by Kay Hooper
It was just a house, Julia told herself. It would be a magnificent house, she thought, when it was completed. And she didn’t feel an eeriness from it, she simply had a sense of strangeness inside herself that the unfinished building seemed to echo. Like her, the house was incomplete, the bare bones of something that needed flesh before it could become real.
Cyrus had disappeared with the horses; she had no idea where he’d gone. She waited, the peculiar ideas still filtering through her mind. Waiting? Yes. She’d been waiting for a long time. It had been hard, but she’d held on. She hadn’t been defeated, even though the battle had left her too weary to feel very much except pain and fear.
As she saw Cyrus come toward her, her feelings changed to fascination and longing that was almost painful. She saw him look up at her as he reached the steps, and wondered why he stopped so suddenly. He looked shocked, she thought.
Cyrus had been brooding as he’d hurried back to the house, trying to decide how to convince Julia to come to him. He didn’t want to force her, but at the same time he was absolutely determined she wouldn’t spend another night under Drummond’s roof. The man wasn’t only vicious, he was unstable; Cyrus had kept a close eye on him for weeks now, and he was convinced that whatever madness or sickness twisted inside Drummond’s mind was worsening rapidly.
He was beginning to betray himself, to voice political statements and opinions so grandiose and blatantly lacking in reason even his staunchest supporters had begun eyeing him uncertainly. Cyrus had subtlely pushed and prodded, gauging the response with care because he was wary of having his efforts to expose Drummond backfire into anything hurtful to Julia. The consuming fire inside Adrian, he’d determined quickly, was the burning of ambition, and Cyrus had worked to focus Drummond’s full attention as well as his full energy on the political aspirations that fed that ambition.
But during the past few days Cyrus had grown more and more uneasy. He couldn’t put a name to what he was feeling except to know it concerned Julia. And time. Time was running out, he realized. He couldn’t afford to wait until he goaded Drummond to expose himself publicly; he had to get Julia away from her husband, and quickly. So he had maneuvered to get Drummond out of Richmond, and he’d gone to talk to Julia.
He was grateful, now, that the storm gave him the opportunity to be alone with her, but he still didn’t know how to convince her to leave her husband. He was grappling with that problem when he took the first step into the house, looked up, and saw her.
The incomplete exterior walls of the house didn’t block the wind very well; fitful gusts were tugging at her dark skirt and white blouse so that she seemed in motion even though she stood still. She had lost her hat sometime during the drive to the house, and the wind made wisps of her fiery hair flutter around her pale face. Her wide eyes were dark and colorless except when lightning flashed, but then they came vividly alive with green fire.
When the truth hit him, it was like being paralyzed for an eternal moment, as if everything inside him stopped. Then his heart began to pound heavily in his chest and he felt dizzy.
He hadn’t questioned his own feelings very deeply because there’d been so many other puzzling and disturbing questions in his life since he’d returned to Richmond. He’d known he wanted her; the desire that had grown more intense with every passing day ached inside him now almost unbearably. He had known he wanted to help her, to ease her pain and take away her fear. He had even known she was important to him beyond those things, that she was somehow a piece of the “puzzle” his life had become.
He hadn’t known he loved her.
Now, in a moment so intense it was almost blinding, he knew. It was akin to knowing his heart was beating, a certainty that didn’t have to be examined because it was so irrefutable. She was part of him, and he’d never be whole, never be complete until she knew that, and believed it, as surely as he did.
Cyrus realized he’d stopped as though he’d run into a wall. Perhaps he had. The woman he loved was so physically and emotionally wounded, she might never be able to return his feelings even if she wanted to. Getting her away from Drummond would be only the first step: he would have to take many more slow and careful steps before Julia healed.
Cyrus drew a breath and continued up the steps, vaguely aware of the storm building all around them with an electric tension he could actually feel. If it didn’t rain soon and drain some of the storm’s fury, he thought, the lightning would grow more dangerous, and begin to touch off fires that would be deadly.
