The Matchmaker (30 page)

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, sweet
heart?"

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 ques
tions 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 hap
piness with Cyrus had grown stronger with every pass
ing 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 preg
nant, 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.

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 real
ize 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.