Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(21)

Betsy read the card. “‘Savage,’ it says.”

So it was from Lord Savage. Julia reached out and pulled one of the pink roses from the arrangement. She toyed with the petals, and brought the flower with her to the dressing table. As Betsy fastened the back of her gown, Julia expertly twisted and pinned her hair into a loose, thick coil at the top of her head, leaving a few curls to dangle on her temple and neck. After a moment's hesitation, Julia broke off the blossom, wrapped the end in a bit of paper, and anchored it in the coil with a large pin.

“That looks lovely,” Betsy said, breaking off another blossom and pinning it to Julia's small black silk reticule. “He must be a special man for you to take such pains, Mrs. Wentworth.”

Julia pulled on a pair of sleek black gloves that covered her elbows. “One could say I've been waiting for him all my life.”

“How grand…” Betsy began. She stopped, her round face wrinkling in a frown as she saw the shadowy fingermarks on Julia's upper arms, and another on the tip of her bare shoulder. “Dear me, those won't do at all.”

Julia regarded the bruises ruefully. “I'm afraid they can't be helped. After the bouts Mr. Scott and I had on stage, I'm only surprised there aren't more.”

Reaching for a cake of flesh-colored facepaint, Betsy moistened her fingertips with water, rubbed them across the surface, and then dabbed the color sparingly over the bruises. Julia held still, surveying the maid's handiwork with a pleased smile. “They're hardly noticeable now. Thank you, Betsy.”

“Will there be anything else before I put your costumes away?”

“Yes…would you find out if there is a carriage waiting for me outside?”

Betsy returned soon with the news that there was indeed a vehicle behind the theater, a fine black carriage trimmed with silver, a pair of outriders beside it, and two footmen dressed in dark red livery.

Julia felt her heart quicken with painful force. She put her hand on her chest, as if she could calm the violent thumping, and breathed deeply.

“Mrs. Wentworth? All of a sudden you look rather ill.”

Julia didn't reply. What could have possessed her, agreeing to spend a few hours alone with Lord Savage? What could they possibly say to each other—what mad impulse had driven her to this? Summoning her courage, she relaxed her shoulders, which seemed to have climbed up to her ears. Betsy helped to settle a hooded black silk pelisse over her head and shoulders, and fasten the garnet clasp at the throat. Murmuring good night to the maid, Julia left her dressing room and made her way through the labyrinth of theater facilities.

As she passed the back entrance, a small crowd of theatergoers pressed forward to meet her, a few daring to touch her cloak or her gloved arms. A towering footman helped to usher her through the crowd to the waiting carriage. Deftly he pulled out an extra step for her easy ascent into the luxurious vehicle, and closed the door behind her. It was all accomplished so swiftly that Julia barely had time to blink before she was settled in a soft velvet-and-leather-covered seat.

She stared at Lord Savage, who sat opposite her, one side of his handsome face lit to knife-blade sharpness by a carriage lantern, the rest left in shadow. He smiled with the dangerous charm of Lucifer himself. Hastily Julia lowered her gaze to her lap. Her hands lay perfectly folded and still, when she wanted to knot her fingers together in agitation.

Lord Savage belonged to a world from which she had been running for years. It was her right—some might even say her duty—to assume the title and position her parents had procured for her. She had resisted it with all her might, out of willfulness and resentment, and most of all fear at the discovery of what kind of man she had been given to. She didn't want to stop fearing Savage, didn't want to weaken her defenses in any way. But her own curiosity had led her to this…as well as the troubling pull of attraction between them.

“You were extraordinary tonight,” Savage said.

Julia blinked in surprise. “You watched the play, then? I didn't see you in the audience.”

“It was a demanding performance for you.”

“Yes, it's quite exhausting.” Briefly she wondered what he had thought of the ribald interplay between herself and Logan Scott—if he had been amused along with the rest of the audience, or if he had disapproved. Something must have shown in her face, because he leaned forward and pinned her with his disconcerting silvery gaze.

“What is it?” he asked.

Deciding she had nothing to lose, Julia told him what she had been thinking.

Savage replied slowly, considering his words with care. “It's not my right to disapprove of what you do on stage. Acting is your chosen profession.”

“And you had no personal feelings?” she asked idly. “During the part when Mr. Scott kissed me, or chased me across the stage and—”

“I didn't like it.” The words seemed to escape him before he could prevent it. His mouth twisted with self-derision. “You and Scott were rather too convincing in your roles.”

Julia had the feeling that he was as surprised by the admission of jealousy as she was. Alarmed and flattered, she retreated until her shoulders dug into the plush upholstery. “It's only a play,” she said.

“I've seen actors in plays before. The two of you seem…different.”

Julia frowned at her reticule with concentration. She had heard the popular opinion that she and Logan Scott were lovers, and she also knew why. They had stage chemistry, she and Logan, the kind that made it possible to act together so convincingly that illusion and reality were temporarily joined together with seamless perfection.