Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(36)

She stripped off her clothes, dropped them to the floor, and donned a simple blue muslin dressing gown that fastened up the front with five satin ribbons. Sighing in relief, she pulled the pins from her hair and combed her fingers through the disordered ash-blond locks. As she picked up a copy of My Lady Deception and began to climb into bed, a sound disrupted the quiet of the house. Julia went still and listened alertly. The muffled tones of an argument filtered to her room from downstairs, and then she heard the housemaid's distant cry of alarm.

Julia flung aside the pages in her hand and rushed from her room. “Sarah,” she called anxiously, hurrying to the stairs. “Sarah, what is it—”

She halted at the top step and saw the maid standing in the center of the entrance hall. The front door was wide open. Lord Savage had just forced his way inside.

Julia's mind was wiped clean with alarm as she stared at the menacing figure below her. His face was taut, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared back at her.

“Mrs. Wentworth,” the housemaid stammered, “he…he just barged in…I couldn't stop him … ”

“I've come to talk with my wife,” Savage said grimly, still looking at Julia.

“Your…” the maid said in confusion. “Then you must be…Mr. Wentworth?”

A scowl settled over Savage's face. “No, I'm not Mr. Wentworth,” he said with biting precision.

Somehow Julia managed to adopt a calm expression. “You must leave,” she said firmly. “I'm not ready to discuss anything tonight.”

“That's too bad.” Savage started up the stairs. “I've been ready for three years.”

It was dear that he would allow her no choice. Julia braced herself for battle and spoke to the frightened-looking maid. “You may retire for the evening, Sarah. I'll be all right.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sarah said doubtfully, staring at the purposeful man who was ascending the stairs. Quickly the maid disappeared to her room, evidently deciding it was wiser not to interfere.

As Savage reached her, Julia lifted her chin and returned his gaze. “How dare you force your way into my home,” she snapped, gathering the dressing gown more closely around herself.

“Why all the lies? Why not tell me the truth the first time we met?”

“You lied every bit as much as I did, telling me you were unmarried—”

“I'm not in the habit of telling intimate secrets to women I barely know.”

“As long as we're on the subject of intimate secrets…does Lady Ashton know you're not the bachelor you claim to be?”

“As a matter of fact, she does.”

“I suppose she wants you to get rid of your wife and marry her for her baby's sake.” Julia had the satisfaction of seeing his features turn blank with surprise.

“How do you know about that?” he asked sharply.

“Lady Ashton told me when we were both visiting the dressmaker's. She tried to warn me away from you—but I could have told her there was no need. You're the last man I would ever choose to become involved with.”

“Whom would you prefer?” he asked, his tone jeering. “Logan Scott?”

“Anyone except you!”

“Why?” His head lowered, and his breath was hot against her cheek. “Because I frighten you? Because you can't help wanting the same thing I do?”

Julia tried to step back, but his hands came to her shoulders. Although his hold was firm, she could have broken free if she chose. Something kept her there, some potent force that wouldn't allow her to pull away. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she said unsteadily.

“You felt it the first time we met…we both did.”

“All I want is for you to leave me alone,” she said, and gasped as he urged her against his hard body.

There was a glow of heat in his eyes, turning the cool gray to molten silver. “You're still lying to me, Julia.”

She trembled in confusion as she stayed against him, intensely aware of his scent, the warmth of his hands, the feel of his burgeoning arousal pressing against her abdomen. The rise and fall of his chest matched her own labored breathing. She had been held by men before, but always in the context of a scene from a play, always in the theater. The well-rehearsed words and movements had never been her own. The feelings had been skillfully manufactured for the benefit of an audience. Now for the first time it was real, and she had no idea what to do.

Savage moved his hands over the thin sleeves of her gown, his touch sending a sweep of warmth from her shoulders to her bare wrists. He spoke against her cheek, his lips brushing her skin with each word, his mouth tantalizingly close to her own. “The night you came to my room at the Brandons' estate, I would have given a fortune to touch you like this…anything just to be close to you. I promised myself that nothing would stand in the way of having you.”

“Nothing except a wife and a pregnant mistress,” Julia said, while her pulse throbbed madly.

He drew his head back, his thick lashes lowering over the bright gleam of his eyes. “I don't know for certain if Pauline is pregnant. I don't know if she's lying, or what I'll do if she isn't.” He hesitated and added gruffly, “All I know is that you're mine.”