Somewhere I'll Find You Read online

  “She won't leave,” Damon said hoarsely, staying close to the railing and shoving his way down a few more steps.

  William grunted with the effort to follow him. “Anyone foolish enough to stay in that furnace deserves what they get!” He swore as he realized Damon wasn't listening to him. “I'll be damned ft if I go with you! Unlike you, I don't have a heroic bone in my body.”

  “I want you to leave.”

  “No,” William said in outrage. “With my luck you'll perish in the fire…and then I'll have to be the responsible eldest son…Hell, I'd rather take my chances in here.”

  Ignoring his brother's complaints, Damon continued to the bottom of the stairs, vaulting over the railing when there were only a few feet left. William followed him into the swarm, toward the doors that led to the pit and orchestra seats. It was nearly impossible to make way through the violent flow of the crowd, but they managed to travel a few feet at a time until they were in the middle of the bedlam. The air was rife with wholesale panic.

  Leaping over rows of seats in an effort to reach the stage, Damon caught a glimpse of Julia. She was beating out flames with a vengeance, trying to stop them from spreading to the curtains. Crew members worked nearby to remove flammable ground pieces and collapse the flats before the blaze could reach the frontispiece of the stage and the scaffolding above. Yearning to throttle his wife for placing herself in such danger, Damon scrambled around the orchestra pit and hoisted himself onto the stage.

  Half-blind from smoke and fumes, Julia beat at the yellow flames that tore across the scenery, while bits of burning ash stung her arms. Her breath burned in her raw throat, escaping in angry sobs of denial. The theater must not be destroyed—it meant more to her than she had realized. She was dimly aware of Logan nearby, working desperately to save the only thing that mattered to him. He wouldn't survive the loss of the Capital—he would stay there even if it burned to the ground.

  Her arms trembled with exhaustion, and she felt her body swaying as it was engulfed in blasts of heat. She heard warning shouts from somewhere nearby, but she didn't pause in her battle to smother the flames that had begun to eat at one of the side curtains. Suddenly she was hit hard around the middle, her waist and sides compressed by a force that drove the breath from her. Flinching from pain and shock, she couldn't make a move to defend herself as she was dragged across the space of several yards. There was a cracking, whooshing sound in her ears, mingling with the heavy throb of her pulse.

  As she pushed a lock of sweat-soaked hair from her eyes, Julia realized that the crew had collapsed the flat on stage right. She had been standing directly in its path. Someone had pulled her out of harm's way, the same person who was now beating at her skirts, his hand descending with bruising thwacks against her thighs and calves. Coughing, struggling for air, she tried to evade him before realizing with a thrill of horror that bits of burning residue from the backcloth had set her costume on fire.

  When the material of her skirts was extinguished, her rescuer stood up, his face looming dark and furious over hers. Silhouetted against the background of fire and smoke, he looked like the devil. His bronzed face gleamed with sweat, his broad chest lifting as he took in deep, gulping breaths.

  “Damon,” she said, her lips feeling numb as they formed his name. He seemed ready to kill her. His hands clamped around her, and he began to yank her off the stage in spite of her protests.

  “Jessica?” She heard Logan Scott's voice from nearby. He paused in his efforts to contain the fire, his eyes narrowed to slits as he glanced from her to Damon. “For God's sake, get her out of here!”

  “My pleasure,” Damon muttered.

  Wincing at her husband's painful hold on her, Julia allowed him to usher her offstage to the I greenroom. “This way,” she managed to say, before she was overtaken by a spasm of coughing. She led him through the back of the theater, pausing only when she sensed that someone else was with them. She turned to get a hasty glance of a man who bore a startling resemblance to Damon. It could only be his brother. “L-Lord William?” she stammered.

  “Yes, it's William,” Damon said impatiently. “There'll be time for introductions later. Let's go.”

