Chapter 1

“Someone has his eye on you,” Anne Butler murmured as she stepped closer to Julia Drummond.

Julia looked up from the refreshment table. Her long, graceful fingers quivered for an instant as they reached for another cup. Then she was ladling punch again with her usual composure. “Oh? Who?”

“Cyrus Fortune.” Anne’s gray eyes were bright with amusement and speculation. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”

Julia made certain no one was waiting for punch, then looked at Anne. She had been certain during the last half hour that someone had been staring at her, but she hadn’t allowed herself so much as a glance around the room. “I don’t know Mr. Fortune, though, of course, I’ve heard of him,” she said. “I was still in the schoolroom when he left Richmond.”

“He’s been back more than a month,” Anne remarked, still studying Julia intently. “Take it from me—a month is long enough.”

Two things were clear, Julia decided: Anne was telling her she had recently enjoyed Cyrus Fortune’s infamous talents in the bedroom…and she was warning Julia. Anne Butler was, in most ways, a nice enough woman, but she was an incurable gossip; if she once got it into her head that there was something between Julia and Cyrus—or any other man, for that matter—it would be all over Richmond within twenty-four hours.

Julia felt a faint chill of fear that she tried to repress. Her acting abilities had improved over the past two years, so she was able to smile with the rather haughty scorn she’d perfected as her shield. The stuffy Brand ancestors her father had often made reference to would have been proud of her.

“Really, Anne, if you know nothing else about me, you must at least know that I never stand in line. Not even at the market, and certainly not for a man,” she said bluntly. “Aside from which, I consider it my duty to avoid foolish entanglements, at least until I’ve presented Adrian with an heir.”

She relaxed almost imperceptibly when Anne chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose you should at that. Anyway, Adrian’s so charming and attentive that I suppose you’ve no cause for complaint?”

The question was about as delicate as Anne’s questions usually were, but Julia was able to maintain her poise.

“No cause at all,” she said with a slight smile.

Anne nodded, obviously detecting no irony, then glanced fleetingly across the room. “Well, you’d better scare up a chastity belt then, because Cyrus has that look.”

“What look?” Julia asked before she could stop herself.

“He’s hunting fresh game—and he likes his bedmates married.” She obviously knew that much, since she herself was married.

Coolly, Julia said, “As I hear it, he also likes his bedmates willing, which I certainly am not.” She smiled across the table as several people stopped to get punch, then began filling more cups. She didn’t look across the crowded room, even though she could still feel eyes on her. The sensation made her edgy.

Anne laughed again, but kept her voice low so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “My dear, unless Adrian has you bewitched, Cyrus can make you willing. Trust me. Those black eyes of his are absolutely mesmerizing, and his voice is a quite expert caress. As I said, you’d better find a chastity belt.” After giving Julia a very female wink, Anne moved away.

Julia continued to smile at the people who approached the table, and when they spoke she was able to answer casually, but her control was strained. If she hadn’t promised weeks earlier to preside over the refreshment table at this charity dance, she would have avoided even coming here. But Julia had a reputation in Richmond for being as responsible and capable as she was elegant; having once made a promise, she kept her word if at all possible.

She knew most of the people at the dance, liked a number of them, and disliked some. If asked, many there would have said they knew her quite well. They would have been wrong; what they saw in Julia was only what she allowed them to see. The role she’d designed for herself was a convincing one. Barely twenty-one, she was often taken to be older because of her cool assurance. Other women seemed to trust her instinctively with their secrets, yet few had probed in an attempt to discover hers. Except, of course, for women like Anne, who wanted to know everyone’s secrets.

Older women often told her with approval that she was the perfect wife for a politician despite her youth. She ran her home with competence, did her husband credit in public with her style and grace, and lent her name and aid to charities without hesitation.

The perfect wife, Adrian had often said bitingly.

Julia shivered despite the heat of the ballroom, then pulled herself together. She lifted her chin, looking across the room unintentionally for the first time, and her strained gaze was immediately caught by the black eyes that had been watching her.

