Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(44)

Lord William Savage, the brother-in-law she had never met. She wondered if the lad were really in trouble, or if he served as a convenient excuse for Damon to avoid seeing her. Despite his words to the contrary, it was possible he did regret spending the night with her. Perhaps it was the conventional thing to tell a woman one had no regrets, even if the opposite were true.

Flushing with shame and uncertainty, Julia wondered if she had displeased him somehow, if he had found her to be less passionate and exciting than Lady Ashton. She hadn't known what to do or how to satisfy him. Perhaps he considered the experience disappointing or, worse, amusing. Damon must have expected to go to bed with an experienced lover, not an awkward virgin.

Julia grimaced and silently berated herself. She had to remind herself that she wanted an annulment, that she could never give up her career and her independence, and live under the thumb of a strong-willed man. It would be a good thing if she had displeased him—that way he would agree to end their marriage with no qualms.

The pale golden walls of the Warwickshire castle, looming high and serene over the countryside, gave no clue to the turmoil within. The sun was just setting in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground and striking off the glittering diamond-paned windows of the medieval structure.

Damon had lived here most of his life, forgoing the pleasures a young man could find in London in order to stay with his mother during her final years. She had suffered the long, painful death of a consumptive, and he had suffered with her. He still remembered the many times he had glanced up from a book or paper he had been reading aloud to her, and found her anxious gaze on him. “Take care of your brother and father,” she had entreated him. “They will need your guidance and protection. I'm afraid you are all that will keep them both from utter ruin.” During the five years since her death, he had done his best to keep his promise, although it hadn't been easy.

Striding through the great hall and into the large first-floor parlor, Damon discovered his brother sprawled on a damask-upholstered couch with a glass of brandy in his hand. Judging from his bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance, it appeared that William had spent most of the day there, nursing his sorrows with the help of a healthy portion of strong drink.

“God, I'm glad you're here,” William said fervently, struggling up on the couch. “I half-thought you'd stay in London and leave me to my fate.”

Damon regarded him with wry affection. “Not likely, after all I've invested in you.”

Moving over to make a place for him, William let out a morose sigh. “I've never dueled before. I wouldn't care to start now.”

“I don't intend for you to.” Damon frowned. “What was Father's reaction?”

“Everyone has conspired to keep him from rinding out. With his health so precarious, it would finish him off for certain if he were to hear of it.”

Damon shook his head in disagreement. “Aside from his bad business sense, Father's no fool. He would rather know the truth than have everyone tiptoe around and keep secrets from him.”

“You tell him, then. I can't bring myself to heap such worry on the head of a dying man.”

Rolling his eyes, Damon sat beside his younger brother, plucking the glass of brandy from his hand. “Leave off the spirits,” he advised. “It won't do any good for you to get drunk.” He looked around for a small table to deposit the half-finished brandy. Finding none conveniently close, he downed the last few swallows himself, closing his eyes at the smooth, pleasant glow of the liquor.

“That was mine,” William said indignantly.

Damon gave him a warning glance. “I needed refreshment after my journey. Now why don't you tell me what the hell you've done to get in this mess? I had better plans for tonight than having to come get you out of another predicament.”

“I don't know exactly how it happened.” Bemusedly William dragged his hands through his rumpled black hair. “It was such a little thing. Last night I went to a dance held by the Wyvills, a simple country affair…I waltzed with young Sybill, and we slipped out into the garden…and the next thing I knew, her brother George was challenging me to a duel!”

It wasn't difficult for Damon to read between the lines. The Wyvills, a well-landed and titled family of Warwickshire, were notorious for their bad dispositions. From what he recalled, Sybill couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. Any offense to her would be taken as a mortal affront to the family honor. “What did you do, Will?” he asked in a threatening tone.

“All I did was kiss her! It was nothing—hardly worth risking my neck over, I can assure you! George and I have never gotten along. I suspect he was spying on us merely to have an excuse to challenge me—the hotheaded bastard—”

“Let's save the name-calling for later,” Damon interrupted dryly. “The only way to solve this is to approach old Lord Wyvill. He rules the family with an iron, fist, and he's the one who can put a stop to the whole affair if he chooses.”

William's blue eyes widened hopefully. “Will you talk to him, Damon? If you could convince him to make George withdraw the challenge—”

“First I want the truth. Are you certain all you did was kiss Sybill?”

William didn't quite meet his gaze. “For the most part.”

Damon scowled. “Dammit, Will, with all the doxies and barmaids between here and London, why did you pick a sheltered girl to molest?”