Somewhere I'll Find You (Capitol Theatre 1)

Julia frowned, holding the ring in her palm. “This is a symbol of a marriage that never existed—and never will.”

“I want you to keep it. No matter what happens in the future, you'll look at that ring and know that once you were mine.”

Julia hadn't realized that he considered the ring a sign of ownership. She set it on the table, forcing herself to let go of the beautiful diamond. The ring came with a price she wasn't certain she was willing to pay. “I'm sorry,” she said, unable to look at him.

Although she couldn't see his face, she sensed a change in the atmosphere…the fierce will of a warrior in battle, the urge to conquer and dominate. Aware of his violence barely kept in check, Julia remained very still. She kept her face turned away and listened to his breathing, until the deepening movements of his lungs became calm once more.

“You'll ask for it back someday.”

Startled, Julia made the mistake of looking at him. His face was very near, his eyes gleaming like a well-sharpened knife blade. It took all her self-control to keep from shivering in alarm. In this moment it was easy to see how he had singlehandedly pulled his family from poverty to wealth, with pure force of will. “No,” she said softly. “Even if I were to fall in love with you, I wouldn't accept the ring and become your property.”

“Property,” he repeated, his tone infused with the sting of a riding whip. “Is that how you think I would treat you?”

Rising from her chair, Julia stared at him face to face, while he remained half-seated on the table. “If I were your wife, would you let me go wherever I chose, do whatever I pleased, with no questions or recriminations? Would you make no protest while I continued with my profession, attending rehearsals in the mornings, coming back from performances at midnight or later? And what of your friends and peers?—the sneers and nasty comments they would make about me, their assumptions that I was little more than a prostitute. Would you find a way to accept all that?”

His face turned a few shades darker, confirming her suspicions. “Why does the theater mean so much to you?” he asked curtly. “Is it such a damned sacrifice to give up the life of a Gypsy?”

“I've never been able to depend on anything else. It's the only thing I'm certain of. I don't want a title and an endless round of social events, and a quiet estate in the country—that's the life my father would have chosen for me.”

Damon caught her h*ps in his hands, imprisoning her between his thighs. “Part of you wants that life.”

Twisting, pushing at his hard chest, Julia tried to free herself, but his grip only tightened. He pulled her closer until her struggles created an intimate friction between them. Abruptly she froze, realizing the effect her movements were having on him. The rigid proof of his arousal pressed against her abdomen, eliciting an immediate response from her body. “I want to leave now,” she said breathlessly.

Damon released her, but with his intent gaze fastened on hers, she couldn't seem to move away. “I won't make it easy for you. You're not going to avoid me—or get rid of me—without a fight.”

Julia stared at him with a mixture of fury and longing. It was difficult enough, denying herself what she wanted so badly. There were dreams she still harbored deep inside, of having her own family and home, falling asleep each night in the arms of her husband, spending leisurely hours playing with her children. Now those faceless images had taken clear shape in her mind…she wanted to be Damon's wife, and bear his dark-haired offspring. The dreams were now a possibility, and giving them up would be the hardest thing she had ever done.

Suddenly she remembered Logan Scott's cool, mocking voice as he said, You may decide that you love Savage enough to surrender your body and soul to his keeping…but I wouldn't advise it.

Stumbling back, Julia turned away and held her hands to her pounding chest. She took several deep breaths, willing the emotions inside her to uncoil. Damon came up behind her, close but not touching. His voice was flat as he spoke somewhere above her head. “I'll accompany you to the inn.”

“You don't have to…” she began, but he ignored her and went to ring for a carriage.

They were silent as they traveled to the inn, the atmosphere strained between them. Their thighs rested close together, brushing occasionally as the wheels of the vehicle bounced over uneven places in the street. Julia tried to move away, but it seemed that she kept sliding against him. She would die before moving to the opposite seat, especially under the focus of his cool, jeering gaze. Finally the miserable ride was over, and he helped her from the carriage.

“I'll go up to my room by myself,” Julia said, sensing that he intended to accompany her.

Damon shook his head briefly. “It's dangerous. I'll see you to the door.”

“I've stayed here alone for more than a week, and I've been perfectly fine without your protection,” Julia pointed out.