He reached Julia and took her hand gently in his. “We should remain near the center of the house,” he told her. “It will be safer.”
She allowed him to lead her deeper among the maze of fleshless walls and gaping doorways. She wasn’t so aware of the strange thoughts with her hand lost in his, but she was still aware of tensely waiting…for something. She didn’t know what it was, but she wanted it, needed it, and she didn’t know how much longer she could wait for it.
It was darker near the center of the house, and she felt the wind more than heard it. Only an occasional draft of hot air disturbed the stillness. Cyrus led her into what would probably be a parlor, with a rock fireplace half-completed blocking most of the light from the front of the house.
“Wait just a minute,” he said, squeezing her hand gently before releasing it. “I think there’s a lamp on the mantel block.” He stepped away from her and moved between several looming shapes toward the fireplace. There was a brief silence, then the scrape of a match, a blue-white flare, the smell of sulphur, and then the light of a kerosene lamp sent out a yellow circle.
Julia looked around. The looming shapes had become a wheelbarrow piled high with stones to continue building the fireplace, two corded stacks of lumber, and an open crate containing plumbing fixtures. There was also a smaller, empty crate, upended to form a table on which sat a second kerosene lamp, and a pallet of thick quilts.
Following her gaze, Cyrus said, “I’ve hired a watchman to keep an eye on the place at night; it looks like he’s been doing more sleeping than watching.”
“Were you worried about theft?” she asked, wondering why her voice sounded so hollow. Then she realized. The house, of course. Voices always sounded strange in a half-completed or empty building. Except for his voice. His voice was always curiously distinct no matter what tone he used.
“Lumber is valuable,” he said with a slight shrug. He decided not to explain yet another of his “whims,” especially since he hardly understood it himself, and since the last thing he wanted to do was add to Julia’s fears. He wasn’t worried about lumber being stolen. All he knew was that he felt the need to guard this house as strongly as he’d felt the need to build it.
Julia started nervously as a crash of thunder shook the entire house. She had the sensation they were more alone then ever before, cut off from the rest of the world by the angry but oddly protective force of nature itself. She tensed when Cyrus took a step toward her.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Julia,” he said quietly. As he had done on her previous visit, he shrugged out of his coat and folded it, then placed it on the smaller of the two stacks of lumber. “Come over here and sit down, please. We’re going to be here awhile; we might as well be comfortable.”
She obeyed the request, but her tension was heightened when he joined her with no more than a few inches between them. Searching for something to say, she finally asked, “Were you going somewhere? I mean, with the storm already so rough…”
“I was searching for you,” he replied.
Julia turned her head quickly to stare at him. “For me?”
He nodded, watching her intently. “I’d gone to the house to talk to you, and found Lissa very upset and worried about you.”
“You went to the house?” She was shocked, and a chill of fear feathered up her spine. “But, Adrian—”
“He’s attending a political meeting halfway across the state, and shouldn’t return before midnight,�
� Cyrus reassured her. “I made sure of that before I took the chance.”
“Even so,” she said unsteadily, “the neighbors…people will wonder.”
“They’ll think I went to see him, if they think anything at all. At least until—” He hesitated, then said, “I asked Lissa to pack a few things for the two of you, and to be ready to leave when we returned.”
“I can’t leave,” she said automatically, wondering why her mind felt so sluggish. Why couldn’t she think?
“Sweetheart, you can’t stay,” he said softly but with an intensity in his voice she’d never heard before. “It would be bad enough if Drummond were just a brutal bastard, but he’s more than that. He’s twisted. He could cross the line into insanity at any moment—if he hasn’t already. Even his closest friends are beginning to wonder about him, and he’s never betrayed himself to them before. The next time he gets violent, he could kill you. Or Lissa. Do you understand?”
