Chapter 8

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 destroyed 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.

“Yes,” she whispered, because she had a peculiar feeling he had asked her a question, even though she’d thought it had already been answered.

He hesitated, then said, “Sweetheart, the first time for a woman…there’s pain. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Julia had known too much pain not to be wary of more, but common sense told her women could hardly have been blessed with desire and cursed in the same breath with an agonizing consummation of it; God wasn’t that cruel, surely. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Only the first time?”

He nodded and touched her cheek gently. “Only the first time, and only for a moment.”

She wouldn’t realize it for a long time, but the first grain of trust for him formed inside her then. She wanted to believe him, so she trusted he was telling her the truth, trusted he wouldn’t hurt her more than he could help.

Her arms tightened around his neck, and there was no hesitation in her voice when she said, “I want you, Cyrus.”

He made a soft, rough sound, kissing her again and again. He could feel the banked desire inside him flare up hotly, his entire body burning and throbbing with need for her, and forced himself to concentrate fiercely on the even greater need to teach Julia the pleasure that was possible between a man and woman.

Love gave him patience; he doubted anything else could have.

Julia felt one of his hands touching her side, then her stomach, and realized he was unbuttoning her chemise. She was glad he was doing that, because even the thin barrier of sheer cotton was suddenly a torment to her. The primitive desire to lie naked in his arms, such an unfamiliar urge, was so strong in her she didn’t try to examine it. She simply obeyed the demands of this incredible need she felt, and stopped thinking at all.

She shifted on the pallet to help him when he removed her chemise and knickers, gazing at his face as he looked at her, because what she saw in his burning eyes, an expression almost of wonder, was beautiful in a new way and caused the heat inside her to run wild. Instead of cringing inwardly and feeling rawly degraded, she was aware only of a curious sense of uninhibited delight in the clear evidence that he found nothing at all ugly or revolting about her body.

“Julia…you’re so lovely….” His mouth brushed hers very lightly, then trailed down her throat slowly, and one big hand slid up over her rib cage to warmly surround her breast.

She gasped, almost jerking at the shock that was both physical and emotional. She had never felt a man’s hand touch her naked breast. But if it was unfamiliar to her mind, her body responded so instantly to the caress, she could only tremble as a hot wave of pleasure swept over her. His long fingers stroked her flesh, and her breast grew tight and hard as it swelled, throbbing under his touch. Then his thumb brushed her nipple and she did jerk, the burst of sensation so acute she didn’t know if it was pleasure or pain.

But whichever it was, her body wanted more of it. She couldn’t believe what he was making her feel. His mouth moved against her throat, the hot darts of his tongue sending shiver after shiver rippling through her. His hands caressing her breast, fingers kneading gently and thumb circling her taut nipple rhythmically until it was a sweet, aching torment, until she gritted her teeth to hold back the frantic sounds she could feel rising up inside her.

His mouth touched the base of her throat, then moved to her breastbone and slowly, so slowly she was almost rigid with a breathless suspension, slid up the slope of her swollen breast. She literally couldn’t breathe; all her consciousness was focused on what he was doing, a wordless, instinctive plea in her mind. When his mouth finally closed over her aching nipple, she gasped and moaned raggedly.

Her fingers tangled in his thick, silky hair, her eyes tightly closed as she helplessly endured the blazing shock of exquisite sensation. The wet heat of his mouth on her nipple, the burning, tingling pressure of suction, and the swirling caress of his tongue, was a pleasure beyond anything she had ever imagined.

She hadn’t been able to control the wild feelings his touch evoked, but now her entire body seemed a thing apart from her mind, a thing of passion and relentless need with a life and instincts all its own. It arched against him, pleading mutely for more, quivering and burning as his hand and mouth pleasured and tormented her, and husky little sounds welled up in her throat to escape her trembling lips.

Her body wouldn’t be still, and the fleeting idea that her feverish response was somehow shameful had no power to command muscle or flesh. She felt his hand touch her stomach, sliding warmly downward and then curving along her hip to slowly stroke her tense thigh. She had a vague impression her legs had been moving restlessly, but they were taut now, pressing together, and a new kind of urgency was gripping her body. The heat inside her was spreading, intensifying, and his touch seemed to guide it to burn hotter in the pulsing ache of her loins. His strong fingers were at the inside of her thighs now, gently insistent as they eased between them, and she felt her tight muscles suddenly give way as her legs parted for him.