He was a big man; that was obvious even though he was lounging back against the wall. A powerful man, even though his stance held a lazy air. His shoulders were very wide, and there was a palpable sense of brute physical strength about him. His thick hair was as black as his eyes, his handsome face tanned dark gold, and a diamond signet ring flashed on the elegant hand holding his glass—not containing punch, Julia noted as he raised it in a slight salute.

To her. Julia knew she blushed as she quickly looked away. She was shaken. He had smiled at her, and even across the crowded room she had been conscious of a peculiar, almost sensual shock like nothing she’d ever felt before. Dear God, if anyone had seen that look! Those black eyes had met hers with the starkly intimate heat that belonged only in a bedroom.

She busied herself, resolutely avoiding any further glances across the room and trying not to think about anything, least of all Cyrus Fortune. It was surprisingly, unnervingly, difficult. She was almost feverish, suddenly uncomfortable in her clothing, as if it no longer fit, as if her body found the restriction of cloth unbearable. When Lissa joined her a few minutes later, the diversion was welcome at first.

“You’ve been doing this for more than an hour,” Lissa said in her soft voice. “Why don’t I take over awhile?”

Smiling at her younger sister, the thought in Julia’s mind was the same one that had kept her going for the past two years. It will be worth it. Whatever I have to do will be worth it if I can only see Lissa safely married….

Aloud, she said, “My part at this charity dance is to see to the refreshments; your part is to dance.”

Lissa pouted, but her eyes twinkled merrily. “It’s so hot. Honestly, Julia, why couldn’t you send me to school in the North in summer, and bring me home to Richmond in winter? As it is, I’m getting the worst of things year round!”

Dryly, Julia said, “If I recall your letters correctly, you love the North in winter. Ice skating?”

Laughing, Lissa put an arm around her sister’s trim waist and hugged her. She didn’t notice Julia’s flinch. “All right, ice skating is fun and so is dancing, even in the heat of July. But I really would like to rest for a little while, Julia, and I know a rest would be good for you. You look pale today.”

“Lissa—”

“No one will notice if you leave. Just slip through that curtain over there, and you’ll be in Mr. Tryon’s study. It’s nice and cool, and you can rest for a while.”

Julia lifted a quizzical eyebrow at her sister. “How do you know it’s cool?”

A mischievous imp laughed in Lissa’s green eyes. “Because Mark Tryon thought it would be a good place to kiss me—and he was right.”

“Lissa!”

“Oh, Julia, it was just a little kiss. I like Mark.”

Looking at her sister narrowly, Julia said slowly, “He seems to be a nice young man.”

“Quoth the graybeard,” Lissa responded with tolerant mockery. “He’s only a year older than you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

The truth was that Julia had forgotten. Sometimes she felt very old. “Lissa, your reputation is so important—”

“My reputation is fine. Everyone knows I’m a good girl, including Mark Tryon. Now, why don’t you go and rest for a few minutes, and I promise to stand here very decorously and ladle punch.”

Knowing her sister, Julia was certain she’d be gently badgered and bullied until she gave in, for Lissa was not only sweet and loving, but also stubborn. Besides, Julia was tired, and knew that if she didn’t take a few minutes to regain her customary calm, she would regret it later.

So she slipped away through the curtained doorway that was half hidden by a large potted fern. Though her host’s study wasn’t far from the ballroom, it was thick-walled. The muted sounds of music and conversation were as welcome as the room’s coolness. It was a book-lined room that smelled of old leather-bound volumes and decades of pipe smoke, the carpet worn and the furniture comfortable. Only a small lamp on a table near one of the windows was lighted, and Julia went to sit in one of the wing chairs flanking it. The window was wide open to catch whatever breeze was forthcoming on the hot and muggy July night, but only the sounds of crickets in the garden found their way into the room.

Julia leaned back cautiously, wincing slightly as she did her best to relax in the chair. As uncomfortable as it was for her to be at the dance, she didn’t look forward to going home. Home. The big, impressive house with its multitude of rooms and corridors and its quiet, efficient servants. It was a cold place even, impossibly, in summer. Or maybe, Julia thought tiredly, it just seemed so to her.

“Hello.”

