Somewhere I'll Find You Read online

  “Your Grace,” the lawyer said, “you have no wife. By any legal definition, you never did.”

  You have no wife. The words seemed to ring in Damon's ears, quiet and yet dizzying in their intensity. You have no wife…

  William chose that moment to intercede. “Damon…this may be fate's way of telling you to make a new beginning. Father's gone, and you're a free man now. There is no reason you shouldn't begin to enjoy some of the things in life you've, always denied yourself.”

  “After all this time…” Damon said. “After all the years I spent trying to find her, she dances away to the nearest lawyer and sends a letter like this. By God, when I reach her—”

  “You should thank Julia,” William interrupted. “In my opinion, she's done the sensible thing. It's clear that you're not right for each other, and she's wise enough to know…” His voice trailed into silence as he found himself the focus of a chilling glare.

  “You don't know what the hell you're talking about,” Damon snarled.

  “You're right, I don't,” William said hastily. “There are times when my mouth seems to work independently of my brain…damned inconvenient. I think I'll go upstairs now.” He wasted no time in retreating from the room, after throwing a warning glance to the lawyer that made Lane fidget nervously.

  “Your Grace, if you wish I can return at a later time when it is convenient for you to discuss your father's affairs—”

  “Go,” Damon said.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The lawyer disappeared even more quickly than William.

  It took Damon a long time to think past the flood of anger. He found himself sitting at his desk, a drink in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other. The smooth fire of the alcohol began to dissolve the cold lump in his stomach!

  Julia didn't want him, or the life he had offered her. He wished she were here at this moment, a readily available target for the derisive words he wanted to hurl at her. She was a fool for preferring a life on the stage to that of a duchess. Surely anyone would tell her that—even she must know it, despite her insistence on keeping her damned career.

  Thoughts of revenge danced before him. He wanted to throttle her, bully her into accepting what he wanted…but she would never yield to him. She was too stubborn for that. Perhaps he would take some fresh-faced, blushing daughter of a peer as his wife, and bring her everywhere that Julia was certain to see her. He would make Julia jealous, flaunt his pretty young wife before her until Julia was eaten up with envy and regret. He would make her believe that the sham-marriage had meant nothing to him, that he considered himself well rid of her.

  Pouring another glass, Damon drank in a search for oblivion that seemed just out of reach. The bitterness faded a little, and he stared at the papers before him until the words and letters were a jumble of foreign markings. Julia's voice drifted through his mind.

  You would want me to give up everything I've worked for, everything I need to be happy…

  If I were your wife, would you let me go wherever I chose, do whatever I pleased, with no questions or recriminations?…

  Don't come back for me.

  And the memory of Logan Scott's sardonic question, which stung even now. Can you give her everything she wants?

  He thought of Julia in all her different guises. He had never met a woman who was so fascinating. For the, first time he began to understand that to imprison Julia in the gilded cage he had planned would be intolerable for her.

  “Damon?” William's brusque voice heralded his entrance. Walking uninvited into the library, he flipped a sealed note onto the desk. “This just arrived from Bath.”

  Damon stared at the letter without reaching for it. “Is it from Julia?”

  “Oddly enough, the letter appears to be from her friend Arlyss Barry. I thought I would bring it to you before you're too drunk to read.”

  “I already am,” Damon muttered, swilling from his glass once more. “You read it.”

  “Very well,” William said cheerfully, “although you know how I hate to pry into other peoples' affairs.” Breaking the wax seal, he scanned the letter. The gleam of amusement left his eyes, and he shot Damon a wary glance.

  “What does our Miss Barry say?” Damon asked, his voice surly.

  William scratched the nape of his neck and shook his head doubtfully. “Considering your present state of mind, it might be better to discuss it later.”

  “Tell me, damn you!”

  “Very well. Miss Barry writes that although it's not her place to interfere, she feels compelled to inform you that she has learned of Jessica Wentworth's plans to marry Logan Scott…tomorrow.”

