Logan was the closest thing to a mentor she had, and the problem she faced was too overwhelming to deal with on her own. There was no one else she could trust for sound advice. She wondered if Logan would eject her from the house at once, if he would be surprised at her unexpected appearance, or angry, or both. It was possible he would be amused by her dilemma, and mock her. She winced at the thought but forced herself to continue walking.
The tall footman who had preceded her was talking to the butler, who disappeared and returned shortly. The butler's training was evident in the complete lack of expression on his face, even when confronted with the sight of a shivering young woman in a charred stage costume. “Mr. Scott will see you, Mrs. Wentworth,” he murmured.
After dismissing the footman, Julia followed the butler inside. She hoped that she hadn't awakened Logan after he had already retired for the evening. Surely not—she couldn't imagine him sleeping after everything that had happened that night. Her thoughts were distracted as she wandered through the house, hardly able to believe she was finally getting a glimpse of Logan Scott's private world.
The decor of the rooms was Italianate, with pieces of intricately carved furniture, painted frescoes on the ceilings, and pale marble busts. An air of lushness pervaded the place, everything polished and velvety and quietly understated. The upholstery and window hangings were all in rich shades of blue, gold, and plum.
They came to an intimate parlor where the furniture was piled with silk and velvet pillows, and small inlaid tables were laden with novels and books of engravings. Logan Scott rose from a chaise longue as Julia crossed the threshold. “Mrs. Wentworth,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “How are you? No injuries from the fire, I hope?.”
“I'm very well,” Julia assured him. Her gaze traveled to the other occupant of the parlor, one of the most exotically beautiful women she had ever seen. She had creamy golden skin, straight black hair, and striking pale green eyes. The heavy silk robe she wore was belted tightly at a slim waist, revealing the shape of a lithe, long figure. Julia was fascinated by her. So this was the mysterious woman who was living with Logan. Was she more than a mistress to him, or merely a convenience?
The woman smiled at Julia and came to stand by Logan's side. “I will leave the two of you to talk,” she said tactfully, and smoothed her hand over Logan's hair in a proprietary sweep before taking her leave.
Logan stared at Julia speculatively. His eyes were reddened from exposure to smoke, making the blue irises seem more unnervingly bright than ever. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a cushioned chair nearby. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, anything,” Julia said gratefully, settling into the comfortable chair. He brought her a glass of pale amber liquid, which she identified as watered-down whiskey, smooth and slightly sweet. After pouring himself a glass of straight spirits, Logan sat nearby and stretched out his legs. Like her, he hadn't yet changed from his costume. It was in poor condition, stained with sweat and smoke, the shirt ripped in places, the trousers torn at the knee.
“How is the theater?” Julia asked hesitantly, sipping her whiskey. It wasn't a drink she particularly enjoyed, but she welcomed its bracing effect.
His face was shadowed with a frown. “It wasn't destroyed, but there are many expensive repairs to make. We'll have to cut half the number of shows I planned for the season, and take the rest on tour in the provinces. In the meanwhile, I'll travel back and forth to oversee the work being done on the Capital.”
“Oh.” Julia hated touring, the late hours, the poor food and dirty rooms. In the past they had taken a few shows on limited tours to places such as Bristol, Leicester, and Chester. It was tiring to deal with the crowds that usually waited outside her lodgings, and to bear the close scrutiny she received no matter where she went.
In spite of .his obvious weariness, Logan smiled at her lack of enthusiasm. “No complaints,” he murmured. “I'm not fit for sparring tonight.”
Julia managed a wan smile in return. “Neither am I.” Looking down at her costume, she toyed with a fold of her skirts. “The play was going splendidly tonight before the fire broke out. I'm certain it would have been well-reviewed.”
“We'll take it to Bath next week.”
“So soon?” Julia asked, raising her brows in astonishment. “But the backcloth and set pieces that were destroyed—”
“I'll have Fiske and the others improvise something. They can alter the sea-and-shore pieces we saved from The Merchant of Venice, and some of the cloths we used in other productions.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “The fact is, we can't afford to delay our touring.”
“Perhaps some benefit shows will raise extra funds to repair the theater,” Julia suggested.
“I'll worry about the money. In the meantime…” He stared at her steadily. “Why are you here, Jessica?”
She sipped furtively at her whiskey. “I…need your guidance.”
Logan waited for her to continue, exhibiting a patience that was unusual for him.
Julia inhaled and let out a long breath. “I'm having personal problems,” she blurted out.
“I already guessed that. Go on.”
“I'm not behaving at all like myself, I'm making choices that I know are wrong, and yet I can't seem to help myself. I'm afraid my work will suffer, but most of all I'm afraid of what I might do next—”
“Wait,” Logan murmured, sorting through the babbling statements. “This has something to do with a man, I surmise. Is it Lord Savage by chance?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.” Sardonic amusement glinted in his eyes. “He's turned your life inside-out…and now you think you're beginning to fall in love with him.”
Julia disliked the way he put it, as if her feelings were merely a cliché and her distress unwarranted. Logan didn't understand the huge, cold knot in her chest, the loneliness that was driving her toward disaster. But she considered his statement seriously. The things she felt for Damon, the powerful physical attraction, the yearning for his company, the sense that they understood each other…A deep tremor went through her as she forced herself to face the truth. Yes, she was in love with Damon. Her eyes prickled with tears, and she hastily downed more of the whiskey until her throat stung.
