by Lisa Kleypas
Questions seared through his mind, followed by conclusions that made his mouth harden bitterly. Why hadn't she told him who she was? What kind of game had she been playing? He had thought she felt the same attraction for him that he had for her, but perhaps it was all an illusion. She was an actress, a skilled one. She must have planned to make him fall in love with her, while she laughed inwardly because he didn't know she was his wife.
His blood raced with anger and hurt pride. He could hardly wait to get his hands on her and throttle her for what she had put him through. Three years of fruitless searching, while she had been hiding in the most public place of all—the theater. He had imagined Julia Hargate as a fragile dove seeking refuge from the unbearable circumstances of her marriage, and instead she was a successful actress with a talent for deceit.
No wonder her family hadn't wanted to admit what had become of her. It was unheard of for a young woman of her fortune and breeding to turn to a life on the stage. Most of Lord Hargate's peers would sneer and call Julia a disgrace. All the same, Damon was aware of a sneaking admiration for her boldness. It had taken courage to accomplish what she had, surviving—no, prospering—with nothing but her own talent. She had made tremendous sacrifices and undertaken serious risks to attain her goal. Her disdain for the arranged marriage, and her desire to thwart her father's wishes, must have been formidable.
He had battled with the same feelings all these years—it was only that they had reacted differently to their circumstances. Julia had relinquished everything, her reputation, her security, and even her name. He, on the other hand, had assumed his father's position as head of the family, determined to control not only his own life but the lives of everyone around him.
Keeping his gaze on Lady Hargate's face, Damon felt an unwilling touch of pity for her. She seemed to be a kind woman, but ill-equipped to deal with her domineering husband and willful daughter. Lady Hargate stared at him questioningly, seeing that something had changed in his expression.
“I realize that Julia doesn't want to be found,” Damon said with forced calm, “but this has gone on for too long. I have obligations that you aren't aware of. There are important decisions I must make, and soon. I've waited years for Julia to appear. I can't wait any longer.”
Lady Hargate seemed flustered by his direct stare. “Yes, I understand. Lord Savage…if I can manage to send word to Julia, I will try to convince her to come to you.”
Before Damon could reply, a new voice entered the conversation. “You will not!”
They looked up in unison at the man who entered the room…and Damon stood to confront his father-in-law, Lord Hargate.
“Edward!” Eva said, her complexion turning chalky with dismay. “I-I didn't expect you to return so early.”
“How fortunate that I did,” her husband replied, his face wreathed in brittle hauteur. “You should have refused to receive Lord Savage, my dear, until I was available to see him.”
“I couldn't turn away Julia's husband…”
Edward Hargate ignored his wife's feeble protests and exchanged a long stare with Damon. The past two years had aged him greatly, turning his iron-colored hair into a distinctive silver-streaked mane. A web of fine lines had not softened his lean face, but had given it the appearance of time-weathered granite. His eyes were as small and black as olives, shaded by thick, unruly brows. He was a tall man with not an ounce of fat to spare, a man who clearly made stringent demands on himself as well as others.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?” he asked Damon in a voice saturated with sarcasm.
“You already know,” Damon said curtly.
“You shouldn't have come. I believe I've made it clear that you will learn nothing about my daughter from us.”
Damon kept his face inscrutable, in spite of the growing fury that spread through him. He wanted to leap on the older man and wipe the smug superiority off his face. Obviously Hargate felt no remorse for anything he had done, no matter whom he had hurt.
“This situation isn't of my making,” Damon said in a low voice. “I have a right to know what has become of Julia.”
The older man laughed harshly. “You don't want to know about the shame she has brought on all of us…herself, her family, and even you, her husband. Do what you wish about her—just don't mention her name in my presence.”
“Edward,” Eva said pitifully, her voice breaking. “I don't understand why things must be this way—”
“She chose this, not I,” he said sharply, seeming unmoved by the tear that trickled down his wife's thin cheek.
Julia had been frozen in the next room, flattened against the wall by the door as she listened to the meeting between Lord Savage and her parents. Her instinct for survival prompted her to flee, she felt terribly vulnerable, as if one harsh word from her father would cause her to shatter. She was terrified to face him. But the need to see him, and force him to recognize her presence, drove her to act. Before she was aware of what she was doing, she launched herself through the doorway and strode into the receiving room.
At the sight of her daughter, Eva gasped in dismay. Lord Savage showed no reaction, save a sudden clenching of his jaw. Edward seemed thunderstruck by her appearance.
Coming to stand by her mother, Julia slid a hand over her mother's narrow shoulder. Perhaps it appeared to be a gesture of comfort, but in truth it was to give herself strength. The frailty of her mother's bones beneath her hand, and the knowledge that her father had contributed to Eva's unhappiness, whipped Julia's anger to new heights.
“How dare you show your face here!” her father exclaimed.
“Believe me, I wouldn't if there were any other way to see Mama.”
“The two of you have been conspiring against me!”
