by Lisa Kleypas
Damon slid his hand beneath the fall of her hair to the nape of her neck, his fingers and thumb curving around the downy surface. He felt her muscles stiffen beneath his touch. A faint protest escaped her lips as he pulled her closer, degree by degree, until her body was caught against his.
“This isn't right,” she whispered.
“I don't care.” Nothing outside this room mattered to him…the life he had so carefully built for himself, the things he had fought against for years…he pushed them all to the back of his mind. He pressed a hand to the small of her back, molding her against him until she shivered and made an inarticulate sound.
He waited for her to move next. Gently her hands came up to his head, her fingers winding in his hair. He needed only the slightest urging of her touch, and his mouth came to hers. Pleasure swept through him, flooding his nerves and senses. She was delicious, the curves of her breasts plumping delicately on the wall of his chest, her hips soft and neat as they fit against his. The smooth river of her hair flowed over his arms and hands, and he broke the kiss to clench a fistful of the shining locks and rub them against his cheek.
A sob escaped her, and she shivered against him. “I want to hate you,” she said in a muffled voice.
Damon stared into her face and drew his thumbs over the velvety edge of her jaw. “I'm no saint, Julia. I've lied to everyone, even myself, but it's no different from what you've done. You made the best life for yourself that you could. So did I.”
Julia felt tears spill from her eyes, the warm droplets immediately swept away by his thumb. It was a relief to be able to talk to him truthfully for the first time. “I didn't know you were trying to find me all these years.”
“Why didn't you tell me who you were, that weekend at the Brandons' estate?”
“I was trying to protect myself.”
“You liked having an advantage over me.”
“No,” she said instantly, though she felt a betraying rush of heat in her cheeks.
A grim smile touched his lips. “You never wanted to tell me the truth about who you really are, did you?” He read the answer in her deepening color. His hands moved down her body in a proprietary caress. “You won't dismiss me that easily, Julia.”
She tried to pull back, but she was held in place by his hand at the center of her back, the other closing around the nape of her neck. This time his kiss was blatantly sexual, his tongue searching the softness of her mouth. Julia couldn't help responding, a moan of pleasure rising in her throat until she turned her face away abruptly, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. She was fully aware, as he must be, of the disaster they were courting. “Nothing can come of this,” she said against the fabric of his coat. “I could never be the kind of woman you want. And you have responsibilities…”
“I've always had responsibilities,” he said, his voice vibrant with frustration. “I've approached every relationship with the understanding that it could never last, that I couldn't offer a woman my name or any permanent attachment. Now that I've found you, don't tell me you're not what I want.”
“What are you saying?” she asked with a miserable smile. “That you might not want an annulment? What could possibly come of a relationship between us? I'm not Julia Hargate any longer. I've turned myself into someone who is completely unsuitable for you.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It will,” she insisted, trying to wedge her arms between them. “You would want me to give up everything I've worked for, everything I need to be happy. You're not the kind of man who could stand to see his wife on stage, being courted and kissed and held by other men, even if it is only acting.”
“Damn you,” he said softly, “I can't stand it now.” He crushed his mouth over hers, urgently seeking entrance, devouring and demanding until she had no breath, no will, no thought except the driving need to take him inside herself.
His fingers tugged roughly on the satin ribbons of her gown, until the muslin sagged over her shoulders, revealing the high, pale curve of one breast. He traced the round shape with his fingertips, leaving trails of fire that made her nipple ache. She arched closer, pushing her breast into his hand, gasping as his thumb toyed with the hard tip.
Julia was filled with recklessness. What if she let him make love to her? She owed nothing to anyone except herself. Surely by now she had earned the right to make her own choices, especially this one. She had always masqueraded in some role or another, as Julia Hargate, as Mrs. Wentworth, as a thousand different characters created on the page. But in this moment those identities had been stripped away, and she stood before him without pretense.
“I never give in to temptation,” she said, her trembling hands coming to the sides of his lean face. “It's something I can't afford. Work, discipline, self-reliance…those are the only things I can rely on. I don't want to fall in love. I don't want to belong to anyone. But at the same time…”
“Yes?” he prompted in the silence.
“I don't want to be alone.”
“You don't have to be alone tonight.”
“Would you accept just one night from me? And then walk away when I ask you to?”
“I don't know,” he muttered, not wanting to admit the truth.
A hopeless laugh escaped her as she admitted to herself that she didn't care. Suddenly nothing was as important as the need to be with him, to know all the intimate secrets that had been denied her so long.
Reading the look in her eyes, Damon pulled the dressing gown from her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor in a rustling heap. Julia didn't move as his absorbed gaze moved over her. She had never suspected that the sight of her body could affect him so powerfully, bringing a flush to his face and a tremor to his hands as he reached for her.
With the backs of his knuckles, he stroked the tender skin beneath her breasts and the fragile lines of her ribs, and then his palm swept over her abdomen. Her breath caught as she felt him touch the curls between her thighs, his fingers gently searching until she pulled away with a stammer and a shake of her head.
He followed instantly, his arms sliding around her back, and she heard the sound of his low voice in her thunder-filled ears. His mouth sought hers, and she opened to him, surrendering her hard-won control for the first time in her life. He took her to the bed, pushing her back against the cool green silk, and she pulled at the layers of linen and broadcloth that covered him.
“Julia,” he said, his voice a mere scratch of sound, “if you're going to stop me…for God's sake, do it now.”
Feverishly she pressed her lips to his jaw and throat. “I want to feel you,” she whispered. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
Damon responded with a ragged breath and an obliging flurry of effort, stripping off his coat, cravat and shirt. As he reached for the opening of his trousers, her small hands pushed his aside. He forced himself to wait patiently, his desire flaring hotly as he felt the pluck and tug of her fingers on his clothing. She was gravely intent on the task as she slipped the heavy buttons of his trousers through their neatly stitched openings.
