Page 82 of Somewhere I'll Find You
“Are you certain Savage will allow you to continue with the Capital?”
“Oh, yes.” An impish smile crossed her face. “He may not like it, but he's willing to tolerate my career for the sake of having me as his wife.” She sipped the coffee, glancing at him over the rim of her cup, and her smile turned rueful. “You think I'm a fool, don't you? You can't imagine making any sort of compromise that would take you away from the theater.”
“No, I can't,” Logan said evenly, and for the first time there was a friendly glint in his blue eyes. “But I don't think you're a fool. In a way I almost envy you. And don't ask me why—God knows I can't explain it even to myself.”
Epilogue
They held a small wedding without fanfare at the castle chapel in Warwick, attended by family and a few close friends. Julia's mother, Eva, took an obvious delight in the fact that her daughter was marrying Damon. It was obvious from Lord Hargate's expression that he took a more ironic view of the proceedings, but he expressed his pleasure in the match regardless.
In the months that followed, Julia assumed her place as Damon's wife with an ease that surprised both of them. If there were any thoughts in Julia's mind that life as the Duchess of Leeds would prove dull and dignified, they quickly evaporated. Damon indulged Julia as no one ever had, spoiling her with extravagant gifts and stealing every possible moment of her time away from the theater.
Unlike her, Damon was an outdoors enthusiast, and she found herself accompanying him on long walks and rides through the countryside. Occasionally she participated in the shooting and fishing he enjoyed, and while she couldn't profess any great love of such sports, she admired his skill.
As Damon fished a trout stream on one of his estates, Julia lounged on a small bridge that crossed the water. Enjoying the sunshine, she hiked up her skirts and let her bare legs dangle over the edge. Silently she watched her husband cast toward the overhanging bank where a large brown trout hovered warily in the water. Standing on the opposite bank, Damon worked with the unhurried grace of an expert fisherman. Each cast rolled out in a steady rhythm, the line pulling back and flowing forward.
“Don't move,” Damon said in a low voice as he noticed the flash of Julia's pale legs, but it was too late. Alerted by the unfamiliar glimmer, the wily trout disappeared, too unnerved to feed near the surface of the water. Damon scowled. “Dammit!”
“Did I frighten him?” Julia asked apologetically. “I find it amazing that a mere fish could be so sensitive. You know I never can sit still for long.” Lifting her hands in a resigned gesture, she lay back on the bridge and sighed. “Very well, I won't come with you next time.”
Less than a minute later she sensed Damon standing over her. “You won't get out of it that easily.”
Julia smiled, keeping her eyes closed. “You'll fish better without distractions.”
Damon lowered himself beside her, his hand sliding over her bare knee. “I happen to like distractions,” he murmured, and pressed his lips to her sun-warmed throat.
To please Julia, Damon willingly escorted her to endless rounds of balls, soirées and musical evenings. She was delighted to discover that her husband was an excellent dancer and had the unflagging energy to stay up all night if she desired. Best of all were the dark evening hours after their social events, when he would dismiss the maid and undress her himself, and make love to her until she fell asleep in pleasurable exhaustion.
Damon was the companion Julia had never dared to dream of, listening to her opinions with interest, debating the points on which they didn't agree, taking pride in her intelligence whereas most men would have been threatened by it. Julia soon realized that she could turn to him with any problem, no matter how insignificant, and he would treat it seriously. When she needed comfort, she would crawl into his lap and rest her head on his shoulder until her troubles had assumed their proper perspective. Sometimes it almost frightened her to realize how quickly she had come to depend on him.
“I never expected to feel this way about anyone,” she told him one night as they lay together in bed and watched a fire burn in the grate. “Least of all a man like you.”
“A man like me?” Damon repeated, amused.
“Yes, with all your business speculations and investments and your talk of tenants and farming—”
“It must seem dull in comparison to the theater.”
“You must admit, we have very different interests.”
Damon laughed and pulled the covers down from her shoulders, until the cool air caused her nipples to rise into points. Her skin was dappled with firelight and shadow, and he drew his hand slowly over the silken surface. “In some ways, yes,” he said, bending his head to her throat. “But we also have a few important things in common.” He smiled as he felt her shiver in response to his touch. “Would you like me to elaborate?” he asked, nibbling at the sensitive side of her neck.
Julia slid her arms around him and arched upward, eager as always for the pleasure he offered.
Damon was a generous lover, sometimes lingering over her body for long, sweet hours, sometimes taking her with a rough passion that filled her with excitement. Julia gained the confidence to seduce him when it took her fancy, wearing provocative gowns and teasing him until he snatched her in his arms and gave her exactly what she asked for. When they were together, she could let the worries of her profession slip away, and she became a new person entirely, filled with contentment and ease.
As September drew near and rehearsals for the upcoming season increased, Julia traveled back and forth from the Savages' London residence to the Capital. At first the members of the company had seemed uncomfortable with her new status as the Duchess of Leeds, but that was all quickly forgotten in the work before them. Arlyss was clearly happy in her marriage to Michael Fiske and satisfied with her continuing popularity as a comic actress.
Logan Scott, for his part, was the same as ever—demanding, arrogant, and obsessed with making his theater the most spectacular draw in London. With each bit of renovation that was completed on the Capital's interior, his spirits seemed to rise.
“Your one great love,” Julia commented laughingly as she saw him inspecting the freshly gilded proscenium one day after rehearsal. “How many women would give anything to have you look at them that way! Just bear in mind that a mere building will never love you back.”
“You're wrong,” Logan informed her, throwing her a smiling sideways glance. His large hand drifted over the intricate carving of the proscenium. “She gives me far more than any flesh-and-blood woman ever could.”
“Can a theater be a she?”
“How could it be anything else?”
Julia folded her arms across her chest and regarded him in a speculative way, thankful to her very marrow that she hadn't married him. Logan was—and would probably always be—extremely limited when it came to matters of the heart. Something in him wouldn't allow the trust and intimacy that were necessary to love a real person, to surrender to the risk that a relationship required.
