Chapter 5 #2
She responded with a bobbing shake of her head. “Please,” she said in a faltering voice, “you must try to help Julia. She may seem very strong, but underneath—”
“Yes, I know,” he murmured. “Julia will be all right. You have my word.”
“How sad that it should come to this,” she whispered. “I always hoped that someday the two of you would find each other, and then … ”
“And then?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
She smiled faintly at her own foolishness. “And then you might have discovered that you were right for each other, after all.”
Damon repressed a sardonic snort. “That would have been a convenient resolution…but I'm afraid things aren't that simple.”
“No,” she said, looking at him sadly.
Julia entered her small house on Somerset with a mixture of panic and relief.
She wanted to hide in her bed under the covers and find some way to erase today from her memory.
As her housemaid Sarah approached, Julia instructed her not to admit any callers for the rest of the evening.
“I don't want to see anyone, no matter how important it may seem.”
“Yes, Mrs. Wentworth,” the dark-haired maid said, accustomed to Julia's desire for solitude. “Shall I be helping you with your things, ma'am?”
“No, I'll undress myself.”
After snatching a glass and a bottle of wine from the kitchen, Julia ascended the narrow flight of stairs that led to her bedroom.
“My God, what have I done?” she muttered to herself.
She should never have confronted her father—it had accomplished nothing, except that now Lord Savage knew who she was.
She wondered if Savage was angry with her.
Yes, he must be…he must think that she had been trying to make a fool of him.
What if he decided to retaliate? Julia sipped furtively at the wine.
She would let several days pass before she faced Savage.
By then his anger would have cooled, and perhaps they could have a rational discussion.
Moving like a sleepwalker, Julia entered the solitude of her bedroom.
The walls were covered with a delicate print of sage and rose, complementing the large four-poster bed with its fluttering canopy of cool, pale green.
The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a satinwood armoire and dressing table, and a chaise longue with a gilded frame and champagne velvet upholstery.
A few framed engravings of actors and play scenes hung on the walls, as well as an original page of one of Logan Scott's plays, his gift to her after her first success at the Capital.
She moved around the room, taking comfort in the familiar objects, possessions she had provided for herself.
No trace of her past was here, no unpleasant reminders…
only the safety and privacy of being Jessica Wentworth.
If only she could have the past day to live over!
What self-destructive impulse had caused her to reveal her identity to Lord Savage?
She remembered the way he had looked at her just before she had left the Hargate estate. His gaze had seemed to pierce through her, and it had seemed that her every thought and emotion was clear to him. She had felt as helpless as a child, all her secrets revealed, her defenses destroyed.
Julia sat at her dressing table and finished the wine in a few gulps. She wouldn't let herself think about Savage anymore…she needed to sleep, and prepare herself to face the rehearsal tomorrow for Logan's new play. She couldn't let her professional life suffer because of her private problems.
She stripped off her clothes, dropped them to the floor, and donned a simple blue muslin dressing gown that fastened up the front with five satin ribbons.
Sighing in relief, she pulled the pins from her hair and combed her fingers through the disordered ash-blond locks.
As she picked up a copy of My Lady Deception and began to climb into bed, a sound disrupted the quiet of the house.
Julia went still and listened alertly. The muffled tones of an argument filtered to her room from downstairs, and then she heard the housemaid's distant cry of alarm.
Julia flung aside the pages in her hand and rushed from her room. “Sarah,” she called anxiously, hurrying to the stairs. “Sarah, what is it—”
She halted at the top step and saw the maid standing in the center of the entrance hall. The front door was wide open. Lord Savage had just forced his way inside.
Julia's mind was wiped clean with alarm as she stared at the menacing figure below her. His face was taut, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared back at her.
“Mrs. Wentworth,” the housemaid stammered, “he…he just barged in…I couldn't stop him … ”
“I've come to talk with my wife,” Savage said grimly, still looking at Julia.
“Your…” the maid said in confusion. “Then you must be…Mr. Wentworth?”
A scowl settled over Savage's face. “No, I'm not Mr. Wentworth,” he said with biting precision.