When the last button was freed, Damon sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, trousers, and linens. There was silence behind him, and then he felt the moist brush of Julia's mouth at the top of his spine. He stiffened at the sensation, every muscle locking as a long chain of kisses followed the first, working from his neck to the middle of his back.
Her arms slid around his shoulders as she held him from behind, her naked breasts pressed against his naked back. A silken lock of her hair fell over his shoulder. She seemed like a curious mermaid discovering a man for the first time, her body drifting against his, her hands gentle on his skin. She touched the contours of his chest and paused to feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat against her palm. Venturing downward, her fingers grazed the tightly bunched muscles of his abdomen. Damon's eyes shut hard as he felt the timid clasp of her hand on the aching length of his staff. His shaking fingers came over hers, tightening her g
rip until the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him.
Turning, he pushed her flat on the bed, lowering his body over hers. Eagerly she pulled his head down, tangling her fingers in his hair as she kissed him. Filling his hands with her breasts, he covered the peaks with his mouth, his tongue bringing the aroused nipples to even tighter points.
Julia lifted against him, lost in the communication of their bodies. In the last few silent minutes she had become a stranger to herself, shamelessly yielding her body and soul to someone else's will. She wanted more, to bring herself even closer to him, to forget her own existence in the consuming tide of ecstasy.
His hands and lips moved skillfully over her body, spreading currents of sensation wherever they touched. His knee pushed between hers, and she felt his fingers between her thighs, discovering the hint of moisture amid the tiny springing curls. Her eyes flew open at the intimacy, and she flinched at the glow of light coming from the bedside lamp. She wanted to be hidden in the darkness.
“Please,” she said in a faltering voice, “the light—”
“No,” he muttered against her stomach. “I want to see you.”
Julia tried to protest, but the words were strangled in her throat as his head moved lower. She felt his mouth drift lower, lower, through the soft thatch of hair, licking deep to find the secrets beyond. His tongue was hot on her flesh,
making her twist and groan as if in pain…but it wasn't pain she felt; it was a rapture too piercing to comprehend. Her hands descended to his hair, trying at first to push him away, then curving around his head in supplication. She was seized by an endless shudder of pleasure, her senses unraveling in a white-hot glow.
Damon lifted his head and slid his body over hers. Julia arched and sighed, letting him do whatever he wanted. She was far beyond virginal modesty now, pliant and open to his every desire. There was a heavy push between her thighs, a forewarning of pain. She bit her lip at the intrusion and wrapped her arms around his back, wanting him to take her with a primitive urgency that would startle her in later moments of reflection. But Damon paused and held back, staring at her with dawning incredulity.
“You're a virgin,” he whispered.
Julia's arms tightened around him, her small hands working at the small of his back, stroking and kneading in unconscious encouragement.
“Why?” seemed to be the only word he could manage.
Her eyes glittered as she looked up at him. “I never wanted anyone before you.”
Damon kissed her taut throat, her cheek, her trembling lips. It seemed that his entire being was filled with all the blind yearning he'd felt in his adult life. In a decisive motion he shoved forward forcefully enough to rend her innocence. She tensed in his arms, drawing a quick, shocked breath. Damon hated the pain he caused her, yet he discovered a fierce satisfaction in possessing her as no man ever had. She was impossibly tight, her sleek depths holding and wrapping him in intense heat. He pressed a slow rain of kisses on her face, mingling words of praise and desire as he tried to comfort her.
Gradually Julia began to relax as she adjusted to the unyielding invasion. He was gentle with her, his hands playing over her body in unhurried exploration. She quivered as she felt him slide deeper, thrusting in a slow rhythm that drew currents of delight through her body. Somehow the initial pain had been banished, replaced by the urge to lift high against him and take him even deeper inside. He complied with the wordless demand, driving straight and sure within her until she was caught in another surge of delight. She felt him grasp her hips, his fingers clenching over the rounded flesh, and he made a low, tormented sound as he found his own release. Shivering, Damon pressed hard against her until it seemed that their bodies had melded into one.
Julia was intensely drowsy for a long time afterward as she rested in the crook of his arm. Damon had extinguished the lamp, leaving them in peaceful darkness. She was halfway in a dream, her head filled with idle thoughts, her senses drinking in the warmth and texture of the man beside her.
She was no longer the figure of mystery that teased the public's curiosity, or an actress reciting well-rehearsed lines from a play…she had been cut adrift from the past that had bound her. Turning her head, she gazed at the hard-edged profile of the man beside her. Lord Savage, her husband. He would take over her life if she allowed it. He would keep her safe and sheltered, and inundate her with so much luxury that she would hardly mind being confined in a golden cage. But she would never let anyone own her. She had spent most of her life under her father's thumb, and that had been enough.
She would not lose herself in her husband's shadow as her mother had done. She would carefully guard the part of herself that she had struggled to nurture and preserve—and that meant any relationship with Damon was impossible.
Chapter 6
Damon awakened slowly, puzzled at finding himself in an unfamiliar bed. The elusive scent of a woman's perfume emanated from the pillow beside him. Still half-asleep, he pressed his face into the fragrant cream linen. Memories of the previous night came back to him, and he opened his eyes.
He was alone in Julia's bed.
Julia…she had never been more than a name to him, a shadow from the past, and suddenly she had become stunningly real. He saw the flecks of blood on the sheet, and he was instantly riveted. Wonderingly his fingers moved across the crimson marks. He hadn't considered the possibility that Julia might be innocent. He had never been with a virgin before, only mature women who were fully versed in all the aspects of passion. Sex had always been a frolic, a casual pleasure, not the transforming experience of last night. Julia was the only woman in the world who had belonged solely to him.
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 ever
y 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.
