Somewhere I'll Find You (14 page)

“At least they're able to provide for me.”

“What do they provide?” Julia asked softly. “A few gifts? A night or two of passion? And then they disappear.”

“I just haven't found the right one yet.”

“Perhaps you have now.”

“But, Jessica, a
scene painter
…”

Julia stared into her friend's sea-green eyes. “Be kind to him, Arlyss—I believe he truly cares for you.”

The petite actress frowned uncomfortably. “I'll thank him nicely for the portrait.”

“Yes, talk to him,” Julia urged. “You may discover that you like him. Judging by his work, he's a man of depth—and he is rather good-looking.”

“I suppose,” Arlyss said thoughtfully. She gave the portrait a lingering glance and handed it to Julia. “I mustn't keep Mr. Scott waiting. Would you be a dear and put this in my dressing room?”

“Certainly.” Julia crossed her fingers as Arlyss walked away. An ironic smile spread across her face. She had thought herself to be worldly, even cynical, but there was a part of her that was still irrepressibly romantic. She hoped Arlyss would find love with someone who would appreciate her, no matter what her faults, no matter what her mistakes in the past. Wryly Julia acknowledged that it would make her feel better to know that even if her own situation was miserable, at least someone else could be happy in love.

Pauline looked up from the mountain of packages on the carpeted floor of her mauve and gold bedroom. She was a fetching sight, surrounded by frothy piles of ribbon and tissue, her dark hair falling in sensuous disarray over her bare shoulders. Her lips parted with an inviting smile as Damon entered the room.

“You're just in time to see my new purchases,” she informed him. “I had a delightful shopping expedition this morning.” She stood and held a garment up to her breasts, a sheath resembling a thin, spidery web of gold. “Look, darling…it's meant to be worn over another gown, as an adornment, but when we're in private I'll wear it just like this.”

Gracefully she pulled it over her head and let the glittering woven fabric slip over her body, at the same time allowing the gown underneath to fall away. The web of gold enhanced the rounded beauty of her body, doing nothing to conceal the dark triangle between her thighs or the rose-brown points of her erect nipples. Excitement shone in her velvety eyes, and she licked her lips as she approached him slowly.

“Make love to me,” she murmured. “It seems forever since you've touched me.”

Damon stared at Pauline without expression, finding it difficult to believe that he could be unmoved by a woman he had once found so arousing. “I didn't come here for that,” he said, keeping,his arms at his sides even as she purred and rubbed against him. “I want to talk.”

“Yes…afterward.” She caught his hand and tried to bring it to her breast.

Scowling, Damon pulled away. “I want to know the name of your doctor. The one who confirmed your pregnancy.”

The sexual interest faded from Pauline's face, replaced by a defensive, perturbed expression. “Why?”

Damon gave her an unyielding stare. “What's his name?”

Pauline went to the bed, draping herself across the thick brocade coverlet. With catlike languor, she traced a pattern on the fabric with a single fingertip. “Dr. Chambers. He's a very old, trusted physician who has attended my family for years.”

“I want to meet him.”

“It's sweet of you to take an interest, darling, but there's no need—”

“Will you make the arrangements, or shall I?”

A blush swept over Pauline's skin, whether from guilt or anger he couldn't tell. “You sound so
accusing
. Don't you believe I'm telling the truth about the baby?”

“I believe this ‘accidental’ pregnancy has been damned convenient for you,” he said curtly. “And I think it's time we stopped playing games.”

“I've never played games with you—”

“Haven't you?” he interrupted with a jeering smile.

Abandoning her kittenish posture, Pauline sat upright. “I refuse to discuss anything with you when you're so cross!”

He stared at her coldly. “I want you to arrange for me to see Dr. Chambers.”

“You can't order him about like a servant—or me either, for that matter.”

“I believe I've paid for the privilege.”

Making an enraged sound, Pauline threw a gold-embroidered cushion at him. It landed on the floor near his feet. “You needn't act so superior. It wasn't my fault that you made me pregnant, or that you're saddled with a wife you can't seem to locate. Have you made any progress on that score?”

“That isn't your concern.”

“I have the right to know whether my child will be born a bastard!”

“I told you I would take care of you and the baby. I intend to keep that promise.”

“That's a far cry from marrying me!”

“I was forced into a marriage of convenience by my father. I'll go to hell before I let you or anyone else do the same to me.”

“So this has become an issue of what's been done to
you
?” Pauline asked, her voice rising. “What about what's been done to
me
? I was seduced by you, made pregnant, and now it seems you're planning to abandon me—”

“You were hardly an innocent girl from the schoolroom.” A sardonic smile crossed Damon's face as he recalled Pauline's outrageous pursuit of him, the wiles she had used to lure him into her bed. And now she was going to claim that she had been seduced? “You're a wealthy widow with a history of liaisons dating back to before your elderly husband's death. I wasn't your first protector, and God knows I won't be the last.”

“You're a cold bastard,” she said, her lovely face twisting with a sneer. “Get out. Leave this very moment! I'm certain it's harmful to the baby for me to become this angry.”

Damon complied with a mocking bow and left the volatile, perfumed atmosphere of the bedroom, wondering how he had ever allowed himself to become entangled with Pauline.

Realizing it was nearly time for him to meet with two stewards regarding concerns about his various estates, Damon went to his carriage and told the driver to take him to his London home. He didn't want to be late, having always prided himself on being punctual and responsible—qualities his gambling-obsessed father had never possessed. Although he tried to keep his mind on the business before him, thoughts of Pauline and her pregnancy kept intruding.

Damon trusted his instincts, which told him that the “baby” was merely an invention to entrap him…but he had to allow for the possibility that Pauline was telling the truth. He was swamped with resentment. Other men casually accepted the fact of having children with their mistresses, even joked about it, but for him it wasn't a matter that could be treated lightly. The child would be a lifelong responsibility.

