The Matchmaker (19 page)

It was difficult to think, but there was something she
had to tell him, something he needed to know before he made her his. With her mind dazed and her body in the
grip of these strange, maddening sensations, it wasn't
until he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the pallet that she tried to get the words out.

"Cyrus.
.."
She caught her breath as his big hands
glided down her legs, removing her stockings and shoes,
and the warm touch affected her peculiarly. Her heart
was pounding so rapidly she thought it might burst, and her entire body was quivering. Lying back on the quilts
that were surprisingly comfortable, she forced her eyes
open, not realizing until then that they'd been closed.

"What is it, sweet?" He was raised on an elbow beside
her, looking down at her with eyes that were tender
despite their burning. One of his hands brushed a strand
of her hair away from her face, while his other hand lay,
warmly heavy, over her stomach.

The last thing she wanted to do, especially now, was to bring up the subject of her husband, but she had little choice. She had a superstitious urge not to tempt fate by
confessing the truth, terrified her own words would
cause Cyrus to see whatever it was Adrian saw in her and
make him draw away from her in aversion. Even the
possibility sent a chill through her aching body.

She was glad she was still wearing her chemise and knickers; partially clothed she felt a trifle less vulnerable.
But she was nervous, apprehensive, painfully embarrassed—and though her body still throbbed feverishly,
she was so aware of the suspension of his caresses and
her own terrible fears, she felt almost sick with dread.
Her gaze skittered from his, and she said diffidently,
"There's something I—I have to tell you."

Cyrus had kept a tight rein on the clamorings of his
body, fiercely determined to make certain she would
have nothing to regret in giving herself to him. But at
her words an entirely new kind of tension clenched in
him. The way she looked away from him, and sounded so
anxious. God, she couldn't be pregnant! He didn't know
if he could bear even the idea of Drummond's child
growing inside her body.

But as he looked down at her, so delicate and lovely,
her beautiful face framed by bright hair tumbled loosely
over the quilt, he knew he would bear it if he had to. He loved her. He leaned down to kiss her,
then
drew back.
"Then tell me. You can tell me anything, sweet."

She bit her lip, her eyes meeting his again, then took
a breath and said softly, rapidly, "I—I've never—my
marriage was never—consummated."

It was the last thing Cyrus had expected, and for a moment all he felt was shock. "Drummond didn't.
.."

Heat burned in her face, and Julia looked nervously
away again. "He—he couldn't," she said in a stifled
voice. "He tried, because he wanted a son. But he said it was my fault, that I made him ill."

Cyrus gathered her into his arms and held her against
him, still so shaken he could hardly think, but hearing in
her voice the damage Drummond had done to her
confidence as a woman.
"Shhh.
It wasn't your fault, my
darling."

Her voice was muffled against his neck as she clung to
him, but he heard the words all too clearly. "It did make
him ill to touch me.
..
it was horrible when he tried. I felt so ugly and ashamed. I didn't want him to—to do that to me, but he was my husband, and I knew he had
the right to, but he couldn't. He couldn't. And he said
things to me that hurt worse than the strap..
.."

Cyrus held her tighter, his emotions chaotic. He hated
Drummond for what he'd done to Julia, for her pain and
for the healing that might take years. But he also felt an
almost numbing surge of primitive pride and crushing
responsibility. He, he alone would initiate this woman who was his heart's desire into the mysteries and beau
ties of making love.

"It's all right, sweetheart," he murmured huskily,
easing her back down onto the pallet.

"He said I was repulsive," she whispered. Her face
was white now, her eyes anguished.

Cyrus kissed her trembling lips very gently. "No sane man could say that to you." He touched her cheek with tender fingers, and his soft words were fervent. "You're
so beautiful, Julia, so amazingly lovely. The first time I
saw you, I couldn't take my eyes off you. And I couldn't
stay away from you. You've haunted me, awake and
asleep, every moment since."

Almost against her will, she believed at least that he
found her attractive and desirable. He had certainly
pursued her with a single-minded intensity. Still, she
had to force the difficult words out. "But passion can
change, can't it? It can... wither."

Cyrus was certain she had never talked of this to
anyone, and even though just the thought of Drummond
in bed with Julia sickened him, he was determined her
marriage not become a kind of Bluebeard's chamber between them. Trust began with honesty; Julia had to
believe there was nothing she couldn't say to him, no
subject she couldn't discuss with him, no matter how
painful it was to either of them.

He made his voice gentle but matter-of-fact. "My
sweet, there are a number of reasons a man might be
physically unable to make love to a woman even if he
feels desire for her." He hesitated,
then
said, "His sexual
organ has to be erect to enter a woman's body. You
understand that?"

Julia half nodded, her face burning again with embar
rassment. Since she'd grown up in the country, with
animals about, she had at least a basic knowledge of the
mechanics of reproduction, but Adrian had confused her
about sexual relations between men and women in
addition to everything else. Since he'd always attempted to take her in the dark, she hadn't been certain what had
gone wrong at first. Then she had realized he became
aroused when he hurt her, but not when he tried to
possess her. He hadn't been able to enter her, no matter
how frantically he'd pushed and prodded. Even when he
seemingly aroused himself—she judged that by his changing voice and movements beside her—before
touching her, his arousal had vanished as soon as he did
touch her.