  Scowling at his high-handedness, Julia went to the door opening onto the street. She nearly collided with a small figure bolting back inside. It was Arlyss, bubbling over with relief and panicked excitement. “Jessica!” she exclaimed thankfully. “When I realized you weren't outside, I had to come back and find you…” She paused as she saw the two tall, dark-haired men behind Julia. A droll smile lit her face. “It seems you've already been rescued. Now I see that I should have stayed inside the theater and waited for help myself!”

  William stepped forward, gallantly offering his arm to escort her. “I admire you for having the sense to leave immediately, Miss…”

  “Barry,” she said. Her bright gaze missed no detail of his elegantly tailored clothes and dark, handsome looks. “Arlyss Barry.”

  “Lord William Savage,” he said, introducing himself with a flourish. “At your service, Miss Barry.”

  Rolling his eyes, Damon pulled Julia outside into the cool, fresh air. Annoyed by his rough treatment, she jerked away from him as soon as her feet touched the pavement. “There's no need to haul me around like a sack of barley,” she snapped, heedless of the other people who milled around the small back street.

  “You'll be fortunate if I don't do worse to you. Putting yourself in danger for no reason—”

  “I wanted to stay!” she said heatedly. “I had to offer what help I could. If that theater bums, I'll have nothing!”

  “You'll have your life,” he pointed out, his tone scathing.

  Another fit of coughing precluded a reply, but she managed to glare at him with watery, stinging eyes.

  Staring at Julia's reddened face, her cheeks streaked with sweat and soot, Damon felt much of his anger fade. He had never seen anyone look so valiant and vulnerable at the same time. Managing to locate a handkerchief inside his coat, he went to her and began to wipe the grime and paint from her face. “Hold still,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her when she tried to pull back. After a moment, he felt the rigid shape of her spine begin to relax. She lifted ” her face a Jew inches to allow him better access. Carefully he used a fresh corner of the linen square to blot her eyes.

  “William,” he murmured, aware of his brother's attempts to flirt with the curly-haired actress nearby, “try to locate our driver at the front of the theater, and tell him to bring the carriage back here.”

  “It would make more sense to hire a hackney,” William said, clearly reluctant to leave Arlyss's company. “The street out front is probably crammed full of people, horses, carriages—it would be a miracle if I found—”

  “Just do it,” Damon said curtly.

  “All right. All right.” William looked down at Arlyss with a hopeful smile. “Don't go anywhere. Don't move from this spot. I'll be back soon.”

  Giggling in reply, Arlyss pretended to salute him, and watched admiringly as he strode away.

  Julia looked up at her husband's expressionless face. “I didn't know you would be here tonight.” Her nerves seemed ready to snap after the ordeal inside, yet even with the danger she had been in, and the sick worry about what was still happening inside the theater, she felt strangely comforted. There seemed to be no safer place in the world than there in Damon's arms.

  The soft handkerchief continued to move over her face in gentle strokes. “I had no time to send a message,” he said. “I collected William from Warwickshire and returned to London as soon as possible.”

  She shrugged in a show of indifference. “You could have stayed in the country. It didn't matter to me when you returned.”

  “It mattered to me. I wanted to see you—especially on your opening night.”

  Her lips twisted bitterly. The play was in ruins, and what would have been a significant step in her career had been obliterated by the fire. Worst of all, the theater
—and all the dreams it had housed—might burn to ashes before the night was through. “Quite a show, wasn't it?” she said wearily.

  “More than I bargained for,” he admitted, a smile touching his lips. He seemed to understand what she was feeling, the fear and the aching awareness that life held such treacherous twists in store. It wasn't fair that after her hard work and sacrifice, everything could be destroyed so easily.

  Julia stared up into his silver-gray eyes, struck by his calmness and strength, and the sense that he wasn't afraid of anything. He had saved her life tonight, or at the very least had kept her from harm. Why had he put himself at risk for her? Perhaps he felt he owed her his protection because she was technically his wife. “Thank you,” she managed to say. “Thank you for…what you did.”

  He traced the trembling curve of her jaw with his thumb and the tip of his forefinger. “I'll never let anything happen to you.”