“It's not something I want to feel,” she said, coughing slightly.
“Of course not.” Logan ruffled his mahogany hair and tugged absently at a gleaming forelock. “Have you slept with him?”
“That's none of your business!”
“You have,” he said dispassionately, reading the answer in her affronted expression. “That explains a great deal. You're not the kind to give your favors easily. No doubt you have trouble distinguishing love from passion—and that's dangerous. Never indulge in an affair unless you're in complete control of it. If Savage seems to be more than you can manage, break it off with him. No matter how painful it seems at the time, it's the only wise choice.”
“It's not that easy,” Julia said.
“Why not?”
“Because…I happen to be married to him.”
Were she not so miserable, Julia would have enjoyed the sudden blankness of her employer's face. She hadn't expected that Logan, so worldly-wise and sophisticated, would have been quite so shocked by her revelation.
Choking on his drink, Logan required a moment to recover himself. “For how long?” he asked dazedly.
“Eighteen years.”
Any attempt at self-possession was drowned in a fresh tide of bewilderment. “Jessica, you're not making sense—”
“We were married as children.”
Looking fascinated and appalled, Logan set his drink aside. “Go on,” he said softly.
Words came tumbling out as she told him about her past and the marriage that had burdened her for so long. She felt his unblinking gaze on her as she spoke, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. It felt odd to be confessing the truth after two years of keeping her secr
et, but relief unfurled inside her as she confessed everything, leaving out only the part about Lady Ashton's pregnancy. For some reason that seemed too personal to tell him, leaving both her and Damon open to mockery.
At the end of Julia's monologue, Logan appeared to have composed himself somewhat. “Now that you've revealed all this, what do you want from me?”
“I suppose I want someone to tell me what to do. And don't say that I must make these decisions by myself, because I don't seem to be able—”
“Does Savage want to make a go of the marriage?”
“I'm not certain,” Julia said cautiously. “I think…perhaps he might.”
“I'll tell you my opinion. It's no good, Jessica…Julia. If you stay with him, you won't want to make the sacrifices he'll ask of you.”
“I know,” she whispered sadly.
“Moreover, I don't believe in love. At least not in the grand, passionate emotion we create for people on stage. That's an illusion, one that never lasts People are intrinsically selfish. When they're in love, they make false promises to each other in order to get what they want. And after the love fades or is destroyed, all that is left are lies and disillusionment…and memories that keep you awake at night.”
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.”
Damon would be damned if he discussed his private life with Julia's employer. But the discomforting truth was that Scott had known Julia far longer than he had. She seemed to trust Scott, and she was grateful to him for having given her the opportunity to work at the Capital. Although she had indicated that their relationship went no deeper than that, Damon couldn't help but be suspicious. How could Scott not be attracted to a woman like Julia?
“Could it be that you have some other interest in keeping her away from me?” Damon asked with a sardonic smile. “Or do all theater managers exhibit such personal concern for their actresses?”
Scott was expressionless. “I consider Mrs. Wentworth to be a friend, my lord. And I will lend her my protection whenever it appears to be necessary.”
“Protection against what? A man who could offer her something besides a life of spinning fantasies in front of an audience?” Damon cast a contemptuous glance at the scorched walls and singed curtains of the theater. “She needs more than this, whether or not either of you wants to admit it.”
“Can you give her everything she wants?” Scott murmured.
“That remains to be seen.”
Scott shook his head. “Regardless of the rights you seem to think you have over Jessica, you don't know her. Perhaps you intend to remove her from the world of the theater and give her sub
stitutes, but she would wither like a cut flower.”
“Spoken as a concerned friend?” Damon asked with deceptive idleness. “Or as a manager worried about his profits?” Although Scott didn't react visibly to the taunt, there was a sudden rigidity to his posture that told Damon he had hit his target.
“She means more to me than profits.”
“How much more?” When met with silence, Damon laughed shortly. “Spare me your hypocritical concern over Mrs. Wentworth. Just don't interfere in my relationship with her…or I'll make you wish to God you'd never set eyes on me.”
“I already do,” Scott muttered, standing like a statue as he watched Damon leave.
The city of Bath had first been built by the Romans around a series of natural hot mineral springs. In the early 1700s, the area was developed by the Georgians into a fashionable resort, with sedate promenades and tall, elegant Palladian terraces. Now in its maturity, Bath was available not only to the ton but to the middle classes as well. They came to improve their health by drinking and bathing in the medicinal waters, and to renew cherished social acquaintances. Settled along the river Avon among a cluster of lush limestone hills, the city offered entertainment, shopping, and lodgings that ranged from merely comfortable to luxurious.
Walking toward the bath house and thermal spring near her inn, Julia watched the last of the sun's pink and lavender rays disappear behind the New Theatre. It was an elegant building that housed a fine stage and three tiers of boxes, all magnificently adorned with crimson and gold. Julia had been in Bath for a week, and during the last two days she had seen shipments of boxes filled with stage equipment arrive in preparation for the opening of My Lady Deception. Some of the crew and cast had also come to town. Logan had sent word that everyone must be fully assembled for tomorrow's rehearsal in preparation for the first performance on Thursday.