Somehow Julia managed to adopt a calm expression. “You must leave,” she said firmly. “I'm not ready to discuss anything tonight.”
“That's too bad.” Savage started up the stairs. “I've been ready for three years.”
It was clear that he would allow her no choice. Julia braced herself for battle and spoke to the frightened-looking maid. “You may retire for the evening, Sarah. I'll be all right.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Sarah said doubtfully, staring at the purposeful man who was ascending the stairs. Quickly the maid disappeared to her room, evidently deciding it was wiser not to interfere.
As Savage reached her, Julia lifted her chin and returned his gaze. “How dare you force your way into my home,” she snapped, gathering the dressing gown more closely around herself.
“Why all the lies? Why not tell me the truth the first time we met?”
“You lied every bit as much as I did, telling me you were unmarried—”
“I'm not in the habit of telling intimate secrets to women I barely know.”
“As long as we're on the subject of intimate secrets…does Lady Ashton know you're not the bachelor you claim to be?”
“As a matter of fact, she does.”
“I suppose she wants you to get rid of your wife and marry her for her baby's sake.” Julia had the satisfaction of seeing his features turn blank with surprise.
“How do you know about that?” he asked sharply.
“Lady Ashton told me when we were both visiting the dressmaker's. She tried to warn me away from you—but I could have told her there was no need. You're the last man I would ever choose to become involved with.”
“Whom would you prefer?” he asked, his tone jeering. “Logan Scott?”
“Anyone except you!”
“Why?” His head lowered, and his breath was hot against her cheek. “Because I frighten you? Because you can't help wanting the same thing I do?”
Julia tried to step back, but his hands came to her shoulders. Although his hold was firm, she could have broken free if she chose. Something kept her there, some potent force that wouldn't allow her to pull away. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she said unsteadily.
“You felt it the first time we met…we both did.”
“All I want is for you to leave me alone,” she said, and gasped as he urged her against his hard body.
There was a glow of heat in his eyes, turning the cool gray to molten silver. “You're still lying to me, Julia.”
She trembled in confusion as she stayed against him, intensely aware of his scent, the warmth of his hands, the feel of his burgeoning arousal pressing against her abdomen.
The rise and fall of his chest matched her own labored breathing.
She had been held by men before, but always in the context of a scene from a play, always in the theater.
The well-rehearsed words and movements had never been her own.
The feelings had been skillfully manufactured for the benefit of an audience.
Now for the first time it was real, and she had no idea what to do.
Savage moved his hands over the thin sleeves of her gown, his touch sending a sweep of warmth from her shoulders to her bare wrists.
He spoke against her cheek, his lips brushing her skin with each word, his mouth tantalizingly close to her own.
“The night you came to my room at the Brandons' estate, I would have given a fortune to touch you like this…anything just to be close to you. I promised myself that nothing would stand in the way of having you.”
“Nothing except a wife and a pregnant mistress,” Julia said, while her pulse throbbed madly.
He drew his head back, his thick lashes lowering over the bright gleam of his eyes. “I don't know for certain if Pauline is pregnant. I don't know if she's lying, or what I'll do if she isn't.” He hesitated and added gruffly, “All I know is that you're mine.”
“I belong to no one.” She managed to pull back, stumbling a little. “Please leave now,” she said desperately, heading to the protection of her bedroom.
“Wait.” Damon caught her just inside the door and turned her to face him.
“Julia…” All the convincing speeches he had rehearsed were locked in his throat.
He wanted to make her understand that he wasn't the kind of man he had seemed so far.
How had his well-organized life suddenly become such a mess?
He reached for a lock of her unbound hair, a golden banner that lay over her shoulder and trailed down to her waist. He sifted it gently through his fingers.
She waited without moving or making a sound, seeming possessed by the same sense of inevitability that gripped him.
Incredible, that he had resented and denied her for most of his life…
and she had turned out to be what he wanted most.
Damon slid his hand beneath the fall of her hair to the nape of her neck, his fingers and thumb curving around the downy surface. He felt her muscles stiffen beneath his touch. A faint protest escaped her lips as he pulled her closer, degree by degree, until her body was caught against his.