Julia stared at him, noting the changes that time had made in him, the new lines on his face, the silver of his hair. She wondered if he could see that she had altered as well, that she had lost her sweet girlish softness and had now become a woman. Why had he been incapable of the fatherly tenderness she had always longed for? A few words of kindness from him, an expression of pride in her accomplishments, might have changed the course of her life. She wished to rid herself of the need for his love, had tried ever since she had left him…but something in her stubbornly refused to relinquish the last vestiges of hope.
The humiliating sting of tears rose to her eyes, and she willed them not to fall. “I was never able to please you,” she said, staring at her father's stony face. “Is it any wonder that I finally stopped trying? No one is ever able to suit your high standards.”
“You're claiming that I expected too much of you,” her father remarked with a lift of his craggy brows. “All I ever asked was for your obedience. I hardly think that unreasonable. In return I gave you luxury, education, and, God forgive me, a well-titled husband.”
“Do you know why I became an actress? Because I used to spend all my time imagining what it would be like if you loved me, if you cared a whit about what I thought and felt. I became so good at pretending that I couldn't live any other way.”
“Don't blame me for your failings!” Edward cast a scathing glance at Damon. “I find it an amusing irony to see how perfect the two of you are for each other—both rebellious and ungrateful. Well, I won't interfere in your life again—and you will not interfere in mine. I forbid either of you to return here.”
Instinctively Damon moved forward to stop the argument. But as he approached Julia, she jerked away with a startled sound and gave him a look of helpless appeal that stunned him. In that moment he realized that he understood her, perhaps more than anyone else ever would. She possessed the same futile combination of pride and longing that had driven him his entire life. She wanted to be loved, but she was terrified of surrendering her heart to someone else's keeping.
Damon's hand twitched at his side. He was on the verge of reaching for her, taking her away from the ugly scene. Words hovered on his lips, things he had never
said to a woman before. Come with me…I'll take care of everything…I can help you. Before he could make a move, Julia turned and fled the room, her back straight and her fists clenched. After her exit, the room became eerily silent. Damon turned to observe that Lord Hargate seemed unmoved by the scene.
“Whatever my faults,” Hargate said, “I never deserved a child like her.”
A sneer pulled at Damon's lips. “I agree. She's far too good for you.”
Hargate gave a disdainful huff. “Kindly remove your presence from my household, Savage.” He gave a warning glance to his wife, indicating that the matter was far from over, and left the room in a few imperious strides.
Damon went to Lady Hargate, who had begun to look rather ill. He crouched by her chair. “Shall I call for a servant?” he asked. “Is there something you require?”
She responded with a bobbing shake of her head. “Please,” she said in a faltering voice, “you must try to help Julia. She may seem very strong, but underneath—”
“Yes, I know,” he murmured. “Julia will be all right. You have my word.”
“How sad that it should come to this,” she whispered. “I always hoped that someday the two of you would find each other, and then … ”
“And then?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
She smiled faintly at her own foolishness. “And then you might have discovered that you were right for each other, after all.”
Damon repressed a sardonic snort. “That would have been a convenient resolution…but I'm afraid things aren't that simple.”
“No,” she said, looking at him sadly.
Julia entered her small house on Somerset with a mixture of panic and relief. She wanted to hide in her bed under the covers and find some way to erase today from her memory. As her housemaid Sarah approached, Julia instructed her not to admit any callers for the rest of the evening. “I don't want to see anyone, no matter how important it may seem.”
“Yes, Mrs. Wentworth,” the dark-haired maid said, accustomed to Julia's desire for solitude. “Shall I be helping you with your things, ma'am?”
“No, I'll undress myself.”
After snatching a glass and a bottle of wine from the kitchen, Julia ascended the narrow flight of stairs that led to her bedroom. “My God, what have I done?” she muttered to herself. She should never have confronted her father—it had accomplished nothing, except that now Lord Savage knew who she was.
She wondered if Savage was angry with her. Yes, he must be…he must think that she had been trying to make a fool of him. What if he decided to retaliate? Julia sipped furtively at the wine. She would let several days pass before she faced Savage. By then his anger would have cooled, and perhaps they could have a rational discussion.
Moving like a sleepwalker, Julia entered the solitude of her bedroom. The walls were covered with a delicate print of sage and rose, complementing the large four-poster bed with its fluttering canopy of cool, pale green. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a satinwood armoire and dressing table, and a chaise longue with a gilded frame and champagne velvet upholstery. A few framed engravings of actors and play scenes hung on the walls, as well as an original page of one of Logan Scott's plays, his gift to her after her first success at the Capital.
She moved around the room, taking comfort in the familiar objects, possessions she had provided for herself. No trace of her past was here, no unpleasant reminders…only the safety and privacy of being Jessica Wentworth. If only she could have the past day to live over! What self-destructive impulse had caused her to reveal her identity to Lord Savage?
She remembered the way he had looked at her just before she had left the Hargate estate. His gaze had seemed to pierce through her, and it had seemed that her every thought and emotion was clear to him. She had felt as helpless as a child, all her secrets revealed, her defenses destroyed.
Julia sat at her dressing table and finished the wine in a few gulps. She wouldn't let herself think about Savage anymore…she needed to sleep, and prepare herself to face the rehearsal tomorrow for Logan's new play. She couldn't let her professional life suffer because of her private problems.
