During her shopping expeditions and visits to the Pump Room, a magnificent building with Corinthian columns set within and without, Julia had overheard the local gossip concerning the play. Some claimed it was jinxed, and nothing would make them attend. Others expressed eager interest in the production. There was a fair amount of speculation about Mrs. Wentworth, which amused Julia as she sat nearby with a veil concealing her face.
It was necessary to keep her identity a secret. Years ago Julia had learned that she would never satisfy the expectations people had of her. Invariably they wanted her to be like one of the heroines she had played, complete with sparkling dialogue and flamboyant gestures. Even Logan Scott had complained that women desired—and sometimes demanded—that he play the romantic lover for them, just as he did onstage. “It's a common problem for actors,” he had informed her. “People are always disappointed when they find out we're as human as they are.”
When she reached the bath house, Julia entered the small building with its simple Grecian design, and nodded to the attendant who waited inside. Julia had made prior arrangements with the elderly woman that no one else would be allowed in the bath during her evening visit. It was the only way for Julia to enjoy an hour of peace without having to deal with gossip and questions and prying stares of curious women. Conveniently, few people ever wanted to visit the bath house during the unfashionable evening hours. It was believed to be more healthful—not to mention socially desirable—to bathe in the morning.
Julia left the antechamber and went through a warped wooden door into the bathing room. The surface of the water was as smooth as glass, reflecting the light of a single lamp mounted on the wall. Steam drifted from the pool and spread an acrid mineral scent through the air. The heated water would be a wonderful contrast to the cool air outside. Sighing in anticipation, Julia removed her clothes and piled them on a wooden chair. She used two pins to secure her hair in a knot on top of her head.
Carefully she descended the worn steps leading into the water. Warmth lapped against her calves and traveled to her hips, her waist, and then her shoulders as she reached the bottom of the pool. She shivered in pleasure at the penetrating heat, letting her arms float in the buoyant water, splashing it languidly against her throat.
As her body relaxed, her mind drifted from one thought to another. She wondered how Damon had reacted to her sudden disappearance, if he had tried to find her…or if he had been too busy dealing with Lady Ashton to give her a thought. Her imagination conjured a picture of him with Pauline, their bodies entwined in the act of love. She shook her head to clear away the image. It troubled her profoundly, the question of what had happened after she left Damon's home the night of the theater fire. Had Damon allowed his mistress to stay? Had they argued? Made love?
“I don't care, I don't care,” Julia muttered, rubbing her wet hands over her face. But that was a lie. Despite all her denials, fear, and stubbornness, she couldn't help but feel that Damon was hers. After all she had suffered because of their marriage, she had certainly earned the right to love him. On the other hand, if there was a baby…she wasn't certain she could live with the thought that she had influenced Damon to abandon his responsibilities.
Just as she splashed her face again, she heard the bath house attendant's chirruping voice. “Mrs. Wentworth?”
Wiping her blurry eyes, Julia looked toward the doorway where the elderly woman stood.
The gray curls pinned on top of the old woman's head bobbed cheerfully as she spoke. “Mrs. Wentworth, there's a visitor for you. One you'll be quite happy to see, I've no doubt.”
Julia shook her head emphatically. “I told you that no one is to come into the bath while I'm here—”
“Aye, but you wouldn't turn away your own husband, would you now?”
“Husband?” Julia asked sharply.
The attendant nodded until her pinned-up curls were in danger of toppling. “Aye, and a fine, handsome man he is.”
Julia's mouth sagged open in disbelief as Lord Savage pushed past the woman. “There you are,” he said pleasantly, his gaze falling to Julia as she sank deeper into the steaming pool. “Have you missed me, darling?”
Recovering quickly, Julia gave him a slitted glare. “Not at all.” She longed to fling an armful of water over his immaculate trousers and white linen shirt.
The bath attendant giggled at what she perceived as their playfulness. Damon turned to favor her with a charming smile. “My deepest thanks for reuniting me with my wife, madam. Now if you wouldn't mind allowing us a few minutes of privacy…and keeping other visitors away…”
“Not a soul will cross the threshold,” the woman vowed, winking at him as she departed. “Good evening, Mr. Wentworth!”
The name elicited a scowl from Damon. “I'm not Mr. Wentworth,” he muttered, but the attendant had already gone. When he turned back to Julia, she was still glaring at him.
“How did you find me?”
Casually Damon removed his coat and draped it across the back of a chair. “Your friend Arlyss told me that the acting company was preparing to tour in Bath. After investigating a few hotels and inns, I discovered where you were staying. The proprietor of the inn told me it was your habit to come here in the evenings.”
