Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(18)

Julia shot him a look of impotent fury and walked away from him, brushing by the gentlemen who were attempting to gain introductions to her.

Standing before the closed door of one of the second-floor bedroom suites, Julia lifted her hand to knock, then hesitated and let it fall to her side. The hour was late, everyone having retired to his room for the evening. Behind this door, and many of the others, there were sounds of drawers and armoire closets opening and closing, as well as the murmurs of servants as they helped guests change into their sleeping attire.

After bribing a servant to tell her which room the Marquess of Savage was staying in, Julia had come here with a mixture of fear and resolution. She had never visited a man's room before, but this seemed to be the only way she could talk to Savage in private. She had to confront him, and make it clear that whatever his intentions were, he would get nothing from her. Perhaps then he would withdraw his dinner invitation.

She was terribly nervous, almost as panicked as she had been earlier in the evening. Taking a deep breath to restore herself, she forced herself to knock. Her shaking knuckles barely grazed the panels. As slight as the sound was, it had been noticed. Julia blanched as she heard a muffled inquiry from within. Seconds later the handle turned, and she found herself staring up into Lord Savage's shadowy gray eyes.

Julia tried to speak, but her throat had closed, and all she could do was stand there silently. Her heart beat frantically, until her ears were filled with the sound of rapid drumming. She had seen the actors at the Capital in various stages of undress, when quick costume changes made privacy impossible—but it was far different to be confronted with Lord Savage wearing only a burgundy silk dressing robe. In the confines of the suite, he seemed much larger than he had in the spacious ballroom downstairs, his broad shoulders looming over her, his bare golden throat level with her eyes.

Savage inclined his head an inch or two, his gaze not moving from her face. She sensed that she had surprised him by appearing here, and at this hour. Good—she wanted to appear bold and confident.

“May I come in?” she asked, her voice miraculously steady.

Instead of replying, he opened the door and gestured for her to enter. Julia complied, then paused as she saw a valet gathering linens in the corner.

“That will be all,” Savage murmured to the servant, who nodded and left at once, quietly closing the door behind him.

They were alone, in a room filled with yellow brocade, mahogany furniture, and paintings of harmonious pastoral scenes…alone and facing each other, after all these years. There was no way Savage could know who she was, but still she felt exposed and in danger, with only her secrets to protect her.

Chapter 3

Savage continued to stare at her until Julia began to wonder if there was something amiss with her appearance. Self-consciously she smoothed her hair, then jerked her hand away. It didn't matter if every lock on her head were sticking straight out—she hardly cared about his opinion of her.

Glancing down at his own lack of attire, Savage tightened the belt of his silk robe. “I hadn't planned on receiving visitors,” he said.

She folded her arms before her, a gesture that was both militant and self-protective. “I won't stay long.”

He stared at her once more. It seemed that he was as uncomfortable as she was with the silence between them…but he appeared to be equally powerless to break it. Julia tried in vain to read his thoughts, but he revealed nothing. What kind of man was he? Usually it was easy for her to discern someone's character, to sense if a person was intrinsically kind, selfish, shy, or honorable. Savage betrayed nothing of himself.

His face was austerely beautiful, with its long nose, the distinctive angles of his cheeks, and the aggressive jut of his jaw. There were appealing, surprising touches of softness in the wide curve of his mouth and the long-lashed gray eyes. It must be unbearable temptation for many women to make Savage smile, look at them with desire, to arouse any sort of emotion in those enigmatic features. It even provoked her imagination, the% thought of what it must be like to earn his hard-won trust, to hold his dark head in her lap and fondle the thick locks of black hair—

“Why are you here, Mrs. Wentworth?” he asked.

Julia felt a scowl pinching between her eyebrows, and she answered in a crisp tone. “I think you already know, my lord.”

“Scott has spoken with you.”

“Yes, he did. And now I've come to correct an impression of yours. You seem to think that your money can buy anything you want.”

“Most of the time it can.”

“Well, you can't buy me.” She had been sold once in her life, for the price of a title she had neither asked for nor wanted. It would never happen again.

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding,” he said quietly. “If you object to the idea of having dinner with me, you're free to refuse.”

“You've made that impossible. If I don't accept, I'll lose all the choice parts at the Capital this season—parts I would have otherwise had!”

He seemed perturbed, a frown drawing his dark brows together. “Would you like me to speak with Mr. Scott?”

“No! You'll only make the situation worse.”

Savage shrugged, and infuriated her with a matter-of-fact reply. “I suppose you'll just have to make the best of it, then.”

“What about the woman you were seated with in the corner tonight?” she asked. “Lady Ashton, I believe. She seems quite attached to you.”