Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(66)

“I want to spend some time with you. I want to know more about the life you lead, and why it holds such attraction for you. And I want you to know more about me. The fact is, we're still strangers. Before we discuss how to end our marriage, it wouldn't hurt to become more familiar with each other.”

“I suppose not,” Julia said cautiously, looking up at him. She made a move to unroll the black veil from the crown of her hat. He did it for her, carefully arranging the netting over her face.

“Then have supper with me tonight at my terrace. I'll deliver you to the inn afterward, completely untouched. You have my word.”

Julia considered the offer. The thought of having a meal by herself at the inn, or with other people in the acting company, sounded none too appealing at the moment. “I suppose anything your cook prepares will be better than the fare at the inn,” she said.

Her grudging acceptance provoked a smile from him. “You have my word on that as well.” He pulled her hand into the crook of his arm. “Let's go, madam, before your public become even more unruly.”

It had always been necessary for Julia to fend off overeager suitors and admirers by herself. It was a pleasant change to walk out on a strong man's arm, letting him assume control of the situation. She made no protest as Damon slid a protective hand onto her slender back and guided her through the crush of inquisitive strangers outside. Immediately she was assaulted by eager questions and hands plucking at her hat, veil, and cloak.

Startled, Julia felt her hat being pulled off her head. Smarting tears came to her eyes as the anchoring pin tugged sharply. Turning away from the slew of excited cries, she clung to Damon until they reached the carriage. She managed to smile and wave at the crowd before entering the vehicle. Damon wasn't nearly so forgiving, shoving the people at the front of the mob to keep them at bay, ignoring their protests.

Tucked safely inside the carriage, Julia sighed in relief and rubbed her sore scalp. “I thought they might pluck my hair out by the roots,” she exclaimed as the carriage pulled away.

Damon's gaze was imperturbable. “Basking in public adoration, pursued by everyone…it must be what every actress wants.”

Julia considered the remark and replied carefully. “I suppose I like knowing that people are pleased with what I do…and their approval means that my position at the Capital and my salary are secure.”

“Their approval means more to you than that.”

Annoyed by the derisive note in his voice, Julia opened her mouth to reply. But she closed it abruptly. He was right, although she hated his perceptiveness, not wanting anyone to read her with such apparent ease. She did like the feeling of being admired by the public, who seemed more than ready to give her all the attention and affection her father had always denied her.

“Leading an ordinary life must pale in comparison,” Damon remarked.

“I wouldn't know,” she said with an edge of sarcasm, pulling down her disheveled hair. “Tell me what an ordinary life is like…oh, but I forgot. You wouldn't know either.”

“I lead the life I was intended for.”

“So do I,” she said defensively.

There was a sardonic twist at the corner of his mouth, but he chose not to argue. He watched her steadily as she used one of her tortoiseshell combs to straighten her hair before twisting it back up again.

The terrace house was as elegant as one would expect of an address in posh Laura Place. The gleaming oak floors were covered with pale English hand-knotted carpets, upon which were scattered handsome pieces of polished rosewoodfurniture and urns filled with lush plants. Pale yellow and green curtains covered the long windows, while sheets of ornately framed mirror glass gave the rooms an airy, open appearance.

Relaxing in the luxurious candlelit atmosphere of the small dining room, Julia applied herself hungrily to the meal. The array of French dishes included chicken and truffles in champagne sauce, veal scallops stuffed with herbs, and vegetables glistening with a hint of butter. A plate of wine-soaked fruit was brought out for dessert, as well as tiny almond tarts heaped with raspberries and meringue.

“After such a large meal, I won't be able to fit into my costumes,” Julia said, biting into a tart and making an appreciative noise.

“You barely do now.”

Julia smiled at the touch of jealousy in his voice. “Compared to other actresses, my costumes are extraordinarily modest.” She picked up a raspberry that had fallen to her plate and consumed it daintily.

The shadow of displeasure remained on his face. “I don't like it that other men are able to see so much of my wife. I know exactly what they think when they look at you.”

Amused by his possessiveness, Julia leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him. “What do they think?” she prompted.

On the pretext of pouring more wine for her, Damon stood and walked to her side of the table. Half-sitting on the edge, he refilled her glass and looked down at her. Julia didn't move, even when his warm gaze traveled to her br**sts and back to her face. Lightly he caught the fragile edge of her jaw in his fingers, and tilted her head back.

“They imagine what your skin feels like, and if it could really be as soft as it appears.” His forefinger traced the curve of her cheek and grazed the tender corner of her lips. “They wonder how you taste…they think about loosening your hair and letting it fall over your body…arranging it over your br**sts…” His hand moved in a slow caress down her throat, and then the backs of his knuckles passed once, twice over the peak of her breast.