She stripped off her clothes, dropped them to the floor, and donned a simple blue muslin dressing gown that fastened up the front with five satin ribbons. Sighing in relief, she pulled the pins from her hair and combed her fingers through the disordered ash-blond locks. As she picked up a copy of My Lady Deception and began to climb into bed, a sound disrupted the quiet of the house. Julia went still and listened alertly. The muffled tones of an argument filtered to her room from downstairs, and then she heard the housemaid's distant cry of alarm.
Julia flung aside the pages in her hand and rushed from her room. “Sarah,” she called anxiously, hurrying to the stairs. “Sarah, what is it—”
She halted at the top step and saw the maid standing in the center of the entrance hall. The front door was wide open. Lord Savage had just forced his way inside.
Julia's mind was wiped clean with alarm as she stared at the menacing figure below her. His face was taut, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared back at her.
“Mrs. Wentworth,” the housemaid stammered, “he…he just barged in…I couldn't stop him … ”
“I've come to talk with my wife,” Savage said grimly, still looking at Julia.
“Your…” the maid said in confusion. “Then you must be…Mr. Wentworth?”
A scowl settled over Savage's face. “No, I'm not Mr. Wentworth,” he said with biting precision.
Somehow Julia managed to adopt a calm expression. “You must leave,” she said firmly. “I'm not ready to discuss anything tonight.”
“That's too bad.” Savage started up the stairs. “I've been ready for three years.”
It was dear that he would allow her no choice. Julia braced herself for battle and spoke to the frightened-looking maid. “You may retire for the evening, Sarah. I'll be all right.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Sarah said doubtfully, staring at the purposeful man who was ascending the stairs. Quickly the maid disappeared to her room, evidently deciding it was wiser not to interfere.
As Savage reached her, Julia lifted her chin and returned his gaze. “How dare you force your way into my home,” she snapped, gathering the dressing gown more closely around herself.
“Why all the lies? Why not tell me the truth the first time we met?”
“You lied every bit as much as I did, telling me you were unmarried—”
“I'm not in the habit of telling intimate secrets to women I barely know.”
“As long as we're on the subject of intimate secrets…does Lady Ashton know you're not the bachelor you claim to be?”
“As a matter of fact, she does.”
“I suppose she wants you to get rid of your wife and marry her for her baby's sake.” Julia had the satisfaction of seeing his features turn blank with surprise.
“How do you know about that?” he asked sharply.
“Lady Ashton told me when we were both visiting the dressmaker's. She tried to warn me away from you—but I could have told her there was no need. You're the last man I would ever choose to become involved with.”
“Whom would you prefer?” he asked, his tone jeering. “Logan Scott?”
“Anyone except you!”
“Why?” His head lowered, and his breath was hot against her cheek. “Because I frighten you? Because you can't help wanting the same thing I do?”
Julia tried to step back, but his hands came to her shoulders. Although his hold was firm, she could have broken free if she chose. Something kept her there, some potent force that wouldn't allow her to pull away. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she said unsteadily.
“You felt it the first time we met…we both did.”
“All I want is for you to leave me alone,” she said, and gasped as he urged her against his hard body.
There was a glow of heat in his eyes, turning the cool gray to molten s
ilver. “You're still lying to me, Julia.”
She trembled in confusion as she stayed against him, intensely aware of his scent, the warmth of his hands, the feel of his burgeoning arousal pressing against her abdomen. The rise and fall of his chest matched her own labored breathing. She had been held by men before, but always in the context of a scene from a play, always in the theater. The well-rehearsed words and movements had never been her own. The feelings had been skillfully manufactured for the benefit of an audience. Now for the first time it was real, and she had no idea what to do.
Savage moved his hands over the thin sleeves of her gown, his touch sending a sweep of warmth from her shoulders to her bare wrists. He spoke against her cheek, his lips brushing her skin with each word, his mouth tantalizingly close to her own. “The night you came to my room at the Brandons' estate, I would have given a fortune to touch you like this…anything just to be close to you. I promised myself that nothing would stand in the way of having you.”
“Nothing except a wife and a pregnant mistress,” Julia said, while her pulse throbbed madly.
He drew his head back, his thick lashes lowering over the bright gleam of his eyes. “I don't know for certain if Pauline is pregnant. I don't know if she's lying, or what I'll do if she isn't.” He hesitated and added gruffly, “All I know is that you're mine.”
“I belong to no one.” She managed to pull back, stumbling a little. “Please leave now,” she said desperately, heading to the protection of her bedroom.
“Wait.” Damon caught her just inside the door and turned her to face him. “Julia…” All the convincing speeches he had rehearsed were locked in his throat. He wanted to make her understand that he wasn't the kind of man he had seemed so far. How had his well-organized life suddenly become such a mess?
He reached for a lock of her unbound hair, a golden banner that lay over her shoulder and trailed down to her waist. He sifted it gently through his fingers. She waited without moving or making a sound, seeming possessed by the same sense of inevitability that gripped him. Incredible, that he had resented and denied her for most of his life…and she had turned out to be what he wanted most.
