Chapter 8 #3
During her shopping expeditions and visits to the Pump Room, a magnificent building with Corinthian columns set within and without, Julia had overheard the local gossip concerning the play.
Some claimed it was jinxed, and nothing would make them attend.
Others expressed eager interest in the production.
There was a fair amount of speculation about Mrs. Wentworth, which amused Julia as she sat nearby with a veil concealing her face.
It was necessary to keep her identity a secret.
Years ago Julia had learned that she would never satisfy the expectations people had of her.
Invariably they wanted her to be like one of the heroines she had played, complete with sparkling dialogue and flamboyant gestures.
Even Logan Scott had complained that women desired—and sometimes demanded—that he play the romantic lover for them, just as he did onstage.
“It's a common problem for actors,” he had informed her.
“People are always disappointed when they find out we're as human as they are.”
When she reached the bath house, Julia entered the small building with its simple Grecian design, and nodded to the attendant who waited inside.
Julia had made prior arrangements with the elderly woman that no one else would be allowed in the bath during her evening visit.
It was the only way for Julia to enjoy an hour of peace without having to deal with gossip and questions and prying stares of curious women.
Conveniently, few people ever wanted to visit the bath house during the unfashionable evening hours.
It was believed to be more healthful—not to mention socially desirable—to bathe in the morning.
Julia left the antechamber and went through a warped wooden door into the bathing room.
The surface of the water was as smooth as glass, reflecting the light of a single lamp mounted on the wall.
Steam drifted from the pool and spread an acrid mineral scent through the air.
The heated water would be a wonderful contrast to the cool air outside.
Sighing in anticipation, Julia removed her clothes and piled them on a wooden chair.
She used two pins to secure her hair in a knot on top of her head.
Carefully she descended the worn steps leading into the water.
Warmth lapped against her calves and traveled to her hips, her waist, and then her shoulders as she reached the bottom of the pool.
She shivered in pleasure at the penetrating heat, letting her arms float in the buoyant water, splashing it languidly against her throat.
As her body relaxed, her mind drifted from one thought to another.
She wondered how Damon had reacted to her sudden disappearance, if he had tried to find her…
or if he had been too busy dealing with Lady Ashton to give her a thought.
Her imagination conjured a picture of him with Pauline, their bodies entwined in the act of love.
She shook her head to clear away the image.
It troubled her profoundly, the question of what had happened after she left Damon's home the night of the theater fire.
Had Damon allowed his mistress to stay? Had they argued? Made love?
“I don't care, I don't care,” Julia muttered, rubbing her wet hands over her face.
But that was a lie. Despite all her denials, fear, and stubbornness, she couldn't help but feel that Damon was hers.
After all she had suffered because of their marriage, she had certainly earned the right to love him.
On the other hand, if there was a baby…she wasn't certain she could live with the thought that she had influenced Damon to abandon his responsibilities.
Just as she splashed her face again, she heard the bath house attendant's chirruping voice. “Mrs. Wentworth?”
Wiping her blurry eyes, Julia looked toward the doorway where the elderly woman stood.
The gray curls pinned on top of the old woman's head bobbed cheerfully as she spoke. “Mrs. Wentworth, there's a visitor for you. One you'll be quite happy to see, I've no doubt.”
Julia shook her head emphatically. “I told you that no one is to come into the bath while I'm here—”
“Aye, but you wouldn't turn away your own husband, would you now?”
“Husband?” Julia asked sharply.
The attendant nodded until her pinned-up curls were in danger of toppling. “Aye, and a fine, handsome man he is.”
Julia's mouth sagged open in disbelief as Lord Savage pushed past the woman. “There you are,” he said pleasantly, his gaze falling to Julia as she sank deeper into the steaming pool. “Have you missed me, darling?”
Recovering quickly, Julia gave him a slitted glare. “Not at all.” She longed to fling an armful of water over his immaculate trousers and white linen shirt.
The bath attendant giggled at what she perceived as their playfulness. Damon turned to favor her with a charming smile. “My deepest thanks for reuniting me with my wife, madam. Now if you wouldn't mind allowing us a few minutes of privacy…and keeping other visitors away…”
“Not a soul will cross the threshold,” the woman vowed, winking at him as she departed. “Good evening, Mr. Wentworth!”