He made a hoarse sound, his mouth fiercely hungry on her breast, almost frantic, as if the taste of her were something he couldn’t get enough of. If her mind had been in control of her body, she would have tried to push him away, because she was burning alive and didn’t know how much more she could bear, but she had no choice. Her body wanted more. Then he touched her, his fingers brushing the soft curls covering her mound, and her eyes flew open as alarm jolted through her.

For a single instant, even her body remembered bewilderment and sick humiliation, but then he was stroking her damp flesh very gently and a shock of pure pleasure burned the memories away. The whimper that left her seemed to come from deep inside her, an unfamiliar sound, hoarse and ragged. Her hips were rising mindlessly to his touch, sharp tension winding tighter and tighter in her body until she couldn’t breathe except in gasping pants.

Her wide eyes fixed on his face when he lifted his mouth from her breast, and her nails dug into his shoulders as her body arched helplessly. “Stop,” she whispered, the maddening tension tormenting her. “Please…I can’t…”

He covered her lips with his, and his mouth was so hot and hard it should have burned her or bruised her, but it didn’t. She needed that touch too, her mouth opening to his eagerly to accept the deep thrust of his tongue. She wanted him to stop, yet she didn’t—and he seemed to know what her desperately striving body needed most. His intimate caress was insistent, driving her higher and higher until she was writhing, moaning wordlessly into his mouth.

Just when she knew it was possible to die from pleasure because she couldn’t bear another instant of it and death had to be the end, the awful tension finally shattered. Her entire body convulsed, rising against him with a shudder, and she cried out wildly as an unbelievable ecstasy swept through her. Her body remained rigid for a long moment, gripped by the pulsing rapture, and then she went limp, almost sobbing.

Cyrus held her for a few moments, kissing her trembling lips and flushed cheeks, then drew away from her. She opened her eyes, so dazed she could hardly think, watching him as he removed what was left of his clothing. Was that how it was supposed to be, she wondered dimly, that incredible pleasure? If so, pain would be a small price to pay for it.

She knew it wasn’t over. Cyrus had made her feel things she had never imagined; now it was his turn to find satisfaction in her body. She looked at him, her mouth going dry, and tried to squelch her rising fear.

He was starkly masculine. In the yellow lamplight brightened by frequent flashes of lightning, his body looked even bigger than before, stronger. Muscles rippled when he moved, and her gaze clung to his body with a mixture of fascination and alarm. He was beautiful the way a blooded stallion was beautiful: powerful, dominant, graceful, blatantly male, and unmistakably dangerous. His manhood was swollen erect, huge, and terror roiled through her as she looked at him.

He’d said there would be pain for her only the first time, and even though she’d trusted he was telling the truth, she couldn’t help but doubt him now. She had seen Adrian fully aroused when he used the strap on her, but Cyrus was a much bigger man—and she just didn’t see how it would be possible for her to take him into her body.

But when he came back to her on the pallet, she didn’t flinch away from him. Nor did she reach out to him. Adrian had wanted her perfectly still when he lay on her, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to do anything at this point. To her surprise, however, Cyrus didn’t immediately roll on top of her. Instead, he kissed her, and his warm, hard hand surrounded her breast.

Cyrus was holding on to the last threads of his control with all his will. He’d wanted her for so long, desire was a throbbing torment now. He had never in his life felt such an urgent, desperate need. He’d been able to ignore his own hunger for a while, intent on loving Julia until she understood the difference between lovemaking and the cruel perversions to which her husband had subjected her.

But now, as he kissed her and touched her, he felt the faint stiffness of her body. And when he raised his head to look down at her, he saw fear shadowing her beautiful green eyes. It went through him like a knife.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing her with all the gentleness he could command. “I just want to love you again, please you. Will you let me do that?”

Confusion flitted across her tense features. “Again?” Her soft voice was hesitant. “I thought—thought you wanted to take me now.”

“When you’re ready,” Cyrus said huskily. “When you want me to take you, my love.”

Julia didn’t understand what he meant. She was ready now, resigned to the promised pain, braced against it. But before she could ask him to tell her more, he bent his head, his mouth closing over her nipple, and the banked heat inside her flared to new life.

