Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(53)

Automatically she shook her head. “I must go back inside and see—”

“There's nothing you can do here tonight. Come—I'm not leaving without you.”

“If you're planning on having a repeat performance of the other night—”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Damon said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But I wasn't going to insist on it. If you prefer, we'll merely have a drink and talk. I'll open a bottle of twenty-five-year-old French Armagnac—the best brandy you've ever tasted.”

The offer was appealing, to say the least. It wasn't the brandy that tempted her, but rather the alarming need for his company, and the comfort he offered. She wasn't certain she could trust herself around him, especially not in her present mood. “I shouldn't.”

“Are you afraid of being alone with me?” he asked softly.

Now it was more than an offer; it was a challenge. Julia held his direct stare and felt the pull of recklessness inside. The night was in shambles, and she would face tomorrow when it came. For now, a bracing drink and the company of Lord Savage were exactly what she wanted.

Slowly she went to him. “I'm sure I'll regret this later.”

He smiled and took her to the carriage, helping her inside. After a brief murmur to the driver, he climbed into the vehicle, occupying the space next to her. The carriage rolled away with a gentle sway, and Julia relaxed against the velvet seat cushions with a sigh.

She closed her eyes momentarily, but her lashes soon lifted as she sensed Damon's intent gaze on her. He was staring at the wrinkled, charred remains of her costume, a pale green dress that laced up the front with gold cords. Noting the way he lingered over her snugly fitted bodice, she frowned in reproval. “Must you stare at me that way?”

Reluctantly he dragged his gaze to her face. “What way?”

“As if you'd just sat down to supper and I was the entree.” As he laughed, Julia crossed her arms defensively over her br**sts. “One would think you'd be satisfied after the other night!”

“That only whetted my appetite for more.” As Damon studied her, reading her discomfort, the hint of playfulness disappeared. He relaxed against the seat with deceptive casualness. “I know I hurt you that night,” he said quietly. “It's always that way the first time.”

A hot blush spread over her face. In a flash, she remembered their na**d bodies twisting together, the pain of their joining, the burning pleasure of being possessed by him. She had known what to expect, more or less, but she had never realized how closely such intimacy would bind them. It was unfathomable that some people could regard such an experience as casual…an experience that seemed to have changed her in a hundred indefinable ways. “It's all right,” she murmured, unable to look at him.

“It will be better the next time.”

The blush seemed to cover her entire body now. She knew he could see the warm color traveling over the soft skin of her throat and br**sts. “There won't be a next time,” she said breathlessly. “It would be wrong.”

“Wrong?” he repeated, perplexed.

“Yes! Or have you forgotten all about Lady Ashton and her unborn child?”

His expression became closed. Even so, Julia sensed the frustration that welled up inside him. “I'm still not convinced there is a child,” he said. “I'm trying to find out the truth. But even if Pauline is pregnant, I can't marry her. If I did, I would end up killing her.”

For the first time Julia experienced a pang of sympathy for him. He was a proud man—he wouldn't take well to being manipulated by anyone, especially not a woman like Lady Ashton. Resisting the urge to touch him in consolation, she remained where she was, wedged in the corner of the carriage seat. “It must be difficult, dealing with such a situation—”

“I don't want to talk about Pauline tonight,” he said abruptly. In a moment the hard look left his face, and there was a self-mocking twitch at the corner of his mouth. He fished inside his coat for something, and withdrew a small velvet pouch. “Here—I have something for you.”

Julia stared at the gift, but she didn't move to take it. “Thank you, no,” she said uncomfortably. “I don't want a present—”

“It's yours by right. You should have had it long ago.”

Hesitantly she took the pouch and loosened the drawstring. Reaching in with two fingers, she withdrew a hard, cool lump from inside. Her breath caught as she beheld a magnificent ring, a rose-cut diamond set in a heavy gold band. The stone was at least four carats, almost blue in color, its facets flashing with unearthly fire.

“You never had a wedding ring,” Damon said.

“I couldn't—”

“Try it on.”

Julia longed to see how the diamond looked on her finger, but she didn't dare. The ring—and all it signified—was forbidden to her. Their marriage would not last. Their vows had been meaningless, the obedient mouthings of two children who had no idea what they were saying. She looked at Damon helplessly, both touched and appalled by his gesture. “Take it back,” she said in soft pleading.

His mouth twisted wryly, and he reached for the ring. Before she could stop him, he caught her wrist and slid the diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand. It was only a little too loose.