Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(59)

Julia was mildly surprised at the depth of his cynicism. “You seem to be speaking from experience.”

Logan smiled without amusement. “Oh, I've had experience. Enough to understand the risks of trusting another person with your heart. It's never advisable, Jessica, especially for a woman.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The obvious reason. In essence, marriage is nothing more than a business transaction. Law, religion, and society all dictate that you are your husband's property. Poetry and romance are a way of making it seem palatable, but only the young and the foolish are deceived by such things. You may decide that you love Savage enough to surrender your body and soul to his keeping…but I wouldn't advise it.”

“What would you do if you were in my position?”

“I would consider finding a magistrate who will invalidate the marriage. That is, if it was legal in the first place. I'm certain it was based on a license obtained by perjury.” A sudden smile crossed his face. “A remarkable pair of fathers the two of you have—almost Shakespearean in their greed.”

“You can't imagine,” Julia said dryly. She considered Logan's advice, so uncompromising and realistic. She had hoped that after talking to him everything would be clear…but she had just as many doubts as before. He seemed to be advocating a life of independence and complete self-sufficiency, but there was a price to pay for that. She didn't want to be alone forever.

“This is all very confusing,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I don't want to leave the stage, and I value my freedom. But part of me longs to have a husband and a family, and a proper home—”

“You can't have everything.”

Julia sighed. “Even as a child, I wanted the things that weren't good for me. In our parlor we used to have a silver box filled with sweets, and I was allowed to take only one on special occasions. But the sweets kept disappearing mysteriously, until my father began to accuse the servants of stealing them.”

“It wasn't the servants,” Logan guessed.

“No, it was me. I would sneak downstairs at night, and gorge on them until I was ill.”

Logan laughed. “It's always that way with worldly pleasures. One taste is never enough.”

Julia tried to summon an answering smile, but she was overcome with worry. She had never felt so uncertain of her own judgment, fearing that the life of pleasure and ease Damon could offer her would be too tempting to refuse. And then when she discovered her mistake, it would be too late. She would be bound to him forever. She would come to blame him as well as herself for her eternal discontentment.

“Perhaps it's not a bad thing for me to go on tour,” she said. “I need to be away from here—from him—in order to think clearly.”

“Go to Bath early,” Logan suggested. “Leave tomorrow, if you like. I won't tell anyone where you are. For the next few days you can spend some time alone, sit in the Pump Room and take the waters, visit the shops on Bond Street…whatever you fancy. Take some time to contemplate your decision.”

Impulsively Julia reached over to touch the back of his long-boned hand, slightly roughened with reddish-brown hair. “Thank you. You've been very kind.”

His hand didn't move beneath her fingers. “I have an ulterior motive. You would be difficult to replace at the Capital.”

Julia pulled back and smiled. “Have you ever loved anyone the way you love that wretched old theater, Mr. Scott?”

“Only once…and that was enough.”

The interior of the Capital Theatre was damaged by the combined effects of fire, smoke, and water, but it wasn't nearly as bad as Damon had expected. Pushing past some broken seats that blocked his path, he walked from the back of the theater toward the stage. There were at least a dozen men working beneath the ruined frontispiece, some of them perched on ladders to remove tatters of charred scenery, others sweeping and clearing out rubble.

In the midst of the action, Logan Scott labored to unroll a backcloth that must have been used in a previous production. “Hold that while I have a look at it,” he ordered the scene painter and a, nearby assistant. Standing back, he viewed the piece critically, folding his arms and shaking his head.

Alerted to Damon's approach, one of the crew members walked over to Logan Scott and murmured in a quiet undertone. Scott's head snapped around, and he regarded Damon with a piercing gaze. His expression was at once guarded and affable. “Lord Savage,” he said easily. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I'm looking for Mrs. Wentworth.” Damon had been driven to come here after being informed by Julia's servants that she had left London and would not be returning for a while. They had refused to reveal more than that, in spite of the bribery and outright threats he had used.

“You won't find her here,” Scott said.

“Where is she?”

Jumping down from the stage, Scott approached him with a cool, polite smile. He lowered his voice as he spoke. “At present Mrs. Wentworth doesn't want to be found, my lord.”

“That's too damned bad,” Damon said evenly. “I'm going to locate her with or without your help.”

Scott's features could have been chiseled from stone. He took a deep breath. “I have a fair idea of what's going on, Savage. It's not my right to disapprove. However, I've invested a great deal in Jessica—and the company needs her talents now more than ever. I hope you'll choose to respect her need for privacy.”