“For God's sake, I'm not going to touch you. If I had seduction in mind for tonight, you'd be in bed with me right now. All I want is to see you safely to your room.”

“I don't need—”

“Indulge me,” he said through his teeth, looking as though he were going to strangle her.

Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Julia preceded him into the building, past the proprietor's table and the vacant dining room, toward the stairs that led to the second floor. Damon followed at a slower pace, his black brows drawn together in displeasure. They progressed down a long, poorly lit hallway until they reached her room. Extracting a slender key from the reticule slung around her wrist, Julia turned her attention to the lock. The key turned far too easily.

Realizing that she must have forgotten to lock her room when she had left that morning, Julia made a show of rattling the key against the metal catch. She'd had enough to deal with tonight, without being accused of carelessness and incompetence. Turning the knob, she paused and looked back at Damon. “You've done your gentlemanly duty,” she informed him. “I've been delivered safely to my door. Good night.”

Taking the unsubtle cue to leave, Damon stared at her with sullen gray eyes before turning his back on her and striding away.

With a sigh, Julia entered her room and fumbled for a box of matches. Carefully she struck a match and applied the tiny yellow flare to the oil lamp on the dresser. She replaced the glass globe and adjusted the wick until a gentle glow filled the room. Her mind was consumed with thoughts that made her head ache. She was oblivious to her surroundings, lost in worry… but as she glanced in the cheval glass, she saw a flicker of movement in the corner of the reflective surface. At the same time there was an odd scraping noise on the floor.

She was not alone. A bolt of fright went through her. Whirling, Julia managed a half-scream before the sound was extinguished by a man's hand crushing hard over her mouth. She was hauled back against a skinny but inexorably strong frame. Nostrils flaring, eyes wide, she stared at the heavyset form of Lord Langate as he approached her. She was being held by his companion, Strathearn. They were the two men who had pestered her at the New Theatre earlier in the day. It appeared that they had bolstered their courage with a great deal of liquor, both of them stinking and sour-breathed, and insufferably smug.

“You didn't expect to see us again, did you?” Langate purred, smoothing his chubby hand over the greasy strands of hair combed across his balding head. His gaze slid appreciatively over her writhing form. “What a prize wench you are—the smartest bit of goods we've ever seen. Isn't that right, Strathearn?”

The tall man nodded and chortled in agreement.

Langate's small mouth opened in a grin as he spoke to Julia. “There's no need to be frightened. We'll take our ease with you, and we'll pay you nicely for it afterward. You'll be able to purchase any bauble you like. Don't look so outraged, my dear. I'll wager you've entertained many eager gentlemen of our sort between your pretty thighs.” He came closer and caught one of Julia's flailing hands, forcing it to his swollen crotch. A leer of anticipation creased his round face. “There,” he crooned. “That isn't so bad, is it? I think you'll enjoy—”

But his sentence was never finished. Julia heard the sound of the door bursting open, and she was abruptly released. Unable to find her balance, she fell forward, her hands and knees striking the hard floor. Crawling to the corner, she pressed her back hard against the wall. A lock of hair fell over her face, obscuring her view of the action before her. She heard the dull, meaty sound of fists impacting flesh in repetitive blows, and the howls of pain that filled the room.

Scraping back her wayward hair, Julia realized that Damon had come back, and he seemed intent on killing her attackers. After sending Strathearn crumpling to the floor in a heap, he turned his attention to Langate, beating the older man until he was whimpering for mercy. Through her shock and fear, Julia realized that Damon was indeed ready to commit murder. “Please stop,” she gasped. “I'm all right. If you don't stop, you'll kill him…Damon…”

At the sound of his name, he paused to glance at her with eyes as dark as coal. Whatever he saw in her face seemed to recall him from the murderous rage that had overtaken him. He stared down at the quivering man beneath him, and shook his head to clear away the haze of bloodlust. After wiping his bloodied fists on Langate's coat, he stood and crossed the room to Julia. Langate and Strathearn took the opportunity to leave immediately, groaning and cursing as they made their escape.