  William flinched as Damon's half-full glass of brandy shattered against the wall behind him, sending a spray of amber drops and crystalline fragments everywhere. Damon lurched to his feet, breathing heavily.

  “What are you going to do?” William asked gingerly.

  “I'm leaving for Bath.”

  “I think I should go with you.”

  “Stay here.”

  “Damon, I've never seen you like this before, and it scares the hell out of me. You should let me…” But before the last word had left William's lips, his older brother had departed the room with purposeful strides.

  Chapter 12

  There was usually a little extra magic in the air during a play's last performance. The actors were touched with a special glow as they went through their paces. The Bath audience was generous with its laughter and applause, becoming intensely involved in the story of My Lady Deception from the opening scene to the last.

  Julia couldn't help but feel removed from the play tonight. Although she knew her performance was adequate, she couldn't seem to lose herself in the part as usual. Perhaps it was because she would marry Logan Scott tomorrow, linking her future to his in a permanent, if impersonal way. Her mind lingered on that fact even as she spoke and laughed and acted onstage.

  By now Damon must have received the letter. What had he said? How had he felt? She wondered how it would be the next time she saw him, when she introduced herself as Logan Scott's wife. It was better for both of them, she thought…but practical reasons didn't ease the pain and worry she felt inside. If only things were different, if only…

  The play concluded with long swells of applause, while the actors took their bows and acknowledged the flood of appreciation. Relieved when Logan finally led her off the stage, Julia pulled at her perspiration-dampened bodice and sighed.

  Logan cast an assessing glance at her. “You look a bit fashed. Get a good night's rest,” he advised, knowing that the cast would try to persuade her to join them in an evening of lavish drinking and eating. “We'll take care of the ceremony tomorrow morning, before we leave for Bristol.”

  Julia managed a wan smile. “More touring, more performances…it's not the usual sort of honeymoon, is it?”

  He looked at her as if the thought hadn't occurred to him before. “Would you like a honeymoon?”

  For a split second it was tempting to say yes. She would like to go somewhere exotic, a place she could relax and allow herself to forget everything, if only for a little while. However, the idea of going somewhere alone with Logan was unnerving. Besides, he would resent having to interrupt their schedule of touring for any reason, especially when he desired to oversee the reconstruction of the Capital Theatre.

  “No,” Julia murmured. “Now isn't the time. Perhaps someday, though…”

  “Rome,” he promised. “Or Greece. We'll go to a festival in Athens and watch plays in an open-air theater.”

  Julia smiled and murmured good night, smoothing her hair as she headed to her dressing room. Passing a number of people who were crossing through the dark backstage area, she found herself squeezed to the side, where she waited for the crowd to pass. “Mrs. Wentworth?” came a low voice beside her. She recognized one of the stagehands. He and a male companion stood on either side of her, forced together by the crush of people around them.

  “Yes,” Jul
ia said uncomfortably. “It's very crowded, isn't it?” She waited until she found an opportunity to leave, and walked away from the stagehand and his friend. To her surprise, they went in the same direction, following her closely. An uneasy feeling crept over her, and she quickened her pace until she had almost reached her dressing room.

  Before Julia had reached the threshold, she was grabbed from behind, her sudden scream muffled by a cotton gag, her arms bound efficiently behind her. Terror exploded inside her. She writhed in vain as they threw a cloak over her, its hood flapping down to conceal her face. The two men ushered her away with rapid strides, their hands gripping her arms and holding her upright.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Wentworth,” one of them muttered, “but there's a gentleman waiting outside who paid us to bring you to him. He says he only wants to talk to you for a few minutes…that's not too much to ask, is it?”

  Stiff with fear, Julia was half-dragged, half-carried to the back of the theater, and loaded into a waiting carriage. The hood obscured her view completely. Blindly she waited with her arms bound and imprisoned between the seat and her back. Her breath came in hard bursts. There was nothing but silence in the vehicle. It started with a lurch, and began to move away from the theater.

