Page 59 of Somewhere I'll Find You
Julia kept her eyes closed, focusing all her will inward, trying to keep from bursting into renewed tears. If Damon hadn't come back, Langate and his companion would have raped her. The thought of being subjected to such brutality was terrifying.
“Why…why did you come back?” she finally managed to ask.
The stroke of his hand on her throat was exquisitely gentle. “I reached the end of the hall and thought I heard you cry out. At the risk of seeming a fool, I decided to check on you once more.”
Her hand came up to his, and she squeezed his fingers hard. “You always seem to be rescuing me.”
Damon urged her chin up, not allowing her to turn away as he stared into her eyes. “Listen to me, Julia…I won't always be able to reach you in time. It was a stroke of luck that I was here tonight—”
“It's over now,” she interrupted, sensing the sudden departure of tenderness, the new note of censure in his voice.
“It's not over,” he said roughly. “It will only get worse from now on. There will be more like Langate, wanting a piece of you, doing anything to be close to you. If you want to continue your acting career, you'll need protection day and night, and that's a position I don't intend to apply for.”
Unceremoniously he dumped her onto the bed and stood up, his gaze pitiless. “If this is the life you want, so be it. I would hate to deprive you of such enjoyment. But take my advice and hire someone to safeguard you from your legion of ‘admirers.’ And lock the damned door when I leave.”
Julia remained on the bed, silently watching him stride from the room. She wanted to beg him to stay.Don't leave me…I need you…But the words remained locked inside her, and she kept her mouth clamped shut. The door closed sharply behind him. Julia's fist curled around a pillow, and she hurled it with all her strength. There was no trace of satisfaction in hearing the softthwackas it hit the doorjamb.
How dare he sound accusatory, as if she had asked for what had happened! Did the fact that she earned her living on the stage give anyone the right to attack her? Why was it mandatory for a woman to live under a man's protection? Leaping up from the bed, she went to the door and locked it against Damon and the rest of the world, enclosing herself tightly in the small room. She rubbed her palms roughly over her face, finding her cheeks still moist with the residue of tears.
For some reason she hadn't realized until now just how bitterly Damon disapproved of her career. They were at an impasse. He would make her choose—he would never tolerate a compromise. The acting profession exposed a woman to censure and risk, and it didn't allow for the needs of a husband and family.
Miserably Julia wandered about the room, hugging her arms around her middle. She would find someone else, perhaps a few years from now…a man who had none of the full-blooded demanding arrogance of Lord Savage. He would be softer in character, more accepting of her independence, and he would have nothing to do with the strange, impossible past she had shared with Damon.
But it would always bind them, their past, no matter how they tried to ignore it. She and Damon had been shaped by the same forces, tempered by years of secret awareness of each other. It had been a mistake to avoid her husband, hoping against all reason that he would miraculously disappear, changing her own name and her life to ensure that they would never meet. She shouldn't have run away—she should have confronted him long before now.
Unfortunately it was too late for that. She knew that the kinship they shared, the blaze of passion between them, the pure simmering delight in each other's company, would never be found with anyone else. If she chose him over everything else she valued, there would be ample rewards to compensate her. But to sacrifice her profession would be like amputating a part of herself, and she would eventually resent him for not being able to fill the empty space that was left behind.
Leaning against the window, Julia pressed her forehead against a small, cool pane, her vision blurred by subtle waves and distortions in the glass. Lady Ashton would be better for Damon, she thought. Pauline wanted nothing more than to be his wife and bear his children—and she would not ask him for compromises he wasn't able to make.
After a sleepless night, Julia dressed herself wearily and walked to the New Theatre, her veil draped across her face. At this early hour of the morning, there wasn't a curiosity-seeker in sight. She entered the theater and saw Logan Scott standing alone on stage. His face was turned toward the newly painted backdrop as he scrutinized it. Something about his posture betrayed that he was preoccupied with other matters, his mind lingering on thoughts that no one would ever be privileged to know.
Hearing Julia approach the stage, Logan turned to face her, seeming unsurprised by her early arrival. He helped her up to the boards easily, his grip hard and reassuring before he released her hand. “You look like hell,” he said.
“I couldn't sleep.” Julia forced a tired smile to her lips. “My conscience was troubled.”
“You'd do well to dispense with your conscience altogether,” Logan advised. “I did years ago, and I've slept like a babe every night since.”
“You must tell me how you did it,” she said, only half-jesting.
“Some other time. I have some news.” His expression was inscrutable. “A message was sent to the Capital for you and forwarded here. Apparently there's an illness in your family.”
“My mother,” Julia said automatically, while her heart beat out a worried staccato.
“Your father, I believe. I'm not aware of the particulars.”
“My father…” Julia shook her head in confusion. “That can't be true. He's never ill, he…” She fell silent, staring blankly ahead, all words sputtering into silence. There must be something terribly wrong. Eva would never have sent for her otherwise. It was impossible to imagine her father ill, confined to his bed. Throughout her childhood, she had never seen him afflicted with so much as a head cold.
“Are you planning to go to him?” Logan asked without inflection.
“I can't…there's no time…not with the play opening tomorrow night…”
“I'll cancel tomorrow night's performance. We'll open the following Tuesday evening.”
Bewildered, Julia looked into his vivid blue eyes. Logan never canceled a performance—it was one of his strictest codes. “Why?” she asked softly.
He ignored the question. “Will you be able to return by Tuesday?”
“Yes, I think so.” She was touched by his unexpected kindness. “Most managers in your position wouldn't let me go. I never would have expected this.”