Knowing she couldn't stand on her own, Julia reached up to her husband, her hands shaking visibly. Damon bent and scooped her up as if she were a child, lifting her high against his chest. She clung to him tightly, trying to comprehend what had happened. “Thank you,” she gasped, her throat working hard. “Thank you…”

Damon sat on the bed and held her in his lap, smoothing back her tumbled hair. She felt him brush away the wetness on her cheeks with his fingers. Through the thunder in her ears she could hear the sound of his voice as he soothed her with quiet assurances that she was safe, that no one would hurt her.

Julia kept her eyes closed, focusing all her will inward, trying to keep from bursting into renewed tears. If Damon hadn't come back, Langate and his companion would have raped her. The thought of being subjected to such brutality was terrifying.

“Why…why did you come back?” she finally managed to ask.

The stroke of his hand on her throat was exquisitely gentle. “I reached the end of the hall and thought I heard you cry out. At the risk of seeming a fool, I decided to check on you once more.”

Her hand came up to his, and she squeezed his fingers hard. “You always seem to be rescuing me.”

Damon urged her chin up, not allowing her to turn away as he stared into her eyes. “Listen to me, Julia…I won't always be able to reach you in time. It was a stroke of luck that I was here tonight—”

“It's over now,” she interrupted, sensing the sudden departure of tenderness, the new note of censure in his voice.

“It's not over,” he said roughly. “It will only get worse from now on. There will be more like Langate, wanting a piece of you, doing anything to be close to you. If you want to continue your acting career, you'll need protection day and night, and that's a position I don't intend to apply for.”

Unceremoniously he dumped her onto the bed and stood up, his gaze pitiless. “If this is the life you want, so be it. I would hate to deprive you of such enjoyment. But take my advice and hire someone to safeguard you from your legion of ‘admirers.’ And lock the damned door when I leave.”

Julia remained on the bed, silently watching him stride from the room. She wanted to beg him to stay. Don't leave me…I need you…But the words remained locked inside her, and she kept her mouth clamped shut. The door closed sharply behind him. Julia's fist curled around a pillow, and she hurled it with all her strength. There was no trace of satisfaction in hearing the soft thwack as it hit the doorjamb.

How dare he sound accusatory, as if she had asked for what had happened! Did the fact that she earned her living on the stage give anyone the right to attack her? Why was it mandatory for a woman to live under a man's protection? Leaping up from the bed, she went to the door and locked it against Damon and the rest of the world, enclosing herself tightly in the small room. She rubbed her palms roughly over her face, finding her cheeks still moist with the residue of tears.

For some reason she hadn't realized until now just how bitterly Damon disapproved of her career. They were at an impasse. He would make her choose—he would never tolerate a compromise. The acting profession exposed a woman to censure and risk, and it didn't allow for the needs of a husband and family.

Miserably Julia wandered about the room, hugging her arms around her middle. She would find someone else, perhaps a few years from now…a man who had none of the full-blooded demanding arrogance of Lord Savage. He would be softer in character, more accepting of her independence, and he would have nothing to do with the strange, impossible past she had shared with Damon.

But it would always bind them, their past, no matter how they tried to ignore it. She and Damon had been shaped by the same forces, tempered by years of secret awareness of each other. It had been a mistake to avoid her husband, hoping against all reason that he would miraculously disappear, changing her own name and her life to ensure that they would never meet. She shouldn't have run away—she should have confronted him long before now.

Unfortunately it was too late for that. She knew that the kinship they shared, the blaze of passion between them, the pure simmering delight in each other's company, would never be found with anyone else. If she chose him over everything else she valued, there would be ample rewards to compensate her. But to sacrifice her profession would be like amputating a part of herself, and she would eventually resent him for not being able to fill the empty space that was left behind.

Leaning against the window, Julia pressed her forehead against a small, cool pane, her vision blurred by subtle waves and distortions in the glass. Lady Ashton would be better for Damon, she thought. Pauline wanted nothing more than to be his wife and bear his children—and she would not ask him for compromises he wasn't able to make.

After a sleepless night, Julia dressed herself wearily and walked to the New Theatre, her veil draped across her face. At this early hour of the morning, there wasn't a curiosity-seeker in sight. She entered the theater and saw Logan Scott standing alone on stage. His face was turned toward the newly painted backdrop as he scrutinized it. Something about his posture betrayed that he was preoccupied with other matters, his mind lingering on thoughts that no one would ever be privileged to know.