Julia couldn’t look away from Cyrus, even though she felt terribly vulnerable. Words welled up and escaped without her volition. “He’d said he’d hurt Lissa if I left him,” she whispered. “That she’d never be safe from him. I thought if I could just hold on until Lissa was married, then maybe I could find a way out.”
Cyrus reached over to touch her hand. “You can’t wait that long. Julia, I know you can’t be sure I’m different from Drummond. I know you don’t trust me, can’t trust me right now, but I swear I would never do anything to hurt you. I’ll take care of you and Lissa, and I’ll make certain Drummond never touches her or hurts you again.”
“You don’t know him. He—”
“Sweetheart, I’ll keep him away from you if it takes a bullet to do it.”
Julia felt a shock, but a peculiar one. She didn’t doubt Cyrus was capable of killing another man if the reason were strong enough; what surprised her was his apparent determination to do whatever was necessary to protect her and Lissa. Just because he desired her? Could passion drive a man to such lengths? The endearment he’d used surprised her as well, and puzzled her a little. Did he believe she’d expect pretty words and phrases if she did go to him and become his mistress?
It seemed strangely out of character. From the very first he’d been blunt with her, often shockingly so. He had even once told her he wouldn’t offer pretty speeches or bedroom lies, and she had decided he wouldn’t find it necessary to resort to such tactics in order to get what he wanted. Yet he had twice called her sweetheart, his black velvet voice sober and gentle—and she had the odd feeling he wasn’t aware he’d done it.
“Julia?” In the lamplight his lean, handsome face held an expression of unusual anxiety. “I swear I won’t make you do anything against your will. I won’t force you in any way. But you have to let me take care of you. Please. Give me a chance to prove you can trust me.”
She swallowed hard, unable to summon even a flash of resentment this time at how easily he was swaying her. She wanted to give in to him, wanted to take the risk, no matter what it cost her. And it would cost her, even if he didn’t deliberately hurt her. Fleetingly, she thought of how shameful it would be, and how people would condemn her for living with a man as his mistress with her younger sister under the same roof, but then she wondered vaguely if he meant to set her up in an establishment of her own. Wasn’t that how it was done? She’d never heard of a man moving his mistress into his family home.
Not that it mattered where he meant to keep her. He was right about one thing at least—she had to leave Adrian immediately, before he could do something dreadful to Lissa. As for going to Cyrus, what choice did she have? There was no place else she could go. Besides, her body insisted she was his, and she was too tired to fight him anymore.
With a little difficulty she asked, “What did—did Lissa say when you told her?”
He smiled. “She just nodded. She trusts me, it seems.” His smile vanished. “But then, she trusted him too, didn’t she?”
Julia nodded jerkily. “He made sure she did. This summer though, she started to notice things. If I’d handled her questions differently, perhaps she wouldn’t have realized the truth, but I—I couldn’t pretend anymore.”
“She needed to know, sweetheart.” He hesitated, then said in a soft voice, “I wish you could believe you’ll be safe with me. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, Julia, I swear it. Please, let me try.”
Looking back later, Julia often thought how odd it was that the storm broke at the same moment as her resistance. Even as she was nodding, she heard the heavy drumming of rain on the roof and felt a cool, damp breeze touch her cheek.
“All right,” she murmured, and the relief of simply making any kind of decision was almost numbing. “All right, I—I’ll leave Adrian. I’ll come to you.”
Cyrus lifted one of her hands and kissed it, smiling. His eyes were liquid, shining, and there was a note of fierce satisfaction as well as tenderness in his voice when he said, “You won’t regret it.” Then his gaze dropped to the hand he was holding, her left, and his smile faded slowly.
Julia had seen it too. A flash of lightning had reflected brightly off her wedding band. Very softly, she said, “A few days after our wedding, Adrian took the ring he’d put on me in church and replaced it with this one. He had it made too small. I can’t take it off.”
