Somewhere I'll Find You (22 page)

Julia considered the offer. The thought of having a meal by herself at the inn, or with other people in the acting company, sounded none too appealing at the moment. “I suppose anything your cook prepares will be better than the fare at the inn,” she said.

Her grudging acceptance provoked a smile from him. “You have my word on that as well.” He pulled her hand into the crook of his arm. “Let's go, madam, before your public become even more unruly.”

It had always been necessary for Julia to fend off overeager suitors and admirers by herself. It was a pleasant change to walk out on a strong man's arm, letting him assume control of the situation. She made no protest as Damon slid a protective hand onto her slender back and guided her through the crush of inquisitive strangers outside. Immediately she was assaulted by eager questions and hands plucking at her hat, veil, and cloak.

Startled, Julia felt her hat being pulled off her head. Smarting tears came to her eyes as the anchoring pin tugged sharply. Turning away from the slew of excited cries, she clung to Damon until they reached the carriage. She managed to smile and wave at the crowd before entering the vehicle. Damon wasn't nearly so forgiving, shoving the people at the front of the mob to keep them at bay, ignoring their protests.

Tucked safely inside the carriage, Julia sighed in relief and rubbed her sore scalp. “I thought they might pluck my hair out by the roots,” she exclaimed as the carriage pulled away.

Damon's gaze was imperturbable. “Basking in public adoration, pursued by everyone…it must be what every actress wants.”

Julia considered the remark and replied carefully. “I suppose I like knowing that people are pleased with what I do…and their approval means that my position at the Capital and my salary are secure.”

“Their approval means more to you than that.”

Annoyed by the derisive note in his voice, Julia opened her mouth to reply. But she closed it abruptly. He was right, although she hated his perceptiveness, not wanting anyone to read her with such apparent ease. She did like the feeling of being admired by the public, who seemed more than ready to give her all the attention and affection her father had always denied her.

“Leading an ordinary life must pale in comparison,” Damon remarked.

“I wouldn't know,” she said with an edge of sarcasm, pulling down her disheveled hair. “Tell me what an ordinary life is like…oh, but I forgot. You wouldn't know either.”

“I lead the life I was intended for.”

“So do I,” she said defensively.

There was a sardonic twist at the corner of his mouth, but he chose not to argue. He watched her steadily as she used one of her tortoiseshell combs to straighten her hair before twisting it back up again.

The terrace house was as elegant as one would expect of an address in posh Laura Place. The gleaming oak floors were covered with pale English hand-knotted carpets, upon which were scattered handsome pieces of polished rosewoodfurniture and urns filled with lush plants. Pale yellow and green curtains covered the long windows, while sheets of ornately framed mirror glass gave the rooms an airy, open appearance.

Relaxing in the luxurious candlelit atmosphere of the small dining room, Julia applied herself hungrily to the meal. The array of French dishes included chicken and truffles in champagne sauce, veal scallops stuffed with herbs, and vegetables glistening with a hint of butter. A plate of wine-soaked fruit was brought out for dessert, as well as tiny almond tarts heaped with raspberries and meringue.

“After such a large meal, I won't be able to fit into my costumes,” Julia said, biting into a tart and making an appreciative noise.

“You barely do now.”

Julia smiled at the touch of jealousy in his voice. “Compared to other actresses, my costumes are extraordinarily modest.” She picked up a raspberry that had fallen to her plate and consumed it daintily.

The shadow of displeasure remained on his face. “I don't like it that other men are able to see so much of my wife. I know exactly what they think when they look at you.”

Amused by his possessiveness, Julia leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him. “What do they think?” she prompted.

On the pretext of pouring more wine for her, Damon stood and walked to her side of the table. Half-sitting on the edge, he refilled her glass and looked down at her. Julia didn't move, even when his warm gaze traveled to her breasts and back to her face. Lightly he caught the fragile edge of her jaw in his fingers, and tilted her head back.

“They imagine what your skin feels like, and if it could really be as soft as it appears.” His forefinger traced the curve of her cheek and grazed the tender corner of her lips. “They wonder how you taste…they think about loosening your hair and letting it fall over your body…arranging it over your breasts…” His hand moved in a slow caress down her throat, and then the backs of his knuckles passed once, twice over the peak of her breast.