She stiffened, recognizing the voice even though she’d never heard it, because it matched the nakedly sensual warmth of black eyes. Slowly, she turned her head, recapturing her aloof mask with the ease of long and constant practice. She watched him stroll across the room, his size and lazy grace making her feel a panicky, threatened sensation. He sat down in the chair on the other side of the table and looked at her with that bold stare, and she felt suddenly exposed. Vulnerable.

With all the coldness she could muster, she said, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

His well-shaped mouth curved in a smile. “No, but then, we know who we are, don’t we? I’m Cyrus Fortune, and you’re Julia Drummond.” The words were terse to the point of rudeness, his manner was definitely arrogant—but the voice was elegant black velvet.

Julia began to understand Anne’s warning about the need for a chastity belt. She would have sworn she was the last woman in Richmond who could have felt any temptation to break her marriage vows, but that voice affected her like nothing ever had. In her mind was a strangely vivid little image of the way a cat arched its back when it was stroked, in an instinctive ripple of unthinking pleasure, and she wondered dimly if the sound of her racing heart was anything like a purr.

“I’ve been watching you tonight,” he said. “But you know that. Do you know I’ve been watching you for days?”

That was a shock, but one she endured silently. She had to stop this before…before it was too late. Her own thoughts were scattered, panicked, and she didn’t know why or how he could affect her like this. She drew a deep breath; it felt as if she hadn’t breathed at all until then. “Mr. Fortune—”

“Cyrus.” It was less a request than a command.

Julia ignored it. “Mr. Fortune, I’m a married woman—”

“Drummond must have robbed the cradle to get you,” Fortune said abruptly, cutting her off without civility. “Somebody said you’d been married for two years, but you can’t be a day over eighteen.”

Oddly enough, Julia knew she couldn’t accuse him of trying to flatter her; she had a strong conviction that Cyrus Fortune was too blunt a man to waste time with insincere compliments—even to get a woman into his bed. He wouldn’t need to resort to such tricks, she admitted to herself silently, and was appalled at the realization.

Holding her voice even, she said, “I’m twenty-one, Mr. Fortune. And I am very married.”

His mouth quirked again in that mocking little smile. “Not tempted to stray? Drummond can’t be such a good lover; the man’s heavy-handed with his horses.”

The sheer effrontery of that remark made Julia gasp. Her own nature was toward frankness—or it had been, before her marriage—and she was hardly a prude, but for any man to speak to a woman in such a way went beyond the bounds of good taste and decency. But before she could gather her wits, he was going on, and if she’d thought he had gone as far as possible already, she was in for another shock.

“Drummond isn’t making you happy, and we both know it, Julia. You’re frozen inside; I can see it. You were never meant to be that way. Red hair is a badge of passion, and yours is like fire. I’ve never seen hair so red or eyes so wildly green. Or such an erotic mouth, like a lush flower. You have a magnificent body, a body made for pleasure. Even those dull colors and fabrics you wear can’t hide your wonderful form. And you move with such grace, as if you hear music.”

“Don’t—” she got out in a strangled gasp, but he went on in his black velvet voice that made even the reprehensible words a sensual caress.

“Drummond wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. I’m sure of it. He can’t appreciate the fire in you. He probably takes you in the dark with your nightgown pulled up and thinks of nothing but his own pleasure. Does he apologize when he turns to you with his carnal appetites, Julia? Does he make it a hurried, shameful act instead of something joyful?” Fortune uttered a low laugh that was derisive. “Gentlemen like Drummond believe there are only two kinds of women: ladies and whores—and only whores enjoy bedding men. So the gentlemen marry ladies and fumble in the dark to breed. Is that all you want? To be a brood mare and never feel the hot pleasure of real passion?”

He laughed again, his eyes blacker than anything she’d ever seen, and filled with a heat that burned her. “I’m no gentleman, Julia. I don’t want a lady or a whore in my bed—just a woman. A beautiful woman. I won’t apologize for wanting her and I’ll look at her naked in the light because God meant for a woman to be seen by a man. And touched by a man.”

She wasn’t conscious of moving until she was halfway across the room, her heart thudding, the smothering sensation of panic overwhelming her. She didn’t go to the door that led back to the ballroom but to another one, and she had no idea where it would take her. It didn’t matter. Anywhere. Anywhere as long as she could escape him.

