Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(2)

Damon shook his head, denying who he was, wanting to detach himself from everything in his past and future. “I'm a visitor here,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Just as you are.”

She looked skeptical but seemed to relax.

“Where are you from?” Damon asked.

Her teeth flashed in the darkness. He had never seen anything as beautiful as her smile. “I don't choose to think about my past.” She pushed back the stray locks of gleaming blond hair from, her forehead. “Why did you come outside, sir? Was it to take the air or watch the dancing?”

“To find you.”

A quiet laugh escaped her, and she tensed like a bird ready to take flight. Sensing that she was about to slip away, Damon found himself acting without conscious thought. His hands came to either side of her head, holding her securely in spite of her startled protest. “Let me,” he whispered, a tremor running through his fingers as they pressed against her downy cheeks. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she became very still. Her breath rushed hot and fast on his skin, while the taste of her spilled through his senses in an intoxicating rush. He felt her response, and the moment was suspended in time, magical, unlike anything that had ever happened to him before.

She turned her face away, making a sound of confusion. Damon was intensely aware of the velvety touch of her cheek against his, the nearness of her body. They were both silent, motionless as they drank in the sensation of standing close together.

“Good night,” she whispered.

“Don't go,” he said, but she strode away, seeming to melt into the crowd.

Although Damon could have followed, he chose not to. It seemed impossible that such a woman could be real. In a way, he didn't want her to be. Let her remain a fantasy, an image he could keep for the rest of his life, untouched by the unpleasant realities that crowded his days. He left the May Day celebration, unable to rid his mind of the sudden intuition that somehow, someday…they would meet again.

Chapter 1

London, 1825

She was late. Julia quickened her pace, trying to keep her skirts from dragging along the muddy ground, and at the same time shield her face from the persistent drizzle of cold autumn rain. If she didn't reach the Capital Theatre soon, her hair and clothes would be soaked. “My audition,” she muttered despairingly, shouldering past the people on the broken, slippery sidewalk. A once-jaunty yellow feather drooped down from the brim of her small hat, and she pushed it back impatiently.

Today was one of the most important days of her life. If all went well, she might become part of the most successful acting company in England. However, if she failed to impress Logan Scott with her talents, she would have to return to the grimy little Daly Theatre in the Strand. The manager there, Mr. Bickerston, regarded the actresses as if they were prostitutes, turning a profit for himself by arranging for them to meet wealthy men. He was furious with Julia for refusing to associate with a lecherous old baron who had been willing to pay an exorbitant fee for the privilege of bedding her. “You'll obey my rules,” Bickerston had spat at her, “or you're no longer in the company. The next time I find a man for you, you'll accept him or be damned!”

To make matters worse, Bickerston had a gambling problem, and he often couldn't pay the actors the full amount of their salaries. If Julia didn't make money soon, she wouldn't be able to afford the terrace room she had rented. And she couldn't resort to what the other actresses did, selling their sexual favors to supplement their income. For her that would never be a choice, even if she starved.

Julia sighed, her skin crawling at the thought of returning to the Strand. She had to find a better place to work. Tightening her grip on the damp sheaf of paper in her arms, she lowered her head and walked faster. All of a sudden she rammed into a hard object that nearly sent her sprawling backward. The stack of papers cascaded from her arms. Only a man's quick grab at her shoulders kept her from falling onto the muddy pavement.

“Are you all right, miss?” the man inquired, steadying her.

Julia bent to scoop up her sodden papers. To her dismay, the hem of her skirts dragged through a dirty puddle. “You should watch where you're going,” she exclaimed.

“I might say the same to you, miss.” The man's voice was as dry and rich as a glass of red wine. He helped her to retrieve the fallen papers, pausing to glance at them.

Julia took them from him before he had the chance to read anything. “I'm on my way to an audition,” she said crisply. “I'm very late.” She began to walk past him, but he stopped her with a light touch on her shoulder.

“Which theater do you want?”

She looked up at him, blinking as a rain-laced breeze swept over her face. He was tall and well-built, his wide shoulders covered with a heavy black coat. Through the veil of rain dripping from the brim of his dark hat, she could see blunt, attractive features and a pair of intense blue eyes. “I'm trying to find the Capital,” she said.

“You've reached it.” He indicated a nearby doorway. “That leads to the greenroom, where auditions are usually held.”

“How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

A smile pulled at the corner of his wide, mobile mouth. “I'm a member of the company.”

“Oh.” She was taken aback, and a touch envious. Lucky, lucky man, to be a part of such a prestigious group.