Damon groaned and rubbed his eyes wearily. “There is no baby,” he muttered in a mixture of hope and frustration. “She's lying—she has to be.”

When he arrived at his home and walked through the front door, the butler informed him that the stewards were already waiting for him in the library.

“Good,” Damon said brusquely. “Send in some tea, and a tray of sandwiches. I expect the meeting will last a while.”

“Yes, my lord, but…” The butler reached for a small silver tray upon which a sealed note was poised. “You may want to read this. It arrived not long ago, delivered by a messenger who seemed in a great hurry.”

Frowning, Damon broke the lopsided seal and recognized the hasty scrawl as that of his younger brother, William. His gaze moved rapidly over the page.

Damon's nerves were suddenly stretched taut with worry. He was accustomed to William's scrapes and mishaps, but nothing had ever come close to this. “God, Will, what have you done now?” A thunderous scowl settled on his face. “Dammit, my brother must be the last man in England to know that dueling is out of fashion.” He glanced up to see a glint of sympathy in the butler's usually implacable eyes. “Apparently William's done it again,” he growled. “This time he's been challenged to a duel.”

The butler showed no surprise. The younger Savage's reckless streak was well-known to everyone in the household. “May I be of some assistance, my lord?”

“Yes.” Damon nodded in the direction of the library. “Tell those two that I've been called away on an urgent matter. Have them reschedule the appointment for next Monday. In the meanwhile, I'm going to write a note to be delivered to Mrs. Jessica Wentworth, of Somerset Street. She is to receive it this afternoon, without delay.”

A cool, misty September breeze swept through the tiny garden in the back of Julia's house. Her loose hair was ruffled and disordered by the wind, and she pushed it over one shoulder. Surrounded by the heady scents of rosemary, wild peppermint, and other fragrant herbs, she sat on a small white bench and opened the letter that lay in her lap.

Almost as an afterthought, a last sentence had been added to the bottom of the page.

I have no regrets about what happened between us—I hope you feel the same
.

Troubled by the tersely worded note, Julia reread it and frowned unhappily. A sense of uneasiness crept over her. Certainly that last had been intended as some sort of reassurance, but she didn't know if it had the effect of causing her relief or dismay. She began to crumple the letter, but instead found herself holding it tightly against her midriff.

Lord William Savage, the brother-in-law she had never met. She wondered if the lad were really in trouble, or if he served as a convenient excuse for Damon to avoid seeing her. Despite his words to the contrary, it was possible he
did
regret spending the night with her. Perhaps it was the conventional thing to tell a woman one had no regrets, even if the opposite were true.

Flushing with shame and uncertainty, Julia wondered if she had displeased him somehow, if he had found her to be less passionate and exciting than Lady Ashton. She hadn't known what to do or how to satisfy him. Perhaps he considered the experience disappointing or, worse, amusing. Damon must have expected to go to bed with an experienced lover, not an awkward virgin.

Julia grimaced and silently berated herself. She had to remind herself that she wanted an annulment, that she could never give up her career and her independence, and live under the thumb of a strong-willed man. It would be a good thing if she
had
displeased him—that way he would agree to end their marriage with no qualms.

The pale golden walls of the Warwickshire castle, looming high and serene over the countryside, gave no clue to the turmoil within. The sun was just setting in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground and striking off the glittering diamond-paned windows of the medieval structure.

Damon had lived here most of his life, forgoing the pleasures a young man could find in London in order to stay with his mother during her final years. She had suffered the long, painful death of a consumptive, and he had suffered with her. He still remembered the many times he had glanced up from a book or paper he had been reading aloud to her, and found her anxious gaze on him. “Take care of your brother and father,” she had entreated him. “They will need your guidance and protection. I'm afraid you are all that will keep them both from utter ruin.” During the five years since her death, he had done his best to keep his promise, although it hadn't been easy.

Striding through the great hall and into the large first-floor parlor, Damon discovered his brother sprawled on a damask-upholstered couch with a glass of brandy in his hand. Judging from his bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance, it appeared that William had spent most of the day there, nursing his sorrows with the help of a healthy portion of strong drink.

“God, I'm glad you're here,” William said fervently, struggling up on the couch. “I half-thought you'd stay in London and leave me to my fate.”

Damon regarded him with wry affection. “Not likely, after all I've invested in you.”

Moving over to make a place for him, William let out a morose sigh. “I've never dueled before. I wouldn't care to start now.”

“I don't intend for you to.” Damon frowned. “What was Father's reaction?”

“Everyone has conspired to keep him from rinding out. With his health so precarious, it would finish him off for certain if he were to hear of it.”

Damon shook his head in disagreement. “Aside from his bad business sense, Father's no fool. He would rather know the truth than have everyone tiptoe around and keep secrets from him.”

“You tell him, then. I can't bring myself to heap such worry on the head of a dying man.”

Rolling his eyes, Damon sat beside his younger brother, plucking the glass of brandy from his hand. “Leave off the spirits,” he advised. “It won't do any good for you to get drunk.” He looked around for a small table to deposit the half-finished brandy. Finding none conveniently close, he downed the last few swallows himself, closing his eyes at the smooth, pleasant glow of the liquor.

“That was mine,” William said indignantly.

Damon gave him a warning glance. “I needed refreshment after my journey. Now why don't you tell me what the hell you've done to get in this mess? I had better plans for tonight than having to come get you out of another predicament.”

“I don't know exactly how it happened.” Bemusedly William dragged his hands through his rumpled black hair. “It was such a little thing. Last night I went to a dance held by the Wyvills, a simple country affair…I waltzed with young Sybill, and we slipped out into the garden…and the next thing I knew, her brother George was challenging me to a duel!”