Cyrus studied her hand in silence for a moment, his face very still. The ring was tight on her slender finger, biting into the skin. The lamplight was barely strong enough to show him tiny scars on either side of her knuckle where flesh had been torn when the ring had been forced over it. It made Cyrus feel sick. How insane would a man have to be to do such a thing to his own wife?
“God damn him,” he said quietly.
To Julia, his words sounded less like a curse than an invocation, and one very deeply felt. She had the sudden, surprising notion that Cyrus possessed a rare, inborn conviction he wasn’t even aware of. He would seldom set foot in a church, she thought with a flash of intuition, yet he innately felt and understood the value of faith in a way few overtly religious men could come close to matching.
It seemed a strange trait for a man of his reputation, yet she felt certain she was right about it. For the first time, Julia began to wonder if she had any real understanding of the man he truly was. She stared at him as his dark head bent slightly over her hand, then tensed a little, her thoughts scattering when she felt him take hold of the ring with a light touch.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. His fingers turned the ring slowly, then eased it painlessly over her knuckle and off.
“How did you do that?” she asked in surprise, knowing only too well how tightly the ring had fit her. She hadn’t been able to get it off no matter how hard she’d tried, yet he had slipped it from her finger as easily as though it had suddenly grown two sizes larger.
Cyrus held the ring for a moment, then slipped it into the pocket of his vest, saying, “I’ll get rid of it on the way back to Richmond; I don’t want it near this house.”
“You didn’t answer me.” She watched his face as he gently rubbed the mark the ring had left on her finger.
After a moment he lifted his gaze to meet hers. There was something a bit hesitant in his black eyes and, finally, he shrugged. “It didn’t belong on your finger. I didn’t want it there,” he said simply.
She managed a faint smile, although she felt unnerved by what he’d done. “And you always get what you want?”
“I’ve been lucky so far.” His free hand rose to touch her cheek, the long fingers softly caressing, and his expression tightened. “I want you,” he said huskily, and it was not quite a question.
Julia felt her heart begin to beat unevenly, and all the impossible sensations she’d tried to deal with these past weeks surged inside her like a rising tide she hadn’t a hope of mastering. Perhaps this was what she’d been waiting for, she realized dimly. To belong to him—if it was possible. He had taught her body to want him, and no matter
what else she was uncertain of, she was sure of that much. She wanted him, and she had to take the chance. Whether it brought pain or pleasure, she had to offer herself to him.
She wondered briefly if he had put this price on her safety and Lissa’s, but dismissed the idea before it could cause her any pain. It didn’t seem to matter anyway.
“I—I want you too,” she said unsteadily, still shocked she could say those words to any man.
Cyrus made an odd, rough sound and leaned toward her. His mouth touched hers, very gentle at first but quickly hardening with desire. Julia felt herself being gathered into his strong arms, and for the first time she permitted herself to respond to him and to the hunger he had created inside her.
Her arms went up around his neck as her upper body molded itself to the hard contours of his, and her mouth opened eagerly to permit the kiss to deepen. She felt a burst of heat somewhere near the center of her being, and the force of it made her tremble. How could she feel this way? How could he make her feel this way? Her body seemed alive only when he held it, and she didn’t understand how it could be possible.
It was so strange, like her dreams, a restless, burning pleasure that was a growing ache inside her. An empty ache. The intimate touch of his tongue against hers soothed the ache and yet made it worse, and she wanted—needed—to be closer to him. The hunger he had brought to life in her body had some instinctive knowledge of its own, a certainty of ultimate satisfaction, and it demanded she reach for that.
She made a faint sound of protest when he lifted his mouth from hers and opened her eyes to stare up at him dazedly.
“Julia,” he said, kissing one corner of her mouth and then the other as his hand cradled the back of her head. The tanned skin of his face was taut and his eyes were burning, and his black velvet voice was low, a little rough. “I had a better place in mind for our first time together, sweet. But I don’t think I can wait for you any longer.”
