’t angry at me, and I knew it.”

  “Then that’s what you’re waiting for.”

  Julia felt a faint shock. “I don’t want him to be angry with me,” she protested.

  “No, but you’re afraid to trust him completely until he is angry and still doesn’t hurt you.”

  It made sense once Julia thought about it. Since she’d been with him, Cyrus had never so much as raised his voice to her. In fact, his voice held a gentleness that seemed only to have deepened during the past weeks, a constant and consistent part of his personality. She trusted his gentleness, but since she had never felt his anger, how could she trust that?

  Somewhat helplessly, she said, “What am I supposed to do, deliberately make him angry at me?”

  Felice sat down on the third tread of the stairs, and sighed, a look of rueful amusement on her face. “You know, I’m really not sure you even could. From what Noel’s told me, Cyrus has never had a temper, and the only time I’ve seen him in a bad mood was when he was upset because the two of you couldn’t be together. You may never see him lose his temper with anyone—much less you.”

  “Then what can I do? Felice, I don’t want to hold back, not with him.”

  The older woman shook her head. “I don’t know. Unless…Well, if you could somehow convince yourself he simply isn’t capable of becoming violent, even in the worst of situations, then that would probably do it.”

  Increasingly anxious, Julia thought during the next days about what Felice had said. Cyrus frequently told her he loved her, and she believed him; more and more she was painfully aware of the responses she wanted to make and couldn’t. The barrier inside her stubbornly resisted the words that represented the ultimate act of faith and trust.

  She told herself he wasn’t capable of violence, not Cyrus, but no matter how insistently she tried to convince herself, there was still a tiny doubt, a wary hesitation in her mind. What if he were?

  October brought chilly winds and rains, and no resolution for Julia. She was kept busy with the house and the few social functions she and Cyrus chose to attend, still surprised by the guarded acceptance she encountered. By the third week in October the house was virtually complete and the moving had begun. One by one, the rooms in the city house were emptied and closed, the furnishings hauled out to the new house. The valuables Cyrus had packed and stored before their marriage were also moved, as well as innumerable trunks and boxes filled with items that wouldn’t be needed until they were settled in the new house.

  Cyrus said they should have stayed in a hotel during that final week of the month when both houses were in total confusion, but since Julia enjoyed the bustle and needed to supervise all the activity anyway, he didn’t insist. He did complain once, mildly, when he discovered every pair of shoes he owned except the ones on his feet had been packed and moved to the new house two days before they were due to take up residence there, but only laughed at Julia’s guilty dismay.

  Moving day was chilly but sunny, and with numerous hired wagons as well as extra workmen to do the loading and transporting, the last of the furniture was taken out to the new house by midafternoon. All the servants, as well as both Julia and Cyrus, were kept busy arranging and unpacking, and it wasn’t until nearly five o’clock that Julia realized something had been left behind.

  She was in the master bedroom, working with one of the maids to unpack the last of the trunks, and as she hung one of Cyrus’s coats in his wardrobe she noticed what was missing.

  “Cathy, did you pack that long, narrow wooden box I left on the windowsill in the old house?”

  The young maid looked up, frowning a little. “No, Miss Julia, I don’t remember seeing it.”

  The cane. It had been left in the old house. Julia hesitated, then went to the window and looked out. The bedroom was at the rear of the house, and she could see Cyrus down below talking to a well-dressed man who was apparently a business associate; she’d seen him coming and going a few times during the past week. She turned away from the window, thinking, and rapidly made up her mind.

  “The buggy’s still hitched, and tied out front; I’m going to drive back to town.”

  “I’ll fetch Nelson,” Cathy said, beginning to get up from her kneeling position beside an open trunk.

  “No, it isn’t necessary. He’s helping Stork downstairs. I can make the trip in an hour or less, and be back by dark. Finish up in here, would you, please, Cathy?”

  “Yes, Miss Julia.”

  Julia found her gloves and a coat, but didn’t bother with a hat. She went down the curving staircase and crossed the foyer, hearing the sounds of busy people but encountering no one. The front of the house was deserted, all the wagons and extra men gone now, but the horse and buggy she usually drove was there.

  A few minutes later she was on the road to Richmond, the horse moving at a brisk pace. She had a faintly guilty thought that Cyrus wouldn’t like her going back to town alone like this, but she was less worried by that than by what could happen to his cane, left in an unlocked house. She had every hope of being able to get it and return before he even knew she was gone.

  There was little traffic, and she made good time. She pulled the buggy over to the sidewalk in front of the house and used the tether block, then went inside. Empty now, there was an almost eerie feeling of vastness and silence in the house, and Julia wasted no time in heading for the master bedroom. She caught a whiff of kerosene as she went up the stairs, and paused for a moment before continuing on, a little unnerved. All her instincts told her to get out of the house, and she could feel goose bumps breaking out all over her body.

  Definitely hurrying now, she went on to the bedroom, and felt a sharp pang of relief when she saw the box just where she’d left it on the windowsill. It was half hidden by the drapes, which was probably why no one had seen it. She went to the window and lifted the lid of the box, relieved again to see the dull gleam of gold and polished wood.

  “Hello, Julia.”

  Chapter 12

  Cyrus broke off in the middle of a sentence, his eyes widening as he stared through John Stevens. He saw nothing, but he felt shock and fear, and he knew it was Julia’s.

  “Mr. Fortune?” The Pinkerton man’s question was quick and sharp. “What is it?”

  “My wife!” He heard his voice as if from a great distance, the sound of it hoarse and afraid. “She’s—God, she’s gone back to the house alone. And he’s there.”

  Instantly, Stevens turned away, shouting for Nelson. Cyrus didn’t wait to have confirmation
; he ran for the stables and saddled his fastest horse, a terror unlike anything he’d ever felt before clawing inside him. He should have told her, should have warned her instead of believing she didn’t have to know of the threat. But he hadn’t. And now—now, when he’d finally gotten the evidence he needed to put a name and face to his enemy—Julia was miles away facing the soulless monster.

  Alone.

  It didn’t occur to Cyrus until he was halfway to town that he wasn’t armed, but he made no attempt to slow his horse’s headlong gallop. Instead, he urged the animal even faster, crouching low in the saddle as the wind whistled past. He didn’t need a gun. He didn’t need the Pinkerton men no doubt only minutes behind him. All he needed was enough luck to reach the house in time. That was all he asked.

  —

  Julia felt very cold as she looked at the man standing only a few feet away from her in the empty bedroom. She knew him. He had dined in her house when she’d lived with Adrian, had talked to her at various social events, had even danced with her. He was handsome and had always been charming, smiling.

  He was smiling now. A lighted kerosene lamp hung from one hand, its bright glow holding the gathering darkness outside the house at bay, and he was swinging it gently back and forth as if to some music only he heard.

  “You look so surprised, Julia.” His normally pleasant voice was toneless and remote. “Didn’t you know it was I? Couldn’t you feel it?”

  The first shock of his presence had faded quickly, but Julia felt trapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, a strange, primitive terror surging inside her. She wanted to run, to get as far away from him as she could. But she couldn’t move.

  He cocked his head to one side and took a step nearer to her. “Ah, I see. You really don’t know. I’ve been controlling your life for a long time, Julia. A very long time. I married you to Adrian—after I got your parents out of the way, of course. I made sure he treated you…right. He talked to me, you know. Nobody else, just me. He told me how much he loved hurting you, how it excited him.”