The Matchmaker (32 page)

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."

A brief frown flitted across his handsome face and then vanished. "I wanted him to get you pregnant, but the stupid bastard couldn't. That was the only mistake I
made when I chose him for you. I didn't know he really
didn't like women. He hid that from me, until it was too late for me to get rid of him and choose someone else."

Julia's mind was working sluggishly. "You... killed
my parents?"

"They were in the way," he explained almost politely. "People were always getting in the way when I arranged
your life.
Or making mistakes.
That stupid cow—what
was her name?—Helen, I think. She was a friend of
Lissa's, so I used her. She thought I was going to marry her. I told her I had a wife in an asylum. That kind of tale
always appeals to silly little bitches. She wasn't bad,
really loved being tumbled in a stable. But she disap
pointed me. She made a mistake with the message I told
her to give you. You got it too late, and that ruined my plan. So of course I had to kill her too."

Sickened, Julia stared at him.

His vacant smile widened. "I'm really surprised you
didn't figure it out. He did. I suppose he was trying to
protect you in that way as well, not telling you about me.
I wish I could see his face when he finds out it was all for
nothing."

One of her hands was still resting on the wooden box behind her; without really being aware of her action, she
closed her fingers around the polished wood of the cane.
His eyes, she thought, they're so empty. She'd never
seen that before—except in the newspaper photo she'd all but forgotten about.

"What was all for nothing?" she asked, trying to think,
to understand.

Adam Prescott chuckled softly, the sound like wind rustling through dry leaves. "He thought he could win.
When he took you away from Adrian and put guards
around you. He thought he could defeat me. Today is
our birthday, did you know that?
No, of course not.
Neither does
he
. I've always known, though. Just the way I've known you had to be kept from him because he
couldn't be allowed to make himself whole with your
love." The final word was almost spat out, and he took another step closer.

"Whole?"
Julia was bewildered, and yet some part of
her understood.

In a suddenly reasonable tone, he said, "My gift isn't
dependent on anything outside myself. That's my
strength. But he has to have you. He has to be con
nected to you. All I have to do is cut that tie, and I'll win.
It'll be easy to destroy him then. Once I kill you, he'll be
alone, and his gift dies with you."

"Magic," she whispered.

"Fortune, actually.
He even got the name, but it was mine by rights. I believe I'll claim it for my own.
When
he's gone.
You do understand why I have to kill both of
you?"

Julia shook her head slowly, her terrified gaze fixed on
his dead eyes and blank smile as he took another step
toward her; he was barely more than an arm's length
away now. Every muscle in her body was tense and
quivering, and her fingers gripped the cane so tightly
they ached.

Adam made a little "tsk" sound, mildly impatient.
"He'll fight me now that he's beginning to realize what
we are; that's why I have to destroy him. And if I don't
kill you first, he'll just keep getting stronger. I can't have that—" He broke off, stiffening, and tilted his head as though he were listening to some far-off sound.

For the first time Julia became aware of crackling
sounds and a dim roar, and she caught the acrid smell of
smoke. The house was on fire, she realized, the lower floor burning. She thought that was what he was listen
ing to, but when he spoke she realized it was something
else.

"He's coming," Adam murmured. He leaned over to
set the lamp on the floor. "I have to finish it now,
before—"

Julia didn't wait to hear the rest. She pulled the cane from its box and swung it with all her strength. The
heavy gold handle struck him a solid blow on his
shoulder, the force of contact numbing her hand, and he went over sideways with a startled cry of pain.

Still holding the cane, Julia ran. The hallway was thick
with smoke, making her cough and making her eyes
water, but she didn't slow her pace until she reached the
top of the stairs. The roar of the fire was louder
now,
the smoke even thicker—and the stairs were burning. There
was a secondary stairway at the rear of the house for the
servants' use, but it was back the way she'd come, and not even a fear of burning could make her retrace her steps.

She hadn't knocked him out, just down; he'd be
coming after her. Desperate, she darted into one of the salons on the second floor, hoping she could open a window and escape that way. But before she could cross
the room, she heard the front door crash open, and
heard Cyrus shout her name. That wonderful voice
jerked her back around. She wanted to call out to him, to
go out into the hall so she could see him, but something
held her motionless and silent as she pressed herself against the wall beside the open salon door. The cane
still gripped in one hand, she pressed the other over her
mouth to muffle the sounds of her coughing, and
strained to hear...

Cyrus went straight up the stairs, ignoring the flames all around him, and didn't stop until he reached the top.
The smoke burned his eyes and throat, but he saw Adam
Prescott standing motionless a few feet away, a gun in his hand.

"Where is she, you bastard?" Cyrus demanded, fight
ing the murderous urge to throw himself at the other man. He could feel Julia nearby, and he was almost sure she was unhurt, but the house was burning and soon
none of them would be able to escape.

Adam laughed, a strange, high sound filled with the primal terror of an animal for fire. "A mistake, another mistake, I used too much kerosene." The words had a singsong rhythm, and his wide, empty smile was like a death's-head grimace. "She'll burn—we’ll all burn now.
But I win. Yes, I win. Say good-bye, brother." He lifted
the gun.