As badly as his body needed the release it would find in joining with hers, Cyrus’s pleasure in merely touching her was so strong, it was a kind of satisfaction in and of itself. All his senses delighted in the textures of her body, the rising heat of her desire, the sweet taste of her, and the soft sounds she made as he caressed her. Her response was astonishing, and he was both relieved and intensely exhilarated to know that with all she’d suffered, she was able to desire him.

He’d been worried about that, but now he was sure Julia could heal from what had been done to her heart and mind. Once she experienced the full range of a woman’s pleasure and no longer feared a man’s desire, the worst would be over, he thought.

So he concentrated fiercely on arousing her now, ignoring the pounding urgency of his own body. The stiffness of fear left her, replaced by the sensual tension of rising passion as she responded to his touch. Her breasts swelled, round and flushed in his hands, the delicate pink nipples tight and almost pulsing in his mouth. Her hands rose to his neck, restlessly probing, and her breathing quickened.

Her belly was soft and firm under his touch, muscles contracting in little spasms of pleasure as he stroked her skin. The triangle of silky hair at the base of her belly, burnished copper over her creamy flesh, enticed him almost to the point of madness, and when his fingers explored gently, her damp heat drove his feverish desire impossibly higher.

Cyrus didn’t know how much more he could take. Every muscle in his body was so rigid it was quivering with strain, and the fire inside him felt as if it were burning him alive. He caressed her insistently, until she was moving to his touch, her body totally caught up in the primitive drive toward release.

When he finally lifted his head from her breasts, she was whimpering, and looked at him with wide eyes filled with instinctive feminine panic.

“Please,” she whispered, trying to pull him back down to her. “Make it stop, please…”

Groaning, he gently widened her legs and slipped between them, rising above her. Fighting all the urgent demands of his body that he bury himself in her, he moved very carefully, guiding his aching flesh to probe her wet heat gently.

Julia was so gripped by her body’s need that she was barely aware of what he was doing until she felt the blunt hardness of his manhood seeking entrance. Her mind was shocked by the starkly intimate touch, but her body welcomed it and her physical need was far stronger than thought could ever be. Her awareness shifted, centering on the slow, burning invasion. She could feel her body stretching, admitting him, and the sensation was both strange and wildly arousing. There was something ancient and primitive about the insistent male demand, and everything in her that was female was compelled to surrender to it. She had never felt so vulnerable, or so aware of the most basic functions of her body.

Staring up at his taut face, she flinched slightly at the twinge of pain when something in her body suddenly resisted his possession. She felt a tremendous pressure, catching at her breath and sending hot shivers rippling through her. Part of her wanted to push him away, to resist the intrusion, yet another part of her welcomed it with desperate longing.

“Easy, love,” he murmured in a voice thick with strain. He was braced on his elbows, liquid black eyes holding hers as his body slowly bore down.

It wasn’t what she had expected. There was pain, but the burning pressure was worse, and she felt smothered. At the same time, she was acutely aware of the aching emptiness deep inside her, waiting just beyond her body’s stubborn barrier. She whimpered as the pressure increased, then cried out when a sharp pain jolted through her.

Astonishingly, the pain was brief, and when the moment of shock passed, she could feel his hard, throbbing flesh sinking into her body. The pressure was still there, but different, all internal now as her narrow passage struggled to accommodate him. She felt more of his weight settle onto her, her aching nipples nestling into the thick hair on his chest, and then he was fully inside her, his loins cradled by hers.

She hadn’t realized she was crying until he kissed the tears away and groaned her name softly.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, kissing her with fierce tenderness as his arms went under her shoulders to hold her even closer. His fingers were tangled in her hair, moving caressingly, and he held himself still inside her. “No more pain, sweetheart, I promise. I’ll never hurt you again.”

She wondered vaguely why she didn’t feel crushed, but somehow her body seemed designed to bear his weight with no discomfort at all. The pressure inside her eased; she could feel her flesh adjust to the foreign presence as it gripped him snugly. The sensation was so intimate it shocked her mind, but her body was heating again, trembling, and her hips rose a little in an instinct older than the caves.

