Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(80)

He urged her against the dressing table and lowered his head to her breast, drawing the tight peak past his lips, against the flat of his tongue. Holding on to him for balance, Julia clasped his taut body between her thighs, her arms locked around his waist. Damon turned his attention to her other breast, licking and tugging at the rosy crest. Julia was trapped between desire and denial, knowing that the closeness she craved so desperately would be her ultimate undoing.

“Please stop,” she said between the rasping breaths that were torn from her throat. “Please…I don't want this.”

At first Damon seemed not to hear her, his attention focused on the ripening promise of her body, his mouth moving hungrily over her skin. She pushed at his chest and head, tentatively and then with greater force, until the embrace was broken. His gaze bore into hers, hands coming up to hold her head steady. “I'm going to London,” he said thickly, “and then I'm coming back for you.”

“No—”

“I'll never let you go. Not until you can look into my eyes and tell me that you don't love me…that you can spend the rest of your life without needing this…without wanting me.”

Her lips trembled, but she couldn't make a sound.

The opening click of the door, as quiet as it was, made them both start in surprise. The maid, Betsy, stood in the doorway with a basket of clothes. “Oh,” she said, her eyes round as she beheld Julia's visitor.

Damon moved in front of Julia to hide her from view while she fumbled with the laces to her bodice. “Excuse me, Mrs. Wentworth,” the maid murmured, and disappeared at once. The door shut firmly behind her.

Flushing, Julia continued the effort to restore her clothing, while Damon watched intently. “Please don't come back for me,” Julia said, avoiding his gaze. “I can't see you for a while. I need time to think.”

“You mean you want time to convince yourself that things can go back to the way they were before we met. It won't work, Julia. You'll never be the same…and neither will I.”

“You'll make it impossible for me to act. I won't be able to concentrate on anything.”

“I'll return soon,” he insisted, “and we'll settle things once and for all.”

Julia didn't move as Damon left. She leaned against the dressing table for support and let out an unsteady breath. It seemed that she had finally lost the tight control she had maintained over her life ever since leaving home. She thought of the papers her father had given her, the key to her freedom. Did she have the courage to use them? She hated the paralysis that had come over her, the fear of losing Damon almost as great as the fear of giving herself to him.

Slowly she undressed, letting her costume drop to the floor in a heap. “Mrs. Wentworth?” came Betsy's voice, accompanied by a timid knock.

“Yes, come in.”

The maid's face was stained with a blush. “I'm sorry about interrupting before, ma'am, but I didn't know—”

“That's perfectly all right,” Julia said evenly. “Just help me with my clothes.”

The maid helped Julia to dress, fastening a row of buttons on the back of her green silk gown. After pinning her hair tightly on the crown of her head, Julia washed her face and checked her appearance in the looking-glass. Her lips were soft and swollen, her cheeks were flushed, and there were betraying bristle marks on her throat. Carefully Julia arranged the high ruched neckline of her gown to cover the marks. She paused as she heard Logan Scott's deep murmur beyond the dressing room.

“Mrs. Wentworth, I desire a word with you.”

Julia motioned for the maid to admit him inside. Logan had also changed his clothes and washed, the residual dampness turning his gleaming hair the color of cherry wood.

Picking up her basket of clothes, Betsy said good night and left them alone.

“Were you pleased with the performance tonight?” Julia asked, “or have you come to deliver a critique?”

Logan smiled. “You exceeded every hope I had for you. You made everyone in the cast shine in your reflected glory, including myself.”

The lavish praise was so unexpected that Julia was disconcerted. She gave him a tentative smile and turned to straighten the articles on her dressing table.

“I saw Lord Savage coming backstage,” Logan remarked. “From his expression, it was obvious he didn't intend to congratulate you.”

“No, he didn't.” Julia's hands went still on the dressing table, fingertips pressed on the smooth surface until they turned white. She took care that her reflection gave no clue as to what had happened.

Logan regarded her thoughtfully and gave a short nod, as if coming to a decision. “Come with me, Julia. I want to talk to you about an idea I've been considering lately.”

She turned toward him, unable to hide her surprise. “The hour is late.”

“I'll deliver you to the inn by midnight.” His wide mouth curved in a smile. “I have a proposition that concerns your future.”

Julia was intrigued. “Tell me.”

“In private.” Logan clamped a gentle hand over her arm and drew her from the dressing room.

“Where are we going?” she asked, picking up her cloak as they left.

“I have a house near the river.”