Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(29)

“She has nothing to do with Julia Hargate, or with you.”

“She's to be my replacement,” Pauline snarled. “Regardless of what you've done to me, and what you owe me!”

As he gazed at Pauline's enraged features, another image appeared in Damon's mind…Jessica Wentworth's clear turquoise eyes, and the gleam of moonlight on her skin. I have no interest in an affair with you, she had said, and that is the only thing you would be able to offer me.

“I'm not going to see her again,” Damon said quietly. “She deserves far more than I can give her.”

“What about me?”

“You'll be taken care of. You and the child. But it won't be the same between us, Pauline.”

She relaxed visibly, evidently choosing to ignore his implication. “Naturally,” she said in a much softer voice. “I knew you wouldn't abandon me, darling.” She reached out for him beseechingly, her red lips parting in invitation. Damon shook his head and walked toward the Bedroom door. It took all his self-control to keep from running away from the perfumed prison.

“Damon, we must talk!”

“Later,” he muttered, grateful for every step he put between them. He didn't want to make love or talk…he wanted to stop thinking and feeling, at least for a while.

Madame Lefevrbre's shop was filled with the acrid scents of dye, fabric, and steaming amber tea. There were other, more lavishly appointed dressmakers' shops in London, with furniture upholstered in velvet and walls covered in gold-framed mirrors, but none attracted the kind of wealthy and discriminating clientele that Madame Lefevrbre did. Julia loved the enterprising Frenchwoman's simple, flattering designs, as well as the beautiful silks, muslins, and soft wools she used.

Pausing in her consultation with another woman, Madame Lefevrbre came to personally welcome Julia into the shop. She valued Julia's patronage not only because of her growing celebrity, but also because Julia always paid her bills promptly, unlike the scores of women who had to coax reluctant husbands or paramours to pay for their newest gowns.

“Mrs. Wentworth, you have arrived early for your fitting,” Madame Lefevrbre exclaimed, guiding Julia to a chair by a table laden with stacks of designs, fabric swatches, and dolls outfitted with miniature versions of the latest fashions. “If you wouldn't mind waiting here for a few minutes—”

“Certainly, Madame.” They exchanged a smile, regarding each other with the mutual respect of two women accustomed to providing for themselves. Julia sat in the well-worn chair, declined a cup of tea, and began to browse through the stack of fashion prints.

“I will return for you soon,” the dressmaker said, disappearing behind the muslin curtains that led to the back of the shop.

As Julia lingered over a particular design, a morning gown with a slim silhouette and satin ribbon that crossed over the br**sts, she realized that the nearby chair was occupied.

The attractive dark-haired woman picked up a doll and toyed with the tiny frilled ruff around its neck. She glanced at Julia and smiled slightly.

Julia's answering smile dimmed as she realized that the woman was Lady Ashton. She groaned inwardly, wondering why such an unlucky coincidence would happen to her. Without doubt, Lady Ashton had found out about her clandestine meeting with Lord Savage by now. A guilty flush began to creep over Julia's skin, but she reasoned with herself valiantly. She had done nothing wrong in having dinner with Lord Savage…and besides, after all these years she was entitled to at least one evening with her own husband!

Lady Ashton possessed a formidable self-composure, seeming not at all perturbed by their chance meeting. “Mrs. Wentworth,” she said in a velvety voice, “how pleasant to see you again.”

Julia managed an agreeing smile. “It's rather a surprise to find you here,” she commented.

“Not so much of a surprise. I insisted that Madame schedule my appointment close to yours. I hoped we would have the opportunity to chat.”

Refusing to let her discomfort show, Julia stared at her with a perplexed arch of one tawny brow.

“How many people admire you, Mrs. Wentworth,” Lady Ashton remarked, setting aside the doll and picking up another. She slid an appraising glance over Julia's slender form. “Lovely, talented, and desired by most of the men in London. I've seen engravings and paintings of you everywhere…why, you're the most admired actress on the English stage. I'm positive you could have any man you set your cap for. Who would be able to resist you?”

A tense silence followed, while Julia marveled silently at the woman's acting skill. If Lady Ashton was outraged, hurt, or humiliated, she wasn't revealing a trace of it. “I'm not certain what you mean,” Julia said with a questioning lilt in her voice.

The other woman shrugged. “I suppose I'm trying to say that any other female—myself, for example—would be poor competition for one as celebrated as you.”

Julia looked at her without flinching. “I have no desire to compete with anyone.”

Lady Ashton gave a light laugh, although there was no amusement in her brown eyes. “That's very reassuring. I certainly hope that a woman with all your advantages would never attempt to lure away a man who belongs to someone else.”

Unspoken messages were transferred in their shared gaze. Don't try to take what is mine, Lady Ashton's eyes warned, while Julia replied silently, You have nothing to fear from me.