“Julia.”

That voice. It tugged at her—and the realization she could scarcely resist terrified her. Her hand on the door handle, she half turned to stare at him. He had risen to his feet, but didn’t move toward her. He was smiling almost gently.

“I want you. I want you in my bed.”

“No.” It didn’t come from morals or consciousness of her marriage vows, or anything else of which society would have approved. It didn’t come from a lack of attraction, shocking though that was to her; she felt the attraction, the strange, irresistible pulling at all her senses. The denial came from deep inside her, without thought, spurred by instinct.

“I can make you happy,” he said.

“You can destroy me,” she heard herself whisper. Then she wrenched the door open and fled, as if from a devil.

She found herself in a corridor, turning blindly, then again into a shorter hallway, ending up finally in a small sitting room. It was deserted. Julia closed the door behind her and locked it with shaking fingers. She didn’t realize she was pacing until her wildly swinging skirt caught the leg of a delicate table, causing the vase on it to rock precariously.

Standing perfectly still now, her hands on the vase, she was conscious of her heart thudding and her breath coming in jerky gasps. She felt…shattered. Adrian had never been able to do that to her, no matter how he’d tried. She’d discovered a way to escape him, a way to preserve herself. In the first months with him, she had found a place inside herself that was quiet and safe, and when it became unbearable, she always went there. Where he couldn’t reach her. Where she felt nothing.

She understood, if only vaguely, why that place was inaccessible to her now. Cyrus Fortune hadn’t touched her, hadn’t threatened her with harm; what he had said, though certainly incredibly indecent, had not been an attack. She knew she was afraid of him, and yet—it wasn’t a simple fear, and escape wasn’t possible.

Fortune would hardly force himself on her, Julia reassured herself, but her fear didn’t ease. What he intended, she knew, had been plainly stated and was beyond question. Seduction. His own relentless, insidious, dreadfully effective brand of seduction. He had decided he wanted her, and she had the curious certainty he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He meant to add her name to his list of conquests.

What shocked her so deeply was that he could have any effect on her at all in an erotic sense. That any man could. But she had felt it. His frank sensuality, bold eyes, and disgracefully forthright words had penetrated her mask, settling in her body like glowing embers and evoking a heat she’d never felt before. It was something she didn’t know how to fight.

Slowly, she turned toward the door. Her heartbeat had steadied, and her breathing. She was calm again. A few more weeks, she thought, and Lissa would return to school. Adrian was always more careful when Lissa was in the house. All Julia had to do was to avoid any chance of meeting Cyrus Fortune alone, and try her best to limit the possibilities of attending the same social functions. She had to stay out of his way, that was all.

She made her way back to the ballroom and slipped in beside Lissa at the refreshment table, where a number of young men had congregated. That wasn’t surprising; Lissa was very pretty.

“There you are,” she said cheerfully to Julia. “I was beginning to worry that you—” She broke off to look searchingly at her sister’s face. “Julia, you’re still pale. Do you feel all right?”

“A little tired.” She could feel his eyes on her again, and had to fight not to look across the room. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Some of the guests are beginning to leave; we should be able to go in another hour or so. Why don’t you go and have a few dances.”

“Are you sure? I can stay here and help.”

“No, go ahead.” Smiling, Julia kept her gaze on her sister as Lissa chose a partner and whirled away in his arms. Lissa would be eighteen soon; the upcoming year was her last in school unless she chose to go on to college. Adrian was encouraging her to do that; if she didn’t continue in school, she was likely to marry quickly and leave the Drummond household for good.

Julia wanted her sister married. She believed that Lissa wasn’t ambitious enough to use a higher education to her advantage—but even if she had been, Julia would have encouraged her to marry instead. She had to be put beyond Adrian’s reach…and only a husband could guarantee that.

A good husband, please God.

Across the room, Cyrus Fortune lounged against a wall and watched her. He had seen her for the first time less than a week before, walking through the park on her husband’s arm. Her lovely face had been shadowed by the stylish hat she’d worn, but Cyrus had seen a more somber shadow. Not a happy marriage, he’d thought, vaguely disturbed by the darkness he’d fleetingly sensed.