Julia's breath quickened, and her fingers grasped the edge of her chair as she fought for composure. She wanted to stand and press herself into the lee of his thighs, to welcome the warmth of his hands on her skin. Damon continued to toy with her leisurely, his silver-gray eyes locked on every nuance of her expression. “They want to make love to you,” he murmured, “and lock you away somewhere for their private pleasure.” His fingers slid beneath the edge of her bodice, dipping close to the tingling bud of her nipple.

Shivering, Julia caught his hand. “You said you would return me to the inn untouched.”

“So I did.” Gradually his fingers withdrew from her gown. His lips hovered above hers, his breath warm and sweet against her skin. “There's a bit of meringue at the corner of your mouth.”

Automatically Julia reached with her tongue and found the touch of stickiness, letting it dissolve in her mouth. Damon's gaze didn't miss the flicker of movement. His hand, still caught in hers, was as hard as steel.

Slowly Julia let go of him, and happened to glance at the sparkling diamond on her own finger. The stone was extraordinarily beautiful in the candlelight, glittering in constantly shifting patterns. She felt guilty for having accepted it from him, for wearing something she wasn't entitled to keep. “You should take this back,” she said, removing the ring and offering it to him.

“I have no use for it.”

“It doesn't belong to me.”

“It does,” he contradicted quietly. “You're my wife.”

Julia frowned, holding the ring in her palm. “This is a symbol of a marriage that never existed—and never will.”

“I want you to keep it. No matter what happens in the future, you'll look at that ring and know that once you were mine.”

Julia hadn't realized that he considered the ring a sign of ownership. She set it on the table, forcing herself to let go of the beautiful diamond. The ring came with a price she wasn't certain she was willing to pay. “I'm sorry,” she said, unable to look at him.

Although she couldn't see his face, she sensed a change in the atmosphere…the fierce will of a warrior in battle, the urge to conquer and dominate. Aware of his violence barely kept in check, Julia remained very still. She kept her face turned away and listened to his breathing, until the deepening movements of his lungs became calm once more.

“You'll ask for it back someday.”

Startled, Julia made the mistake of looking at him. His face was very near, his eyes gleaming like a well-sharpened knife blade. It took all her self-control to keep from shivering in alarm. In this moment it was easy to see how he had singlehandedly pulled his family from poverty to wealth, with pure force of will. “No,” she said softly. “Even if I were to fall in love with you, I wouldn't accept the ring and become your property.”

“Property,” he repeated, his tone infused with the sting of a riding whip. “Is that how you think I would treat you?”

Rising from her chair, Julia stared at him face to face, while he remained half-seated on the table. “If I were your wife, would you let me go wherever I chose, do whatever I pleased, with no questions or recriminations? Would you make no protest while I continued with my profession, attending rehearsals in the mornings, coming back from performances at midnight or later? And what of your friends and peers?—the sneers and nasty comments they would make about me, their assumptions that I was little more than a prostitute. Would you find a way to accept all that?”

His face turned a few shades darker, confirming her suspicions. “Why does the theater mean so much to you?” he asked curtly. “Is it such a damned sacrifice to give up the life of a Gypsy?”

“I've never been able to depend on anything else. It's the only thing I'm certain of. I don't want a title and an endless round of social events, and a quiet estate in the country—that's the life my father would have chosen for me.”

Damon caught her hips in his hands, imprisoning her between his thighs. “Part of you wants that life.”

Twisting, pushing at his hard chest, Julia tried to free herself, but his grip only tightened. He pulled her closer until her struggles created an intimate friction between them. Abruptly she froze, realizing the effect her movements were having on him. The rigid proof of his arousal pressed against her abdomen, eliciting an immediate response from her body. “I want to leave now,” she said breathlessly.

Damon released her, but with his intent gaze fastened on hers, she couldn't seem to move away. “I won't make it easy for you. You're not going to avoid me—or get rid of me—without a fight.”