"No!" Julia burst from the salon, closer to Adam than
to Cyrus, the cane held high in her hands. Without
hesitation she rushed across the landing and struck,
bringing the heavy cane down on Adam's extended arm.

The gun fell and he stumbled back away from her. The
smoke was so thick it was almost impossible to see, and
he probably never realized how close he was to the fragile wooden banister until he fell against it. The
decorative barrier splintered, and he dropped like a
stone to the marble floor far below.

"Julia—" Cyrus reached her just in time to support her
as she sagged. Her wide green eyes, tearing from the
smoke, looked up at him for a moment out of her white
face, and then a hoarse little sigh escaped her and she crumpled against him.

Her dreams were dreadful at first; she wanted to wake up. There was fire all around, the flames roaring with a maniac's laugh, and she held desperately to the cane because it was all that would keep her safe. Cyrus stood
in front of her, but there were two of him, and she knew
only one was real. Which one? It was terribly important that she guess correctly, because one was life and the
other death.

She couldn't trust herself to choose. And if she didn't
choose
,
if she held back and waited, then maybe she
could be certain.
But the flames were getting closer, and
she suddenly realized what would happen if she waited.
The chance for happiness gone.
The chance for life gone.
And, after all, wasn't that the point, to take the chance?
To trust beyond knowledge, because that was where love came from?

She chose, and when his strong arms closed around her, she felt a kind of happiness she'd never known
before. The flames faded away. There was softness, and
cool peace. Her body seemed peculiarly aware of itself,
as if all her senses had turned inward. In her dream, a
little girl with dark hair and green eyes talked to her,
seriously explaining what it would mean to be Fortune's
love, and Fortune's wife.

Julia listened with gravity equaling the girl's. Magic, oh, yes. And love.
So much love.
She wasn't wary of the
future
anymore,
or frightened of anything at all. The
little girl smiled and went away—but not very far.

It was very quiet when she opened her eyes, and only one lamp was on in the bedroom. She was in the new house, she realized. She was in bed, naked beneath the
covers. She turned her head slowly and saw Cyrus
sitting in a chair close beside the bed. He was holding
her hand, and as she looked at him he leaned forward and kissed it, smiling at her.

"You're always taking care of me," she murmured, wondering vaguely why her throat wasn't raw from the
smoke she'd breathed.

"You took care of me today," he reminded her in his
black velvet voice. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him, sweetheart, warn you. If you'd known there was a reason
to be wary, you never would have left here alone. I
didn't know who the threat was until today, but that's no
excuse."

Julia wasn't upset he hadn't told her; she thought she had needed the weeks of peace, or she wouldn't have been able to do what she had in defense of herself and Cyrus. "It's all right," she said. "But how did you get us out of there? The stairs were burning."

"They weren't when I carried you out."

The statement didn't surprise her, and she merely
nodded. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, love."

"Who was he?" She hesitated, then added, "He talked
a bit before I got away from him. He said he'd killed my
parents.
And Helen.
And that he married me to Adrian to.
..
to keep me away from you. Did he do all that?"

Cyrus nodded. "I believe he did. He's manipulated people and influenced events for years. As for
who
he was—well, I'm not sure. He called me brother. Maybe
he was my brother."

Julia's fingers tightened in his. "He was no part of you. He was evil."

Looking down at her hand, holding it in both of his now, Cyrus spoke very quietly.
"He was evil. But he was like me in some way, connected to me. I don't know
how. Now that he's gone, I may never know." His gaze
rose to her face, the liquid black eyes nakedly expressive. "It doesn't matter.
As long as I have you.
That you're safe is the only important thing. I was so afraid he'd take you away from me."

"I love you," she said.

Cyrus went utterly still.

Julia smiled. "I didn't know it until I thought he was going to kill you. I'd been afraid to let myself love you, to take the chance. But when I thought I was going to lose you.
.."

"Sweetheart..."He came over onto the bed, draw
ing her up against him
. "
God, I love you so much." He was holding her, his head bowed and face buried in the curve of her neck. "I searched for you all my life and
never knew it until I found you."

She was holding him as well, happy and not worried about all the questions still unanswered. She had an odd belief that the answers would be provided eventually.
Some of them, at least; the important ones.

"Come to bed with me?" she murmured.

He drew back just a little, and then kissed her
tenderly. "You haven't eaten anything since lunch. Aren't you hungry, love?'

"For you."
She stroked his lean cheek, smiling a
peculiarly feminine, intimate smile. "I always seem to be
hungry for you. I think
it's
part of your magic."

This time, his kiss was deeper and more intense.
"Then you have magic too," he murmured against her mouth.
"Because I can't get enough of you, my sweet."

Her green eyes gleamed at him in the dim room. "I'd
say we were perfectly matched. Make love to me,
darling."

She didn't have to ask him again.

On a warm, pleasant afternoon of the following May,
Cyrus leaned against the back of a park bench and
watched his wife and Felice Stanton as they stood a few
yards away talking to another woman. Julia was glowing,
her lovely face alight with happiness and her vivid green
eyes serene. Pregnancy agreed with her; she hadn't
suffered even a single bout of morning sickness and, though well into her sixth month, retained the grace of
movement that was peculiarly hers.