The uneasiness had faded quickly, leaving a hot, intense desire behind. He had watched them walking together sedately, his attention wholly on Julia. She was a stunning woman, her body petite yet richly curved, her coloring vivid, and her face delicately beautiful. She carried herself with pride, and a grace that was unusually sensuous.

She intrigued him. And he’d immediately found out all he could about Julia Drummond. It was little enough. A younger sister in her charge, she had married Drummond two years before. No children yet, which made her less likely to take a lover if Cyrus knew women at all—and he did. Her reputation as the perfect wife was complemented by being well liked. But she seemed to have no close friends.

Nothing of what he found out discouraged Cyrus in the least. He managed to see her from a distance several times during the next few days, and had attended the charity dance only because he had discovered that she would be there. Luckily, she had arrived without her husband’s escort, and Cyrus had grasped the first opportunity offered to be alone with her. He could have kissed the pretty little sister who had obviously talked Julia into giving up her duties at the refreshment table temporarily.

Now, as he watched her, he frowned. After being closer to her and gazing into the vividly luminous depths of her green eyes, his desire was stronger than ever, but something was bothering him and he didn’t know what it was. He felt oddly uneasy.

He’d been satisfied with her reaction to him and to what he’d said to her; she might have run from him, but she hadn’t been able to hide her own awareness of an attraction. It was a good beginning. And though her final words might have daunted another man, Cyrus more or less ignored them simply because destruction wasn’t what he had in mind.

Still, there was something about her that he couldn’t bring into focus. He thought about it for a while, watching her steadily, then pushed the question aside impatiently. To hell with it. Perhaps he was sensing in her a stronger than usual unhappiness. She was young, after all, younger than any of his other women in recent years; the young tended to feel things more deeply. Or thought they did, at least.

Drummond had quite likely been as heavy-handed with her as he was with his horses; on horseback he had the necessary mechanics but obviously no skill. It was probably the same in the bedroom. No doubt he had treated Julia like fragile china until the wedding night and then shocked her with the coarse realities of panting, sweating male needs. She hadn’t felt passion in her husband’s bed, Cyrus knew that. There was something in her eyes that he’d seen only in the eyes of unawakened young women, a kind of unaware innocence that had nothing to do with physical virginity; it was another barrier that some men were too inept or insensitive to find their way past, and it was still intact in Julia.

Cyrus was confident about his own abilities. He’d be patient for a while at least, let her protest to salve pride or convention or whatever was her particular nemesis. Give her a little time to get used to the idea. But she’d come to him eventually, and she’d be willing. He would make certain it was an enjoyable interlude, that he made her happy.

In any case, Cyrus was prepared to do whatever it took to get Julia Drummond into his bed.

It was late by the time Julia said good night to Lissa at the top of the stairs. She was exhausted as she made her way past Adrian’s study, a parlor, a few spare bedrooms, toward the master suite. Bedroom, bathroom, and dressing room, the suite was distant from Lissa’s room and from the servants’ quarters.

There was a light under the door, and Julia hesitated for an instant. She’d hoped her husband would be asleep. Her mouth was a little dry, but she opened the door quietly and went in, her mask firmly in place.

He turned immediately away from the window, where he’d apparently been watching the street outside, and looked at her with narrowed eyes. He was still fully dressed. A bad sign.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded softly.

Julia closed the door and leaned back against it, hardly noticing the protesting twinge of tender flesh over her shoulder blades. “I couldn’t close down the refreshment table until after midnight,” she said in a low, reasonable voice.

“I told you.” His voice was harsh now. “I told you not to go to the party without me.”

Julia would have protested that he’d told her at dinner he didn’t want to accompany her, but she knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Nothing would make any difference now. After two years, she was all too familiar with the irrational way his rage fed on itself. Something had made him angry since she and Lissa had gone to the dance, some small thing he probably didn’t even remember now.

He came toward her slowly, like a predator, smiling. He had the strap. Julia stared at him, and as the cold dread formed in the pit of her stomach, what she saw became unfocused, then darkened slowly until she didn’t see anything. Or hear anything. Or feel anything.

Until he was finished.