Julia stared at him with a mixture of fury and longing. It was difficult enough, denying herself what she wanted so badly. There were dreams she still harbored deep inside, of having her own family and home, falling asleep each night in the arms of her husband, spending leisurely hours playing with her children. Now those faceless images had taken clear shape in her mind…she wanted to be Damon's wife, and bear his dark-haired offspring. The dreams were now a possibility, and giving them up would be the hardest thing she had ever done.

Suddenly she remembered Logan Scott's cool, mocking voice as he said,
You may decide that you love Savage enough to surrender your body and soul to his keeping…but I wouldn't advise it
.

Stumbling back, Julia turned away and held her hands to her pounding chest. She took several deep breaths, willing the emotions inside her to uncoil. Damon came up behind her, close but not touching. His voice was flat as he spoke somewhere above her head. “I'll accompany you to the inn.”

“You don't have to…” she began, but he ignored her and went to ring for a carriage.

They were silent as they traveled to the inn, the atmosphere strained between them. Their thighs rested close together, brushing occasionally as the wheels of the vehicle bounced over uneven places in the street. Julia tried to move away, but it seemed that she kept sliding against him. She would die before moving to the opposite seat, especially under the focus of his cool, jeering gaze. Finally the miserable ride was over, and he helped her from the carriage.

“I'll go up to my room by myself,” Julia said, sensing that he intended to accompany her.

Damon shook his head briefly. “It's dangerous. I'll see you to the door.”

“I've stayed here alone for more than a week, and I've been perfectly fine without your protection,” Julia pointed out.

“For God's sake, I'm not going to touch you. If I had seduction in mind for tonight, you'd be in bed with me right now. All I want is to see you safely to your room.”

“I don't need—”

“Indulge me,” he said through his teeth, looking as though he were going to strangle her.

Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Julia preceded him into the building, past the proprietor's table and the vacant dining room, toward the stairs that led to the second floor. Damon followed at a slower pace, his black brows drawn together in displeasure. They progressed down a long, poorly lit hallway until they reached her room. Extracting a slender key from the reticule slung around her wrist, Julia turned her attention to the lock. The key turned far too easily.

Realizing that she must have forgotten to lock her room when she had left that morning, Julia made a show of rattling the key against the metal catch. She'd had enough to deal with tonight, without being accused of carelessness and incompetence. Turning the knob, she paused and looked back at Damon. “You've done your gentlemanly duty,” she informed him. “I've been delivered safely to my door. Good night.”

Taking the unsubtle cue to leave, Damon stared at her with sullen gray eyes before turning his back on her and striding away.

With a sigh, Julia entered her room and fumbled for a box of matches. Carefully she struck a match and applied the tiny yellow flare to the oil lamp on the dresser. She replaced the glass globe and adjusted the wick until a gentle glow filled the room. Her mind was consumed with thoughts that made her head ache. She was oblivious to her surroundings, lost in worry… but as she glanced in the cheval glass, she saw a flicker of movement in the corner of the reflective surface. At the same time there was an odd scraping noise on the floor.

She was not alone. A bolt of fright went through her. Whirling, Julia managed a half-scream before the sound was extinguished by a man's hand crushing hard over her mouth. She was hauled back against a skinny but inexorably strong frame. Nostrils flaring, eyes wide, she stared at the heavyset form of Lord Langate as he approached her. She was being held by his companion, Strathearn. They were the two men who had pestered her at the New Theatre earlier in the day. It appeared that they had bolstered their courage with a great deal of liquor, both of them stinking and sour-breathed, and insufferably smug.

“You didn't expect to see us again, did you?” Langate purred, smoothing his chubby hand over the greasy strands of hair combed across his balding head. His gaze slid appreciatively over her writhing form. “What a prize wench you are—the smartest bit of goods we've ever seen. Isn't that right, Strathearn?”

The tall man nodded and chortled in agreement.

Langate's small mouth opened in a grin as he spoke to Julia. “There's no need to be frightened. We'll take our ease with you, and we'll pay you nicely for it afterward. You'll be able to purchase any bauble you like. Don't look so outraged, my dear. I'll wager you've entertained many eager gentlemen of our sort between your pretty thighs.” He came closer and caught one of Julia's flailing hands, forcing it to his swollen crotch. A leer of anticipation creased his round face. “There,” he crooned. “That isn't so bad, is it? I think you'll enjoy—”