Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(39)

“You're a virgin,” he whispered.

Julia's arms tightened around him, her small hands working at the small of his back, stroking and kneading in unconscious encouragement.

“Why?” seemed to be the only word he could manage.

Her eyes glittered as she looked up at him. “I never wanted anyone before you.”

Damon kissed her taut throat, her cheek, her trembling lips. It seemed that his entire being was filled with all the blind yearning he'd felt in his adult life. In a decisive motion he shoved forward forcefully enough to rend her innocence. She tensed in his arms, drawing a quick, shocked breath. Damon hated the pain he caused her, yet he discovered a fierce satisfaction in possessing her as no man ever had. She was impossibly tight, her sleek depths holding and wrapping him in intense heat. He pressed a slow rain of kisses on her face, mingling words of praise and desire as he tried to comfort her.

Gradually Julia began to relax as she adjusted to the unyielding invasion. He was gentle with her, his hands playing over her body in unhurried exploration. She quivered as she felt him slide deeper, thrusting in a slow rhythm that drew currents of delight through her body. Somehow the initial pain had been banished, replaced by the urge to lift high against him and take him even deeper inside. He complied with the wordless demand, driving straight and sure within her until she was caught in another surge of delight. She felt him grasp her hips, his fingers clenching over the rounded flesh, and he made a low, tormented sound as he found his own release. Shivering, Damon pressed hard against her until it seemed that their bodies had melded into one.

Julia was intensely drowsy for a long time afterward as she rested in the crook of his arm. Damon had extinguished the lamp, leaving them in peaceful darkness. She was halfway in a dream, her head filled with idle thoughts, her senses drinking in the warmth and texture of the man beside her.

She was no longer the figure of mystery that teased the public's curiosity, or an actress reciting well-rehearsed lines from a play…she had been cut adrift from the past that had bound her. Turning her head, she gazed at the hard-edged profile of the man beside her. Lord Savage, her husband. He would take over her life if she allowed it. He would keep her safe and sheltered, and inundate her with so much luxury that she would hardly mind being confined in a golden cage. But she would never let anyone own her. She had spent most of her life under her father's thumb, and that had been enough.

She would not lose herself in her husband's shadow as her mother had done. She would carefully guard the part of herself that she had struggled to nurture and preserve—and that meant any relationship with Damon was impossible.

Chapter 6

Damon awakened slowly, puzzled at finding himself in an unfamiliar bed. The elusive scent of a woman's perfume emanated from the pillow beside him. Still half-asleep, he pressed his face into the fragrant cream linen. Memories of the previous night came back to him, and he opened his eyes.

He was alone in Julia's bed.

Julia…she had never been more than a name to him, a shadow from the past, and suddenly she had become stunningly real. He saw the flecks of blood on the sheet, and he was instantly riveted. Wonderingly his fingers moved across the crimson marks. He hadn't considered the possibility that Julia might be innocent. He had never been with a virgin before, only mature women who were fully versed in all the aspects of passion. Sex had always been a frolic, a casual pleasure, not the transforming experience of last night. Julia was the only woman in the world who had belonged solely to him.

Why had she allowed him the privilege she had given to no one else? Certainly he was not the first man to desire her. She was lusted after by every man in London. Logically he searched for all possible reasons she had given him her virginity, with so many unanswered questions still between them, and he could think of none.

He wanted her back in bed, now. She had been so incredibly beautiful, so artless and trusting. He wanted to tease and comfort and caress her, to make her feel things she had never thought possible. And afterward, to hold her for hours as she drifted into sleep, and watch over her dreams. It had come upon him so suddenly, this obsession with her, the need to see her every day and night, and yet he knew in every fiber of his being that it was permanent. He couldn't imagine a future without her.

Throwing aside the bed linens, Damon prowled na**d around the room, scooping up his discarded clothes. He dressed quickly and pushed the muted green curtains aside to glance out the window. It was still early outside, the morning sun beginning to ascend over the steeples and high-crowned rooftops of the city.

The small house was quiet except for the footsteps of the housemaid as she crossed the front entrance hall. Upon seeing Damon halfway down the stairs, she flushed and glanced at him warily.

“My lord,” she said, “if you would care for some tea and breakfast—”

“Where is my wife?” he interrupted brusquely.

The maid backed up a step or two at his approach, clearly uncertain if he should be considered a madman or not. “Mrs. Wentworth is at the theater, sir. They have rehearsals every morning.”

The Capital. Damon was annoyed that Julia hadn't awakened him before she had left. He considered following her, and confronting her immediately. They had many things to talk about. On the other hand, he had certain matters to take care of, not the least of which involved Pauline. He scowled at the nervous housemaid. “Tell Mrs. Wentworth to expect me tonight.”