  His fingers seemed to burn her skin. She tried to lower her face, but he wouldn't let her. Emotion and sensation uncoiled inside, her body all too ready to respond to his touch. He was going to kiss her. It shocked her to realize how much she wanted it, how tempting it was to relax and “yield to him. She had always been wary of strong-willed men, but in this moment it was a blessed relief to let him take care of her. “You have quite a sense of duty,” she whispered. “But it's not necessary—”

  “It has nothing to do with duty.”

  A new face emerged from the theater door. “Miss Barry! Thank God! I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you all right? Are you hurt in any way?”

  Julia twisted to see Michael Fiske, the scene painter, rush toward Arlyss and impetuously take her by the shoulders. He was dirty and smudged, his shirt torn at the shoulder. Altogether, his appearance was exceptionally dashing.

  “I'm perfectly fine,” Arlyss told him, looking surprised and vaguely pleased at being the object of such fervent attention. “You needn't have worried, Mr. Fiske—”

  “I couldn't live with the thought that you might have been harmed!”

  “Mr. Fiske,” Julia said, unable to keep from interrupting, “how is the theater? What is happening inside?”

  Fiske kept his arm around Arlyss as he replied, and Arlyss seemed to be content with the arrangement. “The fire is under control now, I think. It looks as though some people have been hurt during the rush from the building, but so far I haven't heard of any deaths.”

  “Thank God.” Julia was overwhelmed with relief. “Then after a few repairs, the Capital will be open again?”

  “More than ‘a few repairs,’” the scene painter replied ruefully. “Months of work, more like—and the devil knows where the money will come from. We're finished for most of the season, I'd say.”

  “Oh.” Julia felt strangely disoriented, cut adrift from all sense of security. What would happen next? Would Logan decide to discontinue the actors' salaries for the rest of the theater season? She had some savings, but it might not be enough to last as long as she needed.

  William's cheerful voice broke into her thoughts as he reappeared on the scene and addressed Damon. “The driver is going to bring the carriage 'round, brother. As for me, I'd rather not wait. I'm in the mood for a strong drink and a pretty wench to fill my arms.” He glanced at Arlyss speculatively, reading the indecision in her face and the sudden wary defiance of the young man who held her.

  “Miss Barry isn't that kind of woman,” Michael Fiske said stiffly, keeping a protective arm around Arlyss.

  The thoughts were clear on Arlyss's face as she looked from one man to the other…Fiske, so earnest and hopeful, and Lord William Savage, devilishly handsome and irresponsible. Slowly she worked herself free of Fiske's hold.

  Julia felt a sinking dismay as she realized what Arlyss was going to do. The petite actress had never been able to resist a handsome lord, even when he clearly wanted nothing more than a night's entertainment from her. Silently Julia willed her friend not to make the wrong choice.

  William arched a black brow as he stared at Arlyss, his blue eyes gleaming with wicked invitation. “Would you like to accompany me on an evening's revels, my pretty maid?”

  Arlyss needed no further encouragement. With a regretful glance at Michael Fiske, she approached William. A saucy smile curved her lips, and she placed her hand on his arm. “Where shall we go first?” she asked, and William laughed. He murmured a farewell to Damon and took Julia's stiff hand in his, bending over it in a show of gallantry. “My deepest regards, Mrs.…Wentworth.” He said the name in a way that let Julia know he was well aware of her real identity. Annoyed by his impudence, she did not return his smile.

  Michael Fiske was expressionless, his gaze fixed on Arlyss as she walked away with William in search of a hackney to hire.

  “I'm sorry,” Julia said quietly.

  Fiske nodded and summoned a brief, hopeless smile. A frown creased Julia's forehead as she watched him head back inside the building. She glanced up at Damon accusingly. “You could have said something to your brother. He should have left Arlyss in the company of a decent man who obviously cares for her!”

  “The girl was free to make her choice.”

  “Well, she made the wrong one. I strongly doubt your brother has honorable intentions toward her!”

  “I would say that's a safe assumption,” Damon said dryly. “There's only one thing on William's mind—and your little friend made it clear that she was ready and willing to accommodate him.” Catching sight of his carriage approaching, he nodded toward it in a decisive motion. “The driver's here. Come with me.”

