Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(23)

“You seem to have done very well for the Savages since then. Your father must be pleased that you have righted the situation.”

Savage shrugged. “The duke never admits that he was wrong about anything. He doesn't acknowledge that he made mistakes.”

“I understand.” The words came out almost in a whisper. But Savage couldn't know exactly how well she did understand. As Julia had always suspected, their fathers were two of a kind. Like Lord Hargate, the Duke of Leeds had tried to control his family with an iron hand. When it had become clear that he was a poor manager of property and people, he had sacrificed his son's future in exchange for a large settlement from the Hargates.

Julia suspected that long ago Lord Savage had decided that he would never be controlled by anyone again. She felt a touch of sympathy for him, even kinship…but she suspected that as a husband, he would be inflexible, untrusting, and remote. A highly undesirable mate, at least for her.

The sumptuous dishes at dinner would have satisfied a dozen people. Julia sat to Savage's right at a long table laden with silver trumpet-shaped vases filled with orchids and trailing nasturtium. The first course consisted of vegetable consommé, followed by salmon rillettes covered with cream and dill. Afterward the servants brought steaming trays bearing pheasant stuffed with truffles and hazelnuts, and veal scallops swimming in Bordeaux sauce.

Julia protested as more dishes arrived; puddings, open tarts, sweetbreads, and vegetables. “This is far too much. I can't possibly do justice to it!”

Savage smiled and coaxed her to try a quail egg stuffed with cream and lobster. Indulging herself as she hadn't in a long time, Julia drank from a selection of French wine and applied herself to the feast with pleasure. Savage proved to be a charming dinner companion when he chose, conversing agreeably on a variety of subjects.

“Why become an actress?” he asked near the end of the leisurely meal, leaning back as their plates were removed and tiers of pastries and fresh fruit were set before them.

Julia toyed with a scarlet strawberry on her plate. “It was a desire of mine since childhood. I left my family's home when I was eighteen, worked in a company of traveling players, and then performed at a theater in the Strand until I was fortunate enough to be hired by Mr. Scott.”

“Does your family approve of your career?”

Julia snorted at the idea. “Decidedly not. They wanted me to remain at home…but only if I abided by certain conditions which I found unacceptable.”

“When did you marry?” he asked. “While you were at the Strand?”

She frowned at him. “I never discuss my marriage.”

A half-smile played on his lips. “I'm not convinced your husband actually exists.”

“He does,” she assured him, sipping her wine. He exists as much as your wife does, she was tempted to say, but kept her silence.

“Will he ever want you to leave the theater?”

“He would be a bloody hypocrite if he did,” she said pertly. “He's an actor himself.” She suppressed a smile as she saw the spark of interest in his expression, knowing that he took her meaning literally. It was the truth, however. Lord Savage was undeniably skilled at hiding the truth and presenting a false facade. He was as accomplished an actor as any of the Capital players.

He seemed about to ask something else, when suddenly his eyes narrowed, and he stared at her bare upper arm.

“My lord?” Julia asked, puzzled by his expression.

Before Julia could react, Savage had grasped her arm in his warm, broad hand, and turned it upward toward the light. The smear of paint over the bruise-mark was clearly visible. Julia tried to twist away, spluttering in confusion. “It's nothing…I-I'm perfectly all right…the performance, you see—”

“Hush.” He turned to an approaching servant and brusquely requested a tin of salve from the housekeeper's supply.

Julia watched in dumbfounded silence as Savage dipped the corner of a napkin into a glass of cool water. She stiffened with surprise as the damp cloth passed carefully over the bruise. Savage found another dark fingermark, and a shadowy blotch on the tip of her shoulder. He wiped away the dabs of concealing paint with exquisite care.

A warm rush of color spread over Julia's skin, rising past her throat to her face. No man had ever touched her like this. His face was so close that she could see the grain of dark whiskers in his closely shaven skin, and the thick fan of his lashes.

A pleasant smell clung to him, the scents of cologne and warm skin mingled with starched linen. His breath was laced with the sweetness of after-dinner wine. Julia's heart began to thunder as she thought of smoothing her fingertips over his black hair, the neat curve of his ear, the bold sweep of his eyebrow. She'd had too much to drink. She was dizzy, flushed…she wanted to pull away, and yet…

The servant returned with a small tin of salve, handing it to Lord Savage. As he departed, he closed the door and left them in seclusion.

“There's no need…” Julia began unsteadily. Her voice faded as Savage uncovered the waxen pink salve, which held a strong herbal odor.

Savage's gray eyes lifted to hers. For the first time she noticed the subtle hints of blue and green in their depths. When he spoke, his voice was a shade deeper than usual. “Scott should be more careful with you.”

“He is,” she whispered. “It's just that I bruise very easily.”