Page 19 of Somewhere I'll Find You
She frowned at him. “I never discuss my marriage.”
A half-smile played on his lips. “I'm not convinced your husband actually exists.”
“He does,” she assured him, sipping her wine. Heexists as much as your wife does, she was tempted to say, but kept her silence.
“Will he ever want you to leave the theater?”
“He would be a bloody hypocrite if he did,” she said pertly. “He's an actor himself.” She suppressed a smile as she saw the spark of interest in his expression, knowing that he took her meaning literally. It was the truth, however. Lord Savage was undeniably skilled at hiding the truth and presenting a false facade. He was as accomplished an actor as any of the Capital players.
He seemed about to ask something else, when suddenly his eyes narrowed, and he stared at her bare upper arm.
“My lord?” Julia asked, puzzled by his expression.
Before Julia could react, Savage had grasped her arm in his warm, broad hand, and turned it upward toward the light. The smear of paint over the bruise-mark was clearly visible. Julia tried to twist away, spluttering in confusion. “It's nothing…I-I'm perfectly all right…the performance, you see—”
“Hush.” He turned to an approaching servant and brusquely requested a tin of salve from the housekeeper's supply.
Julia watched in dumbfounded silence as Savage dipped the corner of a napkin into a glass of cool water. She stiffened with surprise as the damp cloth passed carefully over the bruise. Savage found another dark fingermark, and a shadowy blotch on the tip of her shoulder. He wiped away the dabs of concealing paint with exquisite care.
A warm rush of color spread over Julia's skin, rising past her throat to her face. No man had ever touched her like this. His face was so close that she could see the grain of dark whiskers in his closely shaven skin, and the thick fan of his lashes.
A pleasant smell clung to him, the scents of cologne and warm skin mingled with starched linen. His breath was laced with the sweetness of after-dinner wine. Julia's heart began to thunder as she thought of smoothing her fingertips over his black hair, the neat curve of his ear, the bold sweep of his eyebrow. She'd had too much to drink. She was dizzy, flushed…she wanted to pull away, and yet…
The servant returned with a small tin of salve, handing it to Lord Savage. As he departed, he closed the door and left them in seclusion.
“There's no need…” Julia began unsteadily. Her voice faded as Savage uncovered the waxen pink salve, which held a strong herbal odor.
Savage's gray eyes lifted to hers. For the first time she noticed the subtle hints of blue and green in their depths. When he spoke, his voice was a shade deeper than usual. “Scott should be more careful with you.”
“He is,” she whispered. “It's just that I bruise very easily.”
His gaze remained fixed on hers as he touched his fingers to the salve and leaned forward. It seemed as if he was waiting for her to object. A denial trembled on her lips, but somehow she couldn't make a sound. She felt his fingers on her arm, smoothing salve over the bruises. He touched her as if she were made of porcelain, the brush of his skin barely perceptible against hers. Julia had never guessed that a man could be so gentle.
He moved to her shoulder, tending to the bruise there while she held absolutely still. Wild impulses flooded her…she wanted to lean against him, to feel his entire hand against her skin, to guide his long fingers over the curve of her breast. She held her breath, willing the feeling to go away, but the craving grew until her nipples drew tight beneath the smooth silk of her gown. Helplessly she waited for him to finish, staring fixedly at his downbent head.
“Are there any more?” he asked.
“None that I'd care for you to see,” she managed to say.
A smile flashed across his face. He covered the tin and gave it to her. “My gift to you, Mrs. Wentworth. Apparently you'll need more of it beforeTaming of the Shrewcompletes its run.”
“Thank you.” Julia picked up her black gloves, discarded at the beginning of dinner, and used them to fan her burning face. “It's very warm in here,” she said lamely.
“Shall we walk in the garden?”
She nodded gratefully and left the dining room with him, crossing an anteroom to a pair of wide French doors that led to a paved garden path. It was dark and cool outside, crisp breezes rustling the leaves of fruit trees and whispering through the hedges.
They walked in silence past dense yew hedges and a line of flowering plum trees. Near the center of the garden was a large fountain filled with sculpted angels. Julia paused to admire the scenery, and became aware of a chest-high rose hedge bordering the path. The blossoms were familiar to her, large bursts of pale pink with an indescribably sweet perfume.
“Summer Glory roses,” she murmured. “My mother's favorite. She used to spend hours in her garden tending them. The most beautiful and by far the most thorny, she told me.”
Savage watched as she leaned close to a rose and inhaled its heady fragrance. “That particular variety is quite rare, especially in England. It was given to my family a long time ago from…” He stopped, a strange alertness infusing his expression. “A friend,” he finished. The two words seemed to hang between them, punctuating the air with a question.
All at once the air left Julia's lungs, and she struggled for a replenishing breath. Summer Glories were indeed a unique variety. Now that she thought of it, her family's estate was the only other place she had ever seen them. She realized that in all likelihood her mother Eva was the one who had given the cuttings to the Savages all those years ago. Before turning into an invalid, Eva had prided herself on her skill at cultivating exotic roses…she had often made gifts of plants to friends and acquaintances.
Rapidly Julia considered ways to cover up the blunder, and decided to change the subject as quickly as possible. She walked past the shrub with feigned indifference. “Is Lady Ashton aware that I'm here with you tonight?” she asked abruptly.
“Lady Ashton,” Savage repeated, sounding bemused at the unexpected question. He followed her along the path. “No, I haven't told her.”
