Chapter 9
Filled with vitality and a sense of lightness, Julia stood on the stage of Bath's New Theatre and surveyed the activity around her with satisfaction.
The fire in London didn't seem to have daunted the spirits of the cast and crew.
Busily they assembled new scenery, rehearsed bits of dialogue and stage blocking, and exchanged jokes about the hardships of touring.
“Bloody boring little city,” Arlyss murmured, resting her hands on her hips. She made a comical face at Julia. “Not a healthy young man in sight. Nothing but desperate old maids and invalids.”
Julia smiled wryly. “I thought we were here to perform My Lady Deception, not to look for men.”
“The day I stop looking…” Arlyss began, and suddenly stopped with an odd expression on her face.
Following her friend's gaze, Julia saw that Mary Woods, one of the company's minor actresses, was flirting openly with Michael Fiske. The scene painter seemed more than a little interested in the pretty young woman and her ebullient smile.
“What is she doing, taking up Fiske's time when she should be rehearsing her part?” Arlyss demanded, a scowl pulling at the bridge of her slim nose.
Julia repressed a smile as she heard the distinct note of jealousy in Arlyss's voice. “Mary has only a few lines. I'm sure she knows them to perfection by now.”
Arlyss's scowl remained. “Mr. Fiske has enough to do without entertaining the likes of her.”
“You could have had Fiske, had you wanted him,” Julia said matter-of-factly. “But as I recall, you were more taken with Lord William Savage.”
“Well, he was no better than any of the others,” Arlyss retorted.
“Although William is divine in bed, he apparently has no interest in me outside of it.
I'm finished with him. With all men, at the moment.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she pointedly turned her back on the sight of Michael Fiske and Mary Woods.
Just then Julia saw Fiske take a surreptitious glance at Arlyss.
So he was trying to make her jealous, Julia thought, and her lips twitched with sympathetic amusement.
“Let's talk about your paramour,” Arlyss suggested, turning impish. “Lord Savage came to see me in London—he was trying to find you. All I said to him was that the company was going to begin touring in Bath. Did he come here? Have you seen him?”
Julia hesitated and nodded, while warm color burnished her cheeks.
“Well?” Arlyss prompted. “What happened?”
Shaking her head, Julia gave a self-conscious laugh.
Even if she were inclined to tell her, no words could describe last night.
After leaving the bath house, they had walked to the inn.
The brisk night air had felt refreshing to Julia, but she had been aware of the shivers that ran up and down Damon's frame as his wet, chilly garments clung to his body.
When they reached her room, Julia had stirred a fire in the grate, and they had hung his garments to dry.
After climbing into the small but cozy bed, they had pressed their naked bodies together until Damon's skin had turned as warm as her own.
He had made love to her wordlessly, using the tender brush of his fingertips, the heat of his mouth, and the movements of his body to communicate his feelings.
Remembering the ecstasy she had found in the fire-touched darkness, Julia felt her blush deepen.
This morning Damon had been slow to awaken, yawning and stretching and grumbling…
pulling her against him when she tried to leave the bed.
He had taken her once more, plunging into her body with slow thrusts that had driven her senseless.
Somehow Julia pulled her mind away from the lurid thoughts. “It's nothing I would feel comfortable discussing,” she murmured.
Arlyss leaned closer in conspiratorial delight. “I'm so happy for you, Jessica! I've never seen you look this way before. You must be in love. It's been a long time coming for you, hasn't it?”
“Don't tell anyone, please.”
“Oh, I won't…but they'll guess anyway. You know how gossip is. Besides, you can't hide when you're in love—it comes out in a hundred different ways.”
Julia was spared from replying by the arrival of Logan Scott, who had been detained by a bevy of local politicians, clergy, and townspeople, all of them eager to make his acquaintance and welcome him to Bath.
His vivid blue eyes took in the activity onstage, and he gave a short nod of approval.
As people gathered around him with questions, he held them off with a murmur and strode toward Julia.
“Mrs. Wentworth,” he said briskly, “how are you?”
She held his gaze and smiled slightly. “Perfectly well after a week's rest, Mr. Scott.”
“Good.”
Sensing that her presence was de trop, Arlyss promptly headed toward Michael Fiske, who was still occupied with Mary Woods.