  Sweat trickled in icy droplets down Julia's neck and between her breasts. Just as she surmised that she was alone in the carriage, she felt someone move to the space beside her. Cringing, she lowered her head as a hand grasped the edge of the hood and yanked it back to reveal her face. Slowly she looked up with wide eyes and beheld the face of her husband—former husband—Lord Savage.

  Her first reaction was a blaze of fury, but that died quickly as she stared at him. She felt her face blanch beneath the streaks of her makeup. It was Damon as she had never seen him before, disheveled and reeking of brandy.

  He spoke in a barely recognizable drawl. “Good evening, Mrs. Wentworth. So kind of you to allow me an hour or two of your valuable time. I would have fetched you myself, but it seemed easier this way.” His hot fingers came to the side of her jaw and stroked the soft edge. Julia jerked her head back and glared at him, silently demanding that he remove the gag from her mouth.

  “No,” he muttered, reading her thoughts. “I don't need to hear what you have to say. You've made yourself clear by cutting me loose and agreeing to marry Scott. Yes, I know about that…you should have known better than to trust Arlyss with your secrets.”

  He pulled the cloak from her shoulders and stared openly at her body, at the mounds of her breasts thrust forward by the pressure of her arms behind her back. Julia inhaled sharply, her spine as rigid as steel.

  “Have you taken him as your lover yet?” Damon asked. “You haven't the look of a satisfied woman…the look you wear after I've made love to you. Did you enjoy his hands on you, his mouth on yours? How does it feel to lie with a man you don't love?”

  Julia wanted to shake her head in denial, but she kept stubbornly still, her eyes fixed on his brooding face. Damn him for doing this to her, the selfish bastard! He wanted retribution…he wanted to scare the wits out of her. There was something different about his appearance tonight, a coarseness that obliterated his handsomeness and gave him the appearance of a satyr. Tonight it seemed as if he would be capable of anything…as if he were a wounded beast who would take pleasure in hurting anyone and everyone within reach.

  “He doesn't love you,” Damon said. “I wouldn't either, if I could help it. I would do anything to drive thoughts of you out of my head…your face, your sweet body…” He touched her breast, gently at first, then closed his fingers around the swelling curve and gripped until Julia made a small sound of discomfort. “This is mine,” he said, his breath wafting against her face and throat. “You're still my wife. That will never change. No law of God or man will take you away from me.”

  Outraged, Julia tried to move away from him, but he pinned her against the seat. Her mind reeled as he bent over her body with an incomprehensible murmur, his lips seeking her throat, his hands fondling her with clumsy but passionate intent. She closed her eyes and fought against her own response, but nothing would stop the sudden thrill of her nerves, the rise of her nipples against his palms, the goosebumps that swept over her skin. Her body relished the familiar smell of him, the crisp brush of his hair against her cheek as his mouth wandered from her neck to her cleavage.

  Damon licked the trace of salt on her skin, his breath burning like steam against the moist path his mouth had made. At the sound of her faint whimper, he raised his head and stared at her in triumph. Julia knew that her face was flushed and her pulse was racing, that the signs of her arousal were clear. Roughly he pulled the gag from her mouth and crushed his lips over hers, sending his tongue deep in an ardent search.

  As soon as he lifted his head, Julia glared at him and fought to steady her nerves. “Untie my hands,” she said on a suffocated breath.

  “Not until we've settled a few points.”

  “I won't discuss anything with you while you're drunk.”

  “I'm not drunk—but I have been drinking. It was the only thing that kept me sane during the trip to London.”

  “What are you planning to do?” she asked. “Abduct me? Prevent the wedding somehow? It doesn't matter, you'll only delay the inevitable.”

  “I'm going to ruin you for any other man.” His hands brushed over her fragile throat and down to her breasts. “You may choose him, but you'll never have what I can give you.”

  “Are you resorting to rape now?” she asked coldly, ignoring the flaring response of her body to his touch.