Cyrus groaned, her tiny movement nearly snapping the last thread of his control. She was so tight around him, it was almost painful, her silky heat caressing his flesh in soft pulsations like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was something beyond pleasure, a sweet torment he could hardly bear. He thought the strain of holding himself back for so long would tear him apart, and his body demanded an end to the torture.

He moved as slowly and carefully as his screaming instincts would allow, and the restraint provided a whole new world of sensation for him. It was as if her passage closed up when he withdrew so that every lingering inward thrust felt like the first. The pleasure was so intense he wanted it to last forever, but the quickening inside him refused him the luxury of time.

Julia hadn’t believed he could make her feel even more than he had already, but this was so powerful it was almost frightening. She was being carried wildly on a rising wave of pure excitement, her body striving frantically for a release from the spiraling tension. Her legs rose to wrap around him, and she was moving with him instinctively, matching his hastening rhythm.

She didn’t know if the thunder she heard was from the storm outside or the one raging in herself. That inner storm was surging and churning, buffeting her senses until she was writhing and whimpering, until she thought it would shatter her into a million pieces. Then, finally, she was hurled over the brink, and nearly screamed as overwhelming pleasure jolted through her. It seemed to go on forever, wave after throbbing wave of it, until she went limp, dazed, and almost boneless. She barely heard Cyrus’s hoarse groan, and held him with what strength was left to her as his powerful body shuddered in completion.

Julia didn’t know how much time passed before she became aware of her surroundings again. It could have been hours for all she knew. Or cared. A wonderfully cool, rain-damp breeze brushed her skin, and she could hear grumblings of thunder, but the storm seemed to be dying. Cyrus held her securely, his forearms underneath her shoulders and his cheek pressed to hers, his body still covering hers heavily.

The only emotion she was aware of was utter astonishment. If anyone had tried to tell her that such things were possible between a man and woman, she wouldn’t have believed it. She wasn’t entirely certain she believed it even now. And he’d been right in saying she would want him to take her; there had come a point when she had been more than ready for him, when her body had needed his so desperately she hadn’t thought of pain or anything else except satisfying her overwhelming desire.

Cyrus lifted his head and kissed her lingeringly, then smiled down at her. “I’m sorry I hurt you, sweetheart,” he told her softly.

She touched his face with wondering fingers, and felt her own lips curve in a smile. “It wasn’t bad,” she murmured. “The pain. And after…I didn’t know I could feel that way.”

“No regrets?” he asked.

Julia shook her head without hesitation. She didn’t regret this, couldn’t regret it. Something inside her, perhaps all that was left of her pride, quailed at the prospect of becoming his mistress in the condemning eyes of society, but she didn’t regret her decision. She thought he would be kind, even though her mind told her not to set her hopes too high; he seemed certain he could protect her from Adrian; and the pleasure she’d found in his arms was something she didn’t want to lose.

Shyly, she asked, “Is that—the way it’s supposed to be? Every time?”

“Except for the pain. I’ll always try to please you, love.” He saw a momentary uncertainty cloud her eyes, and asked, “What is it?” very gently.

Julia hesitated, then said with some difficulty, “Adrian only tried…a few times.” She looked up at him helplessly, not sure how to phrase the question and dreadfully embarrassed by her shameless hunger to experience more of these astonishing feelings he’d shown her.

Cyrus understood, and was delighted. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers stroking her soft skin. “How often will I want you? I have a strong feeling it’ll be often, love. Very often.” Still smiling, he moved his lower body slightly.

Her eyes widened. She could feel him inside her, feel the slow, swelling renewal of desire, and her body responded with an instant surge of heat. “Oh,” she murmured, hoping she didn’t look as brazenly pleased about that as she felt.

He chuckled and kissed her. “I seem to want you again now, in fact.” Then, his black eyes growing intent, he said, “I’ll stop if you’re too sore, sweetheart.”

Julia was aware of a number of sensations, but none was painful. She moved tentatively beneath him, lifting her hips, and caught her breath as the heat intensified wildly. “I don’t feel any pain,” she whispered.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked huskily.

“No.” She raised her lips eagerly to meet his, and thought dissolved in a fierce, heated surge of pleasure.