“He had no right—”
“I was very persuasive.” His gaze fell to the white tops of her breasts, gleaming in the wavering lamplight.
“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Julia said sarcastically. She came closer to the wall of the pool, concealing her body from him. Perhaps it was because of the heat of the water, but her heart had picked up a rapid beat. No one else looked at her the way he did, his gray eyes warm and appraising, filled with possessiveness.
Damon crouched near her, balancing his arms on his bent knees. “Keep running from me,” he said softly, “and I'll keep finding you.”
“You won't spend a single night with me at the inn. And I suspect that nearly every lodging in Bath is completely full. If you don't care to sleep in the street tonight, you'd better return to London without delay.”
“I own a terrace house at Laura Place.”
“Why?” she retorted, trying to cover her discomfort. “You're not exactly the kind of man to make the social rounds in Bath—”
“I bought the house for my father. He likes to come here when his health permits the journey. Would you like to see it?”
“Hardly. In case you hadn't noticed, I've been trying to avoid you.” Her head jerked back as Damon reached out to brush some drops of water off her chin. “Don't touch me!”
“If you're angry because of what happened with Pauline the other night—”
“It doesn't matter in the least. I don't care if you arranged for her to be there or not. And I'm more angry with myself than anyone else.”
“Because you wanted to be with me?” he murmured.
The silence would have been complete, except for the gentle sloshing of water in the pool. The relaxed feeling the bath had given Julia was now gone, replaced by a tension that stretched through every part of her. She stared at Damon's tautly honed face, the alert gleam of his eyes, and she realized the extent of his hunger. He was here because he wanted her—and he would not let her go easily.
“You shouldn't have followed me to Bath,” she snapped. “You won't get anything from me, especially not the kind of welcome you seem to expect.”
Rather than argue, he raked her with a thorough glance. His gaze fell to her slender hand, her fingers stiff against the slippery stone that edged the bath. “You're wearing the ring I gave you,” he observed.
Julia's hand clenched, and she lowered it into the water, submerging the sparkling diamond. “It doesn't mean anything, except that I happen to like it. And if you presume that my favors can be bought—”
“I'm presuming nothing.” A smile crossed his lips. “You seem to expect that I'll pounce on you at any moment. I'm almost inclined to think you'll be disappointed if I don't.”
“Let's n
ot play games,” she said pertly. “You're here because you want to bed me again.”
“Of course I do,” he replied in a level voice. “And you want the same thing. As I recall, it was a mutually enjoyable experience—or will you try to claim you were only acting?”
Reddening in frustration, Julia drew her arm back in open threat. “Leave, or I'll throw enough water on you to ruin those very fine clothes.”
Damon's smile remained. “Then I'd have no reason not to join you.”
Slowly her arm relaxed. “Please leave,” she said through her teeth. “I've been in the bath long enough. My skin is beginning to wrinkle.”
He extended a solicitous hand to her. “I'll help you out.”
“No, thank you.”
“Shy?” he asked with a mocking lift of his brows. “I've seen you naked before. Once more will hardly make a difference.”
“I won't get out until you've left!”
A taunting smile curved his lips. “I'm not leaving.”
Irritated beyond bearing, Julia kept her features expressionless and extended a hand to him. “Very well,” she said coolly. “You may help me out of the bath.” Obligingly Damon reached in for her, and she took hold of his wrist with both hands. Before he could brace himself against her forward pull, she used all her weight to tug him into the water. With a muffled curse, he lost his balance and plunged headfirst.
Julia yelped in triumph and retreated to the opposite side of the bath. She couldn't help sputtering with laughter as Damon emerged with his black hair plastered to his head. Through the water-spiked frames of his lashes, his gray eyes promised retribution. “You little devil,” he muttered, and lunged for her.
Laughing with a mixture of enjoyment and alarm, Julia fought to evade him. Damon caught her around the waist and pulled her against his body, the soaked layers of his clothes crushed between them.
“You needed a medicinal dunking,” she informed him, still shaking with giggles. “The water will cure all your ills.”
“There's one problem it won't cure,” he said meaningfully, and cupped his hands over her naked buttocks, pressing her hard against him.
Julia's laughter dissolved as she felt the swelling shape of him wedged intimately high between her thighs. Her body drifted in the hot water until she anchored herself to him, holding on to his shoulders, allowing her legs to wrap around his hips. Their breath mingled in irregular bursts as they stared at each other. Although they were both perfectly still, Julia had the sensation of being tumbled over and over in the onslaught of an incoming tide, caught helplessly in the pull of the churning waves.