Logan didn't remove his penetrating gaze from Julia's face. “I've heard that Savage is here in Bath,” he remarked. Though the words were toneless, Julia felt as if she had been accused of something.
“Yes,” she said in a way that could have been taken either as confirmation or as question.
“Have you seen him yet?”
Julia couldn't bring herself to answer, but he read her expression easily. “Gorging on sweets again?” he asked.
Julia flushed at his reference to their conversation at his London home. Her shoulders inched upward defensively. “It's not my fault if he chooses to follow me.”
One russet brow curled in derision. “Isn't it?”
“If you're implying that I've offered him encouragement—”
“I don't give a damn what you've offered him. Just make certain your work isn't affected. The first morning you arrive late to rehearsal because you've been lolling in bed with—”
“I wasn't late this morning,” Julia interrupted, her voice touched with frost. “You were, Mr. Scott.”
Giving her a chilling glance, Logan turned and walked away, snapping out commands right and left.
Julia felt disturbed and slightly puzzled.
It was the closest they had ever come to an outright argument, and she wasn't certain why.
If they had been any other two people, she might have speculated that Logan Scott had been motivated by jealousy.
But that was ridiculous. He certainly had no romantic feelings for her—and even if he did, he would rather die than break his strict rule about never having a relationship with any of the actresses in the company.
Was Logan worried that she might abandon her career in favor of marriage?
You would be difficult to replace at the Capital, he had told her last week.
Perhaps that was true, but it wouldn't be impossible.
There were always new and talented young actresses on the rise, and Julia had no illusions that she was irreplaceable.
As they conducted a full run-through of the play, the company was relieved to discover that aside from a few minor pacing problems, the production was nearly flawless.
Logan, however, seemed far from satisfied, stopping the rehearsal several times to deliver terse lectures to the cast and crew.
As the afternoon lengthened, Julia wondered how hard he intended to push the actors.
Rebellious murmurs ran through the group until the rehearsal was finally concluded in early evening.
“I want everyone to be here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning,” Logan said.
Grumbling beneath their breaths, the assemblage dispersed quickly.
“You should be pleased at how well it went,” Julia dared to say to Logan as he stood in the middle of the stage. The lines of his face were set in harsh angles. “Instead you're behaving as if the rehearsal were a disaster.”
He gave her a threatening glance. “When someone appoints you as manager of the company, you can decide how to run things. In the meantime, kindly leave that responsibility to me.”
Julia was surprised and stung by his foul temper.
“I wish we could all be as perfect as you, Mr. Scott,” she said sarcastically, and strode away.
After snatching up her cloak and hat from one of the theater seats, she made her way to the entrance, forgetting in her haste that there would undoubtedly be a crowd outside.
Now that the townspeople in Bath were aware of the acting company's presence, they would gather to catch a glimpse of Logan Scott or the other Capital players.
As she opened the door and began to step outside, she was immediately pushed back by a horde of people trying to enter the locked theater.
“It's her!” someone cried. “Mrs. Wentworth!” There were eager cries from both men and women, and frantic hands reaching for her.
Startled, Julia wedged all her weight against the door and managed to close it, but not before two men had forced their way inside.
Gasping with effort, Julia stepped back and regarded the pair.
One was heavyset and middle-aged, and the other tall, scrawny, and much younger.
The portly one removed his hat and regarded her with an obvious leer.
The tip of his red tongue edged over small, puffy lips.
When he spoke, the scents of tobacco and liquor wafted heavily from his mouth.
He introduced himself as if he expected her to be impressed by his title. “Lord Langate, my dear, and this is my companion, Lord Strathearn.” He removed his hat, revealing a sparse patch of pomaded and cologned hair. “Let me say you are even more delectable at close range than at a distance.”
“Thank you,” Julia said warily. She positioned her small hat on her head and pinned it to the neatly coiled hair at her crown. “If you'll excuse me, gentlemen—”
They crowded closer to her, backing her against the door. Langate's pebblelike eyes gleamed greedily as he glanced over her slender figure. “Being familiar with the city and all its delights, Strathearn and I decided to offer our services to you for the evening.”
“That's not necessary,” Julia said in a clipped voice.