Page 33 of Somewhere I'll Find You
Why had she allowed him the privilege she had given to no one else? Certainly he was not the first man to desire her. She was lusted after by every man in London. Logically he searched for all possible reasons she had given him her virginity, with so many unanswered questions still between them, and he could think of none.
He wanted her back in bed, now. She had been so incredibly beautiful, so artless and trusting. He wanted to tease and comfort and caress her, to make her feel things she had never thought possible. And afterward, to hold her for hours as she drifted into sleep, and watch over her dreams. It had come upon him so suddenly, this obsession with her, the need to see her every day and night, and yet he knew in every fiber of his being that it was permanent. He couldn't imagine a future without her.
Throwing aside the bed linens, Damon prowled naked around the room, scooping up his discarded clothes. He dressed quickly and pushed the muted green curtains aside to glance out the window. It was still early outside, the morning sun beginning to ascend over the steeples and high-crowned rooftops of the city.
The small house was quiet except for the footsteps of the housemaid as she crossed the front entrance hall. Upon seeing Damon halfway down the stairs, she flushed and glanced at him warily.
“My lord,” she said, “if you would care for some tea and breakfast—”
“Where is my wife?” he interrupted brusquely.
The maid backed up a step or two at his approach, clearly uncertain if he should be considered a madman or not. “Mrs. Wentworth is at the theater, sir. They have rehearsals every morning.”
The Capital. Damon was annoyed that Julia hadn't awakened him before she had left. He considered following her, and confronting her immediately. They had many things to talk about. On the other hand, he had certain matters to take care of, not the least of which involved Pauline. He scowled at the nervous housemaid. “Tell Mrs. Wentworth to expect me tonight.”
“Yes, my lord,” the girl replied, skittering back as he headed for the door.
It had been a hellish morning at the Capital. Julia knew she was performing badly at the rehearsal, and frustrating Logan Scott to no end. She had trouble remembering her lines. It seemed impossible to concentrate on the character she was to play, or give the other actors their proper cues. In addition to a blinding headache, she was sore in every part of her body—and more than everything else, her mind was filled with thoughts of last night and what she had done.
In a moment of recklessness she had made a terrible mistake. It had seemed so right to be with Damon. She had been lonely, vulnerable, craving the pleasure and comfort he had offered. In the harsh light of day, however, everything was different. She felt a terrible heaviness inside—her secrets were slipping away, flying out of her reach before she could snatch them back. Even the familiar atmosphere of the theater failed to soothe her. Perhaps now Damon believed he had rights over her. She must make it clear that no matter what had happened, she belonged only to herself.
“Don't make the mistake of thinking I can't replace you,” Logan warned tautly under his breath as she stumbled gracelessly through yet another scene. “It's not too late for me to give the part to Arlyss. If you don't begin to show some interest in what you're doing—”
“Give the part to her, then,” Julia said, shooting him a simmering glare. “At the moment I don't care.”
Unused to such rebellion, Logan tugged wildly at his dark mahogany hair until it nearly stood on end. His blue eyes gleamed with annoyance. “We'll do the scene again,” he said through gritted teeth. He gestured imperiously to the other actors onstage; Charles, Arlyss, and old Mr. Kerwin. “In the meantime, I suggest that the three of you go to the greenroom and study your lines. At this point I wouldn't rate your performances more than a notch or two above Mrs. Wentworth's.”
The little group obeyed with a few grumbles, evidently relieved to escape the tension-fraught theater. Logan turned back to Julia. “Shall we?” he asked coldly.
Without a word she moved to the left wing, from which she was to make her entrance. The scene was one in which the two main characters, Christine and James, found themselves in the first throes of love. As the sheltered Christine, she was supposed to be enthralled by the freedom of her masquerade, pretending to be a housemaid. She was also dismayed by her attraction to a mere footman, but unable to keep from throwing caution to the wind.
She made her entrance, trying to convey something of the character's mixture of eagerness and uncertainty…until she saw the tall, appealing figure of James waiting for her. With a laugh of excitement, she rushed to him and threw herself into his arms.
“I didn't think you'd come,” he said, whirling her around easily, letting her feet touch the ground. He brushed a curl from her face as if he couldn't believe she were real.
“I didn't want to,” she replied breathlessly. “I couldn't help it.”
With apparent impulsiveness he bent to kiss her. Julia closed her eyes, knowing what to expect. She had been kissed countless times on stage before, whenever a scene required it, by Logan, by Charles, and even once by Mr. Kerwin, who had played an aging monarch married to a young and beautiful bride. Handsome though Logan was, his kisses had never affected Julia. They were both too professional for that. It wasn't necessary to feel something in order to convince the audience of it.
She felt his lips touch hers…but suddenly the memory of last night flashed through her mind…the heat of Damon's mouth, the pressure of his arms locking her against his long body, the passion that had swept over her—
Julia tore away from Logan with a muffled sound, staring at him dazedly while touching her lips with trembling fingertips.
The character of James dropped away, and Logan's familiar expression appeared. He seemed confounded, shaking his head slowly. A vibrant note of anger pierced his voice. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
Julia turned away from him, rubbing her arms agitatedly. “Aren't I allowed to have a bad day like everyone else? You're never this harsh with the others when they're having difficulties with a part.”
“I expect more of you.”
“Perhaps that's a mistake,” she said sharply.
His gaze bored into her back. “Evidently it is.”
She took a long breath and turned toward him. “Would you like to try the scene again?”
“No,” Logan replied sourly. “You've wasted enough of my time today. Take the afternoon off—I'll work with the others. And be warned, if you're not in perfect form tomorrow, I'll give the part to someone else. This play means a hell of a lot to me. I'll be damned if I'll let anyone ruin it.”
Julia lowered her gaze, feeling a stab of guilt. “I won't disappoint you again.”