  “It won't be rape.”

  Julia was infuriated by his selfish arrogance. “You're going to make me regret everything that has ever happened between us.”

  “You will. You'll regret having known what it's like to be loved by someone, when you're lying in bed next to a man who doesn't give a damn about anything but his profession.”

  “It's what I want. And I haven't slept with Logan—our marriage will be one of convenience.”

  He snorted at the idea. “Eventually you'll end up in his bed. You're too beautiful for him not to desire you. But you'll awaken beside him wanting me.”

  “Don't you think I know that?” she demanded, her voice suddenly breaking. “Do you believe it's been easy for me to accept the offer of a loveless marriage rather than stay with the man I…”

  The words died away, but Damon pounced on the unfinished sentence. “The man you what? Say it, Julia. You owe me that much, at least.”

  She clamped her trembling lips together and stared at him with glittering eyes.

  His breath caught as he looked at her. “By God, I'll make you admit it before the night is through.”

  “What good would that do?” she asked, while a tear dropped from one of her eyes and slid down her cheek.

  Damon traced the wet path with his thumb. “I have to hear the words. I need to know that you understand what you're doing.” His face was very close to hers, his disheveled black hair falling over his forehead, his eyes bloodshot. His arms slid around her and she felt his fingers working at the bonds around her wrists. When her arms were free, she pushed hard against his chest, but he continued to crush her close, his mouth at her ear. “I know what you want,” he said roughly. “The very thing you're most afraid of…to be loved by a man, to give yourself to him without holding anything back. But you're too damned afraid to trust me. You think I'll use your feelings against you, just as your father did to your mother.”

  “And what about you?” she demanded, writhing against him. “You must have everything your way, at your convenience, regardless of what I must sacrifice in order to please you!”

  “It doesn't have to be like that.”

  They were both still, locked together like two warriors in battle. The carriage stopped, and Damon dragged Julia from the vehicle despite her protests. They were at the Savage house at Laura Place. A pair of perplexed footmen tried to perform their duties as their employer haule
d an obviously unwilling woman into the residence. Julia thought of screaming at the house servants for assistance, but Damon cut her short with a curt statement. “Don't bother. They won't help you.”

  Julia continued to struggle as he hauled her toward the staircase, until he stopped and slung her over his shoulder. After a shriek of surprise, she had a dizzying glimpse of the stairs passing beneath Damon's feet. Finally they reached his bedroom, furnished with a massive bed covered by a royal blue canopy. After depositing Julia on the mattress, Damon went to the door and locked it. He turned to face her and tossed the key to the carpeted floor.

  Julia scrambled off the bed, her muscles stiff with outrage. “Is this approach effective with Lady Ashton? Because I assure you, it's not going to work with me.”

  “I've broken off my relationship with Pauline. She's not pregnant. She has no claim on me.”

  Julia refused to show any reaction to the news, although her heart gave an unwanted skip of gladness. “How ironic. You're bereft of a wife and a mistress all at once.”

  “I'm glad we're not married.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, managing to stand her ground as he approached her.

  Damon stopped a few feet away and removed his coat. He dropped it to the floor and began unfastening his shirt buttons. “Now it's just you and me. The past is no longer between us, and everything our parents did is over.”

  “Have you told your father about the letter?” Julia asked, not yet having brought herself to tell her own family about what she had done.

  A strange, stiff expression crossed his face. “No,” he said curtly. “He died before I found out about it.”

  “What?” Julia asked in bewilderment, staring at him blankly until the meaning of his words sank in. “Oh,” she said faintly. “That's why you didn't come back to Bath. I…I'm sorry—”

  Damon cut her off with an impatient shrug, clearly unwilling to discuss it. “He was ill for a long time.”

  Pity and regret crept through the tumult of emotions inside her. If she had been aware of the situation, she certainly wouldn't have chosen to send the letter at the same time the duke had died. “I suppose my timing wasn't very considerate—” she began contritely.