The Matchmaker (22 page)

"Thank you, sweet." He tipped her chin up and kissed her lightly, then helped her into the buggy.

"I blew out the lamp," she told him as she settled into the padded seat, wondering vaguely if he intended to make it a habit to kiss her no matter where they were.
She had a peculiar idea that he would.

"Thank you for that too," he said, getting into the buggy beside her and picking up the reins.

Julia didn't speak again until they were on the road to Richmond, and when she did her words were hesitant. "Cyrus? Will I live with you?
In your house?"

The question surprised him. He shifted the reins to
one hand and slipped his arm around her, drawing her
closer to his side. "Of course, love."

She glanced up at him.
"Lissa too?"

"When she isn't at school and until she marries, certainly."

"I was... just wondering," she murmured.

Cyrus was puzzled for a moment, but then he realized what Julia must have been thinking, and he chuckled.
"I'm sorry, my sweet. I've been unclear about future
plans, haven't I?"

"I shouldn't have asked—"

"Julia, you have every right to ask. My only excuse for not making myself plain is that I haven't been thinking much beyond the utter delight of being with you."

The glance she sent him this time was
startled,
and he
chuckled again.

"Sweetheart, as soon as you're free of Drummond, we're getting married."

"What?" That was so unexpected she could only stare
up at him in total shock. Married? He wanted to marry her? But he wasn't a marrying man, everyone said he
wasn't and besides, why would a man like Cyrus Fortune
choose a woman like her?

In a chiding tone he said, "I know I'm considered to
have few graces and a tendency to do things my own
way, but I'm really not such a reprobate as you seem to
believe. Ruining your excellent reputation by setting you up as my mistress would be bad enough; taking Lissa
into my house as well would be inexcusable."

"I didn't think you—cared about reputations," she managed to say unsteadily.

"Not mine, no. But I know too well how important a woman's reputation is to her. And how cruel society can
be when the most rigid rules are broken."

After a long moment she said very quietly, "I won't
marry to protect my reputation."

Cyrus glanced at her, and immediately drew the horse
to a stop. She looked so numb he couldn't bear it. He
gathered her into his arms and merely held her for a
moment, then pulled back just a bit and gazed down at
her gravely. "Julia, I love you. I want to spend the rest
of my life with you."

"You said—"

"I said what I did because I thought the reason would
persuade you more than any other. I'm sorry,
sweetheart—that was inexcusable." He cupped her face
in his hands and held her eyes steadily with his own. "I want to marry you because I love you, not for any other reason."

His eyes weren't fair, she thought, they just weren't
fair. "I don't know.
..
I can't think," she whispered.

Cyrus kissed her gently, then kept an arm around her
as he picked up the reins and urged the horse on again.
"I won't force you," he said quietly. "I don't want you to
feel you have no other choice. Whatever happens, I'll
take care of you and Lissa; you can be sure of that. If
marriage—to me or anyone—is repugnant to you after
what you've been through, I'll understand. I'll do my
best to change your mind, because I believe we belong
together, but I'll try not to pressure you."

Her thoughts were awhirl. It had never crossed her
mind that he might want to marry her, and she didn't
know how she felt about the idea. It would, of course,
make her situation and Lissa's much more acceptable in the eyes of society if she eventually married the man
under whose protection she was living. But she wasn't at
all certain she wouldn't rather take her chances with society's condemnation than tie herself legally or morally to another man.
Even Cyrus.

At least there would be time for her to think; she was grateful for that. Even if Adrian were completely agree
able to a divorce, the process would require months;
since he was extremely unlikely to be agreeable, it
would take longer. Perhaps by then she'd know what was best for her to do.

Julia felt Cyrus tense at that moment, and when she looked up at him, her thoughts scattered. He was staring straight ahead, his face almost masklike in its stillness,
and his black eyes were filled with a radiant intelligence so intense it was almost shocking. She only just stopped
herself from crying out, and was vaguely surprised her voice sounded so normal when she said, "What is it?"

"Something's wrong," he murmured.

"What?"

"I don't know. I can't see it." He blinked,
then
looked
down at her, the intensity gone or hidden. But his expression was grim. "We'd better hurry." He slapped the reins against the horse's rump to urge it on.

She felt a cold touch of fear, but bewilderment as well.
How did he know something was wrong? It was precisely
like the moment he'd slipped the wedding band off her finger, something which should have been impossible.
How could he do such a thing?

Cyrus was silent as he drove the buggy rapidly into Richmond. He had to slow down once he reached the city
streets; the break in the weather had apparently stirred
the populace, and everyone seemed to be taking advan
tage of cooler temperatures to run errands or simply get
a little fresh air.

He swore softly as he threaded the buggy through
brisk traffic, using both hands on the reins now to guide
the horse. Worried, Julia sat very still beside him, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. She didn't think about
what anyone might say after seeing her with Cyrus in an open buggy with his horse trotting behind; all she could think of was the worst possibility that had occurred to
her.
If Adrian had come home.
And Lissa was there.

They reached the elegant neighborhood where both
the Drummond house and Cyrus's were situated, and given the direction they'd come from, it was easier for Cyrus to pull the buggy over and stop across the street
from the Drummond house. There wasn't so much traffic
on this residential street; a couple of carriages tooled
along briskly, quite a few people were strolling along the
sidewalks, and far down the block a heavily laden ice wagon pulled by two huge, placid draft horses rumbled slowly toward them.