"I—I understand," she murmured, unable to meet his eyes except fleetingly. "But you said—he might not be
able to even if he wants to?"

Cyrus nodded. "Reasons like exhaustion or illness.
If
he's upset about something that has nothing to do with
her, and yet affects his own body.
Or if he's emotionally
disturbed—like Drummond.
His problems have nothing
to do with you. Any man would find you desirable."

Part of Julia's mind was shocked by the conversation,
but her painful confusion drove her to try to understand,
and Cyrus didn't appear to mind. "But when
Adrian... when he tried, he seemed to.
..
arouse
himself without even looking at me, or touching me.
In
the dark.
And when he did touch me, his passion
just... died. How could it not be my fault?"

Cyrus hesitated, praying he could find the right
words. He'd never been so conscious of how young she was, how terribly young to have such wretched ques
tions. "His passion was empty. Hollow. It wasn't the
desire of a man for a woman; if it had been, touching you
would have made it grow stronger. He isn't normal,
Julia. What he taught you of men is distorted, unnatural. You have to believe that, because it's the truth."

"Men don't... beat women?"

"Normal men don't," he said flatly, his heart filled with pain because she should never have even imagined that question.

Julia hesitated, then said, "Sometimes he—Adrian
makes me
touch
him. But not because the touch pleases
him, or even arouses him. It's to hurt me, to—to shame
me. That's why he does it. Do all men—"

"No." Cyrus leaned down and kissed her gently. "Sweetheart, touching between men and women should be nothing but pleasure. I want to touch you because it's a need inside me, because you're so beautiful and I want
to be as close to you as I can. I want to please you, more
than anything, to show you how wonderful lovemaking
can be."

Almost without thinking she lifted a hand and touched
his cheek with unsteady fingers. A little shy now, still
uncertain, she said, "Before you touched me, I didn't
know I could feel desire. Or pleasure. I'm sorry to be so stupid about it, but there was no one I could ask—"

"God, don't be sorry." He kissed the inside of her wrist softly. "You can ask me anything, my sweet." His smile was warm and gentle. "And you aren't stupid, don't think
that. Just young, and even though you've seen more cruelty than anyone should, you're innocent as well."

Her fingers were stroking his cheek of their own
volition, almost compulsively, and she loved the way his
skin felt under her touch. "My mother never talked to
me of such things," she murmured. "I promised myself I'd talk to Lissa."

"I hope you'll be able to tell her a man can bring her pleasure with his passion," Cyrus said quietly. "I hope
you'll be able to say to her that she never has to be afraid
of a man who loves her."

Julia was puzzled.
Love?

Cyrus took her free hand and carried it to his chest,
where she could feel the strong beat of his heart. Even
as she felt the steady thuds, the tempo of them quickened, and his voice grew taut with intensity. "To make
love to you isn't just a desire in me, it's a need. Do you understand, sweetheart? Not just passion.
Love.
I love
you."

That shocked her more than anything he'd said or done, and pushed all thoughts of Adrian out of her mind. She searched his face with bewildered eyes, seeing the tenderness stamped in his hard, handsome features, seeing a glow in his black eyes she'd never seen before, as if they were lit from within.

It was beautiful, what she saw. It even moved her in a
way that was almost instinctive, as if the ancient core of her female being recognized and valued the primitive conquest of a male heart. But she couldn't feel anything except surprise and disbelief.

Love?
He loved her? It wasn't possible. She'd heard tales of him while she was still in the schoolroom, and
even allowing for the exaggeration of gossip, one fact had
stood out: His attachment to any one woman, if there even was an attachment other than passion, had never been more than fleeting. A single woman, she thought,
could never hold him, not for long.

Then again, perhaps his definition of love existed only
in the moment. Perhaps he loved all his mistresses.

In any case, Julia wasn't foolish enough to assume
anything from the declaration. She was a married woman on the point of leaving her husband; Cyrus was a man
who wanted an affair with her. If it pleased him to say he
loved her, then so be it.

Finally, hesitantly, she said, "You don't have to say you love me. I didn't expect you to."

His expression didn't change, except for the curve of
his mouth, which turned a little wry. "I said it because
it's true. I'll never lie to you, Julia.
Never.
I do love you.
I know you don't believe it, but you will one day."

She didn't know how to reply, so she said nothing.

He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, the
first gentle touch deepening with hunger. Her arms
went around his neck, and she was suddenly aware that
the interruption had only held desire at bay, not de
stroyed it. Her body was throbbing again, feverish, and
her response to his intense kisses was as fervent as it had
been before. She heard herself murmur a protest when his lips left hers, and her own unexpected wantonness
was no more than a tiny shock this time.

"I need you so much," he said huskily, his eyes
burning down at her again.

Her heart was thudding, her breathing quickened,
and the yearning inside her was so strong she was only
dimly aware that the storm had intensified in its fury.
She didn't hear the booming thunder or wailing wind, or
the heavy drumming of rain on the roof; all she heard
was his voice.
His wonderful, black velvet voice.