Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(43)

“That isn't your concern.”

“I have the right to know whether my child will be born a bastard!”

“I told you I would take care of you and the baby. I intend to keep that promise.”

“That's a far cry from marrying me!”

“I was forced into a marriage of convenience by my father. I'll go to hell before I let you or anyone else do the same to me.”

“So this has become an issue of what's been done to you?” Pauline asked, her voice rising. “What about what's been done to me? I was seduced by you, made pregnant, and now it seems you're planning to abandon me—”

“You were hardly an innocent girl from the schoolroom.” A sardonic smile crossed Damon's face as he recalled Pauline's outrageous pursuit of him, the wiles she had used to lure him into her bed. And now she was going to claim that she had been seduced? “You're a wealthy widow with a history of liaisons dating back to before your elderly husband's death. I wasn't your first protector, and God knows I won't be the last.”

“You're a cold bastard,” she said, her lovely face twisting with a sneer. “Get out. Leave this very moment! I'm certain it's harmful to the baby for me to become this angry.”

Damon complied with a mocking bow and left the volatile, perfumed atmosphere of the bedroom, wondering how he had ever allowed himself to become entangled with Pauline.

Realizing it was nearly time for him to meet with two stewards regarding concerns about his various estates, Damon went to his carriage and told the driver to take him to his London home. He didn't want to be late, having always prided himself on being punctual and responsible—qualities his gambling-obsessed father had never possessed. Although he tried to keep his mind on the business before him, thoughts of Pauline and her pregnancy kept intruding.

Damon trusted his instincts, which told him that the “baby” was merely an invention to entrap him…but he had to allow for the possibility that Pauline was telling the truth. He was swamped with resentment. Other men casually accepted the fact of having children with their mistresses, even joked about it, but for him it wasn't a matter that could be treated lightly. The child would be a lifelong responsibility.

Damon groaned and rubbed his eyes wearily. “There is no baby,” he muttered in a mixture of hope and frustration. “She's lying—she has to be.”

When he arrived at his home and walked through the front door, the butler informed him that the stewards were already waiting for him in the library.

“Good,” Damon said brusquely. “Send in some tea, and a tray of sandwiches. I expect the meeting will last a while.”

“Yes, my lord, but…” The butler reached for a small silver tray upon which a sealed note was poised. “You may want to read this. It arrived not long ago, delivered by a messenger who seemed in a great hurry.”

Frowning, Damon broke the lopsided seal and recognized the hasty scrawl as that of his younger brother, William. His gaze moved rapidly over the page.

Damon—

In real trouble this time, I'm afraid. Have gotten myself into a duel to be held on the morrow. Request that you act as my second and give some much-needed advice. Please come to Warwickshire at once and save the skin of your only brother.

William

Damon's nerves were suddenly stretched taut with worry. He was accustomed to William's scrapes and mishaps, but nothing had ever come close to this. “God, Will, what have you done now?” A thunderous scowl settled on his face. “Dammit, my brother must be the last man in England to know that dueling is out of fashion.” He glanced up to see a glint of sympathy in the butler's usually implacable eyes. “Apparently William's done it again,” he growled. “This time he's been challenged to a duel.”

The butler showed no surprise. The younger Savage's reckless streak was well-known to everyone in the household. “May I be of some assistance, my lord?”

“Yes.” Damon nodded in the direction of the library. “Tell those two that I've been called away on an urgent matter. Have them reschedule the appointment for next Monday. In the meanwhile, I'm going to write a note to be delivered to Mrs. Jessica Wentworth, of Somerset Street. She is to receive it this afternoon, without delay.”

A cool, misty September breeze swept through the tiny garden in the back of Julia's house. Her loose hair was ruffled and disordered by the wind, and she pushed it over one shoulder. Surrounded by the heady scents of rosemary, wild peppermint, and other fragrant herbs, she sat on a small white bench and opened the letter that lay in her lap.

Dear Julia—

Unfortunately my plan to see you tonight has been altered. I must leave immediately for the Savage estate in Warwickshire to take care of an urgent piece of business concerning my brother, Lord William. I will visit you immediately upon my return to London.

Yours,

Savage

Almost as an afterthought, a last sentence had been added to the bottom of the page.

I have no regrets about what happened between us—I hope you feel the same.

Troubled by the tersely worded note, Julia reread it and frowned unhappily. A sense of uneasiness crept over her. Certainly that last had been intended as some sort of reassurance, but she didn't know if it had the effect of causing her relief or dismay. She began to crumple the letter, but instead found herself holding it tightly against her midriff.