Cyrus got out of the buggy and handed the reins to
Julia. "You wait here, sweetheart," he said. "I'll go and
get Lissa."

"I should—"

"No." He covered one of her hands with his and squeezed gently. "Wait here, please."

"All right," she
murmured,
a little pale.

He turned and paused to wait for a carriage to pass.
Glancing to one side, he saw Noel standing a few yards away on the sidewalk, and couldn't repress a faint flicker of amusement even though he was feeling unsettled and worried. His friend looked as if he'd been stuffed, mouth
slightly ajar and bushy eyebrows climbing his forehead
in surprise.

Noel took a step toward the buggy, then stopped
,,
his head swiveling around as a door slammed violently
across the street. Cyrus looked quickly as well, and his
heart lurched when he saw Lissa running from the
house. Her face was paper-white except for the brutally plain, reddened mark on her cheek; her hair was falling
down and her white blouse was torn away from one
shoulder.

Weeping hysterically, she darted across the street and, though tears must have made her half blind,
unerringly found Cyrus and flung herself into his arms.

"He—he set the house on fire!" she sobbed, clinging to Cyrus with terrified strength. "And he has a gun! He said he'd kill Julia and me—"

Immediately, Cyrus swung her up and put her in the buggy beside Julia. As the younger sister collapsed
against the elder, he said sharply, "Drive to my house, Julia, now."

The instinct to obey was so
strong,
she lifted the reins
automatically, but then said, "No, not without you—"

"Julia—"

A sudden report from across the street made him
swing around again, and he saw Drummond stumble
from the house, waving a pistol—which he had acciden
tally or with mad deliberation fired into the air. His
clothing was disheveled, his blond hair standing up wildly, and his eyes were utterly insane. A torrent of
filthy words and hideous threats poured from his mouth,
shouted rather than spoken, and as he staggered down
the sidewalk toward the street, his demented gaze was
fixed on Cyrus and the two women in the buggy. He was trying to get the pistol cocked, using both shaking hands
in the attempt.

Forever afterward Cyrus remembered that scene as if
Mathew Brady himself had made a photograph to freeze
the moment in time. Passersby, motionless now,
shocked, stared at an armed madman, at the sight of
flames licking windows and the open doorway of the
elegant house behind him.

Cyrus turned his head swiftly, his eyes locating the
plodding ice wagon less than fifty yards away. He looked
back at Drummond just as the man stumbled into the
street and lifted the muzzle of the pistol with a hoarse,
triumphant cry.

At the last moment he must have heard the thunder of
runaway horses and a massive wagon bearing down on
him. But by then it was too late.

"No one can determine what caused the horses to bolt," Noel said softly. "I can't understand it. I know those animals; both nearly twenty years old and completely without vices, and they've been plodding up and down these streets for a decade without shying at anything."

Cyrus was standing by the fireplace in his study, a forearm resting on the mantel as he gazed down at the
cold hearth. He was expressionless, his eyes unreadable.
He didn't look up, or respond to his friend's low words.

Noel tried again, unable to forget the quick, curiously
intense sidelong glance he had seen his friend throw the
oncoming ice wagon—just before the placid horses had
inexplicably bolted. "Did you hear what the doc said? Virtually every bone in Drummond's body was broken."

"Don't expect me to grieve for him," Cyrus said.

Sighing, Noel decided some questions couldn't be put
into words simply because they weren't meant to be
asked. "There won't be anything left of the Drummond
house," he offered. "We're lucky the storm hit today, or
the whole neighborhood would have gone up in flames."

"I know. At least Drummond's servants managed to get out, and no one else was hurt."

Perfectly aware that he should leave, since it was
nearly midnight, Noel remained because he was deter
mined to get at least a few answers. "How's Lissa?" he
asked.

"The doctor says she'll be all right," Cyrus replied.
"Shock and bruises, mostly.
We put her to bed about an
hour ago, and Julia's been sitting with her."

"How is Julia?"

Cyrus half turned to face his friend, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning back against the mantel. A
slight smile curved his mouth. "Did anybody ever tell
you you're a damned nosy bastard, Noel?"

"You've told me frequently," his friend replied without
offense. "But that was a perfectly proper question."

"I know. It's the ones I can see trembling on your lips
I'm leery of."

A short bark of a laugh escaped Noel. "Get your
answers ready. In the meantime, how is Julia?"

"Numb.
In control.
Withdrawn.
Shall I go on?"

"She was leaving him, wasn't she?"

"Don't cross the line, Noel," Cyrus warned quietly.

Noel leaned forward in his chair, staring at Cyrus. "I
think our friendship can bear it. I hope so, anyway.
Besides, it's a fairly obvious conclusion, and one I'm not
alone in reaching. Cy, people are already talking."

"Do you think I give a damn?"

"On your own account, no.
But what about Julia?
At
least two families offered to take her and Lissa in, and
you refused both of them. As if you had a right to. A lot
of people heard that, and took note. So the eyes of the
curious are gawking at a very recent widow and her
young sister staying with a bachelor to whom they are
not related—who has a reputation for fleeting affairs. By
morning every inquisitive soul in the city is going to be chewing on that little tidbit. Drummond's obvious insanity might make some people hesitate to brand Julia
with a scarlet A, but it's only a matter of time."