The name elicited a scowl from Damon. “I'm not Mr. Wentworth,” he muttered, but the attendant had already gone. When he turned back to Julia, she was still glaring at him.
“How did you find me?”
Casually Damon removed his coat and draped it across the back of a chair.
“Your friend Arlyss told me that the acting company was preparing to tour in Bath. After investigating a few hotels and inns, I discovered where you were staying. The proprietor of the inn told me it was your habit to come here in the evenings.”
“He had no right—”
“I was very persuasive.” His gaze fell to the white tops of her breasts, gleaming in the wavering lamplight.
“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Julia said sarcastically.
She came closer to the wall of the pool, concealing her body from him.
Perhaps it was because of the heat of the water, but her heart had picked up a rapid beat.
No one else looked at her the way he did, his gray eyes warm and appraising, filled with possessiveness.
Damon crouched near her, balancing his arms on his bent knees. “Keep running from me,” he said softly, “and I'll keep finding you.”
“You won't spend a single night with me at the inn. And I suspect that nearly every lodging in Bath is completely full. If you don't care to sleep in the street tonight, you'd better return to London without delay.”
“I own a terrace house at Laura Place.”
“Why?” she retorted, trying to cover her discomfort. “You're not exactly the kind of man to make the social rounds in Bath—”
“I bought the house for my father. He likes to come here when his health permits the journey. Would you like to see it?”
“Hardly. In case you hadn't noticed, I've been trying to avoid you.” Her head jerked back as Damon reached out to brush some drops of water off her chin. “Don't touch me!”
“If you're angry because of what happened with Pauline the other night—”
“It doesn't matter in the least. I don't care if you arranged for her to be there or not. And I'm more angry with myself than anyone else.”
“Because you wanted to be with me?” he murmured.
The silence would have been complete, except for the gentle sloshing of water in the pool.
The relaxed feeling the bath had given Julia was now gone, replaced by a tension that stretched through every part of her.
She stared at Damon's tautly honed face, the alert gleam of his eyes, and she realized the extent of his hunger.
He was here because he wanted her—and he would not let her go easily.
“You shouldn't have followed me to Bath,” she snapped. “You won't get anything from me, especially not the kind of welcome you seem to expect.”
Rather than argue, he raked her with a thorough glance. His gaze fell to her slender hand, her fingers stiff against the slippery stone that edged the bath. “You're wearing the ring I gave you,” he observed.
Julia's hand clenched, and she lowered it into the water, submerging the sparkling diamond. “It doesn't mean anything, except that I happen to like it. And if you presume that my favors can be bought—”
“I'm presuming nothing.” A smile crossed his lips. “You seem to expect that I'll pounce on you at any moment. I'm almost inclined to think you'll be disappointed if I don't.”
“Let's not play games,” she said pertly. “You're here because you want to bed me again.”
“Of course I do,” he replied in a level voice. “And you want the same thing. As I recall, it was a mutually enjoyable experience—or will you try to claim you were only acting?”
Reddening in frustration, Julia drew her arm back in open threat. “Leave, or I'll throw enough water on you to ruin those very fine clothes.”
Damon's smile remained. “Then I'd have no reason not to join you.”
Slowly her arm relaxed. “Please leave,” she said through her teeth. “I've been in the bath long enough. My skin is beginning to wrinkle.”
He extended a solicitous hand to her. “I'll help you out.”
“No, thank you.”
“Shy?” he asked with a mocking lift of his brows. “I've seen you naked before. Once more will hardly make a difference.”
“I won't get out until you've left!”
A taunting smile curved his lips. “I'm not leaving.”
Irritated beyond bearing, Julia kept her features expressionless and extended a hand to him.
“Very well,” she said coolly. “You may help me out of the bath.” Obligingly Damon reached in for her, and she took hold of his wrist with both hands.
Before he could brace himself against her forward pull, she used all her weight to tug him into the water.
With a muffled curse, he lost his balance and plunged headfirst.