“The storm’s over,” she said a long time later as she reached for her corset. He was dressing as well, and though she didn’t feel uncomfortable or self-conscious with him, she’d been careful not to turn her back to him. He hadn’t seen her naked back, and she didn’t want him to. Not yet, at least. She didn’t want the peaceful, curiously sweet mood between them to be damaged.

But now he eyed her corset with a frown as he was buttoning his shirt, and she went still, waiting.

“We’re going to have to talk about that thing,” he said matter-of-factly.

Julia didn’t move, and her voice was soft. “All my clothes are designed for it, and they don’t fit without it. Adrian insisted.”

Cyrus looked at her for a long moment, then stepped closer and turned her face up gently as he bent to kiss her. Smiling a little, he said quietly, “If you’re determined to be fashionable, I won’t protest too much—but aside from the fact you don’t need any artificial device to look beautiful, that style of corset is too rigid and too tight to be anything but dangerous. There are less drastic designs available, and I hope you’ll agree to choose one of them. Your clothes can be altered.”

She drew a short breath, a flicker of relief showing in her eyes. “I—I hate this thing,” she said. “I hate the fashion, too, when it’s taken to extremes.”

“Good, then we agree. Don’t tighten your stays any more than necessary for now, and we’ll see about making a few changes first thing tomorrow. All right?”

Julia nodded, realizing only then that she’d been unnerved because he had frowned. It had been an automatic reaction, and even though she despised her own timidity, she knew it would take time—as well as a better understanding of Cyrus and trust in his rationality—before she could stop fearing punishment for the slightest mistake or problem. He seemed to realize that too.

“Julia my sweet, never feel you have to do anything just to please me.” His low voice was very gentle. “You have an intelligent mind and will of your own, as much a part of you as those beautiful green eyes. If you don’t like what I say, tell me so; if you don’t agree with anything I ask of you, tell me. Don’t be afraid to be honest with me. No matter what you said or did, I could never hurt you.”

She almost believed him. Nodding again, she began fastening her stays, eyeing him uncertainly as he stepped away and continued dressing. It would have been very easy for her to believe what he said, but she didn’t dare. Not yet. Shattered illusions hurt too much to be risked.

“What time is it?” she asked as he opened his pocket watch and studied it.

“After six. We’d better start back.”

Julia was both surprised it was so late and surprised so much had happened in a few short hours. The rain had stopped only minutes before, and since there was no break in the clouds to the west, the sun hadn’t made an appearance; it was still like twilight outside, and could have been any hour before nightfall.

Cyrus waited until she put on her blouse so he could fasten the buttons for her, then went to get the horses. While he was gone, she got into her skirt and collected as many hairpins as she could find on the floor. It was a struggle to get her hair into some kind of order without a brush or comb, but she managed to wrestle the heavy mass into a reasonably neat knot and secure it with the pins.

There were, she thought with an unexpected spurt of amusement, definite drawbacks to taking a lover in a partially completed house with few amenities. Not that she minded.

Cyrus had left his coat. She picked it up, cast a last look around at what had been a haven from more than a sudden storm, then blew out the lamp and made her way through the house. Oddly enough, she wasn’t worried about the turmoil ahead when Adrian discovered she’d left him. Whatever happened, she had burned her bridges and there was no going back.

Physically, she felt better than she had in a long time. She was relaxed, yet she’d never been so alive, as if all her senses had been heightened by the joining with Cyrus. There was a faint soreness in her thighs, and a tenderness deep in her body, but what she felt was more awareness than discomfort or pain. She was different.

It was a difference she liked. She stood at the top of the steps leading outside and waited for Cyrus, smiling as she smoothed his coat over her arm. The storm had dropped the temperature considerably so that it felt almost like autumn, and the air had a fresh-scrubbed smell. Gray clouds still lay heavily overhead, but they didn’t look particularly threatening now, and it was obvious the storm was over.

It was a few minutes before she heard the sounds of the buggy, and she looked up to see Cyrus driving it around the corner of the house. He’d tied his horse to the back of the buggy. Neither animal was wet, so she assumed there was an old barn or some other shelter she hadn’t seen. It didn’t seem important.

She went down the steps to meet him, and held his coat up as he got out of the buggy. “You forgot this.” She had to stand on tiptoe to hold it for him as he shrugged into it, and thought again how big he was.

“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 agreeable 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 advantage 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 accidentally 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.