Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(89)

“No,” Julia murmured. “Now isn't the time. Perhaps someday, though…”

“Rome,” he promised. “Or Greece. We'll go to a festival in Athens and watch plays in an open-air theater.”

Julia smiled and murmured good night, smoothing her hair as she headed to her dressing room. Passing a number of people who were crossing through the dark backstage area, she found herself squeezed to the side, where she waited for the crowd to pass. “Mrs. Wentworth?” came a low voice beside her. She recognized one of the stagehands. He and a male companion stood on either side of her, forced together by the crush of people around them.

“Yes,” Julia said uncomfortably. “It's very crowded, isn't it?” She waited until she found an opportunity to leave, and walked away from the stagehand and his friend. To her surprise, they went in the same direction, following her closely. An uneasy feeling crept over her, and she quickened her pace until she had almost reached her dressing room.

Before Julia had reached the threshold, she was grabbed from behind, her sudden scream muffled by a cotton gag, her arms bound efficiently behind her. Terror exploded inside her. She writhed in vain as they threw a cloak over her, its hood flapping down to conceal her face. The two men ushered her away with rapid strides, their hands gripping her arms and holding her upright.

“Sorry, Mrs. Wentworth,” one of them muttered, “but there's a gentleman waiting outside who paid us to bring you to him. He says he only wants to talk to you for a few minutes…that's not too much to ask, is it?”

Stiff with fear, Julia was half-dragged, half-carried to the back of the theater, and loaded into a waiting carriage. The hood obscured her view completely. Blindly she waited with her arms bound and imprisoned between the seat and her back. Her breath came in hard bursts. There was nothing but silence in the vehicle. It started with a lurch, and began to move away from the theater.

Sweat trickled in icy droplets down Julia's neck and between her br**sts. Just as she surmised that she was alone in the carriage, she felt someone move to the space beside her. Cringing, she lowered her head as a hand grasped the edge of the hood and yanked it back to reveal her face. Slowly she looked up with wide eyes and beheld the face of her husband—former husband—Lord Savage.

Her first reaction was a blaze of fury, but that died quickly as she stared at him. She felt her face blanch beneath the streaks of her makeup. It was Damon as she had never seen him before, disheveled and reeking of brandy.

He spoke in a barely recognizable drawl. “Good evening, Mrs. Wentworth. So kind of you to allow me an hour or two of your valuable time. I would have fetched you myself, but it seemed easier this way.” His hot fingers came to the side of her jaw and stroked the soft edge. Julia jerked her head back and glared at him, silently demanding that he remove the gag from her mouth.

“No,” he muttered, reading her thoughts. “I don't need to hear what you have to say. You've made yourself clear by cutting me loose and agreeing to marry Scott. Yes, I know about that…you should have known better than to trust Arlyss with your secrets.”

He pulled the cloak from her shoulders and stared openly at her body, at the mounds of her br**sts thrust forward by the pressure of her arms behind her back. Julia inhaled sharply, her spine as rigid as steel.

“Have you taken him as your lover yet?” Damon asked. “You haven't the look of a satisfied woman…the look you wear after I've made love to you. Did you enjoy his hands on you, his mouth on yours? How does it feel to lie with a man you don't love?”

Julia wanted to shake her head in denial, but she kept stubbornly still, her eyes fixed on his brooding face. Damn him for doing this to her, the selfish bastard! He wanted retribution…he wanted to scare the wits out of her. There was something different about his appearance tonight, a coarseness that obliterated his handsomeness and gave him the appearance of a satyr. Tonight it seemed as if he would be capable of anything…as if he were a wounded beast who would take pleasure in hurting anyone and everyone within reach.

“He doesn't love you,” Damon said. “I wouldn't either, if I could help it. I would do anything to drive thoughts of you out of my head…your face, your sweet body…” He touched her breast, gently at first, then closed his fingers around the swelling curve and gripped until Julia made a small sound of discomfort. “This is mine,” he said, his breath wafting against her face and throat. “You're still my wife. That will never change. No law of God or man will take you away from me.”

Outraged, Julia tried to move away from him, but he pinned her against the seat. Her mind reeled as he bent over her body with an incomprehensible murmur, his lips seeking her throat, his hands fondling her with clumsy but passionate intent. She closed her eyes and fought against her own response, but nothing would stop the sudden thrill of her nerves, the rise of her ni**les against his palms, the goosebumps that swept over her skin. Her body relished the familiar smell of him, the crisp brush of his hair against her cheek as his mouth wandered from her neck to her cle**age.

Damon licked the trace of salt on her skin, his breath burning like steam against the moist path his mouth had made. At the sound of her faint whimper, he raised his head and stared at her in triumph. Julia knew that her face was flushed and her pulse was racing, that the signs of her arousal were clear. Roughly he pulled the gag from her mouth and crushed his lips over hers, sending his tongue deep in an ardent search.