  Automatically she shook her head. “I must go back inside and see—”

  “There's nothing you can do here tonight. Come—I'm not leaving without you.”

  “If you're planning on having a repeat performance of the other night—”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” Damon said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But I wasn't going to insist on it. If you prefer, we'll merely have a drink and talk. I'll open a bottle of twenty-five-year-old French Armagnac—the best brandy you've ever tasted.”

  The offer was appealing, to say the least. It wasn't the brandy that tempted her, but rather the alarming need for his company, and the comfort he offered. She wasn't certain she could trust herself around him, especially not in her present mood. “I shouldn't.”

  “Are you afraid of being alone with me?” he asked softly.

  Now it was more than an offer; it was a challenge. Julia held his direct stare and felt the pull of recklessness inside. The night was in shambles, and she would face tomorrow when it came. For now, a bracing drink and the company of Lord Savage were exactly what she wanted.

  Slowly she went to him. “I'm sure I'll regret this later.”

  He smiled and took her to the carriage, helping her inside. After a brief murmur to the driver, he climbed into the vehicle, occupying the space next to her. The carriage rolled away with a gentle sway, and Julia relaxed against the velvet seat cushions with a sigh.

  She closed her eyes momentarily, but her lashes soon lifted as she sensed Damon's intent gaze on her. He was staring at the wrinkled, charred remains of her costume, a pale green dress that laced up the front with gold cords. Noting the way he lingered over her snugly fitted bodice, she frowned in reproval. “Must you stare at me that way?”

  Reluctantly he dragged his gaze to her face. “What way?”

  “As if you'd just sat down to supper and I was the entree.” As he laughed, Julia crossed her arms defensively over her breasts. “One would think you'd be satisfied after the other night!”

  “That only whetted my appetite for more.” As Damon studied her, reading her discomfort, the hint of playfulness disappeared. He relaxed against the seat with deceptive casualness. “I know I hurt you that night,” he said quietly. “It's always that way the first time.”

  A hot blush spread over her face. In a flash, she remembered their naked bodies twisting together, the pain of their joinin
g, the burning pleasure of being possessed by him. She had known what to expect, more or less, but she had never realized how closely such intimacy would bind them. It was unfathomable that some people could regard such an experience as casual…an experience that seemed to have changed her in a hundred indefinable ways. “It's all right,” she murmured, unable to look at him.

  “It will be better the next time.”

  The blush seemed to cover her entire body now. She knew he could see the warm color traveling over the soft skin of her throat and breasts. “There won't be a next time,” she said breathlessly. “It would be wrong.”

  “Wrong?” he repeated, perplexed.

  “Yes! Or have you forgotten all about Lady Ashton and her unborn child?”

  His expression became closed. Even so, Julia sensed the frustration that welled up inside him. “I'm still not convinced there is a child,” he said. “I'm trying to find out the truth. But even if Pauline is pregnant, I can't marry her. If I did, I would end up killing her.”

  For the first time Julia experienced a pang of sympathy for him. He was a proud man—he wouldn't take well to being manipulated by anyone, especially not a woman like Lady Ashton. Resisting the urge to touch him in consolation, she remained where she was, wedged in the corner of the carriage seat. “It must be difficult, dealing with such a situation—”

  “I don't want to talk about Pauline tonight,” he said abruptly. In a moment the hard look left his face, and there was a self-mocking twitch at the corner of his mouth. He fished inside his coat for something, and withdrew a small velvet pouch. “Here—I have something for you.”

  Julia stared at the gift, but she didn't move to take it. “Thank you, no,” she said uncomfortably. “I don't want a present—”

  “It's yours by right. You should have had it long ago.”

  Hesitantly she took the pouch and loosened the drawstring. Reaching in with two fingers, she withdrew a hard, cool lump from inside. Her breath caught as she beheld a magnificent ring, a rose-cut diamond set in a heavy gold band. The stone was at least four carats, almost blue in color, its facets flashing with unearthly fire.