Gently she pushed the locks of water-soaked hair from his forehead, her fingers passing from his temple to his ear. Her thumb brushed his jaw, and then she touched the soft place just beneath the bone of his chin. She was enthralled by the scratchy-slick feel of his skin, the movement of muscle as he swallowed.
Suddenly Damon hoisted her higher against him, his movements effortless in the buoyant water. His large hands hooked underneath her arms, holding her steady as he bent his head to her breast. Julia squirmed in protest until she felt his mouth slide across the tender curve of her breast and fasten onto a flushed nipple. The flicker of his tongue caused an achingly sweet response, the soft peak contracting in his mouth. He tugged and stroked her with his mouth, making her gasp and arch in his arms. Greedily her hands clawed at the thin linen film of his shirt, craving the feel of his bare skin.
Lowering her back into the water, Damon slid his hand over her hip and across the taut skin of her belly. His touch glided between her thighs, reaching into the velvet patch of hair until he found the most sensitive part of her. Julia shuddered in growing desire, wanting more of the pleasure he offered. But an awareness of where they were, a public place, kept her from abandoning herself completely.
“We can't,” she gasped against his mouth. “Not here.”
“Do you want me?” he whispered, and kissed her deeply, tasting the sweet warmth of her mouth.
Julia trembled against him, her body slick and weightless in his arms. Through the blur of her wet lashes, she saw his face next to hers, his skin gleaming like bronze, his gaze promising erotic fantasies.
At her silence, Damon lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing and nibbling the sensitive path that led up to her ear. “All you have to do is tell me,” he murmured. “Just one word, Julia…yes or no.”
A small moan escaped her. She was drowning in sensation, wanting what she had forbidden herself, knowing how wrong it was…but that didn't matter. It seemed that nothing and no one existed outside this small room. Her hand came to the water-soaked hair at the back of his neck, gripping feverishly. “Yes,” she whispered.
Damon pried at the buttons on his shirt, smiling as Julia tried to help him, their fingers slipping and tangling beneath the surface of the pool. When his chest was bared, Julia drew her hands down the smooth expanse, as hard as wet marble. The tips of her breasts brushed against his skin, and she breathed faster in excitement. “Hurry,” she urged, spreading kisses over his face and neck.
Damon paused in the difficult act of unfastening his wet trousers, one brow raised sardonically. “I've never disrobed under water before. It's not as easy as you might think.”
“Try harder,” Julia whispered, kissing him. Her tongue entered his mouth, tempting and teasing, until he gave a laughing groan and yanked more roughly at his trousers. The fastenings finally gave way, allowing his rampant erection to spring free. Julia's hand closed around the hard silken length, gently gripping and sliding.
He said her name, his voice ragged in her ear, his fingers digging into her hips as he guided her body over his. He held her steady and pushed inside her slowly. She whimpered and clung to Him, shivering in delight. Damon nudged deeper, wanting to thrust rapidly but restrained by the sloshing water to a torturously slow rhythm. Their bodies flexed together in a teasing, sliding friction that promised to last an eternity.
Quivering, Julia wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his wet throat. She felt the powerful force of his breath expanding in his chest. It seemed that they had become one being, sharing the same rhythms of pulse and nerves. The pleasure climbed sharply, shocking her with its intensity. She lost all awareness except the driving movements inside her, the sensations that overflowed until she could bear them no longer.
Damon smothered her cry with his mouth feeling the convulsive shudders of her body as she climaxed. Her inner muscles rippled tightly around him, sending him to his own forceful release. He closed his eyes, while his senses shattered and his blood was set on fire. “Julia,” he gasped against her tautly arched throat. “I'll never let you go…never…”
Somehow Julia heard him above the chaotic rushing of her own blood. While part of her rebelled against the ownership in his voice, another part of her gloried in it. She owned him too; she took the same deep pleasure in their joining…and despite her inexperience she Knew that she would never find this with anyone else. Weak and fulfilled and despairing, she sagged against him in the water. His hands slipped over her body, traveling softly from the nape of her neck to her hips.
“Let me stay the night with you,” he murmured.
Julia saw no point in objecting. It would be hypocritical after what had just happened. She gave him a small nod and wriggled away, feeling him slip from her body.
Glancing back at Damon, she choked on a sudden giggle as she saw him fishing at the bottom of the pool for his shoes. When he resurfaced und held up the ruined leather articles in triumph, Julia shook her head slowly. “Do you intend to walk to the inn dressed in wet clothes? You'll catch a chill, or worse.”
Damon drew her out of the bath, his gray eyes caressing as he glanced over her flushed, naked body. “You can warm me when we reach your room.”
Chapter 9
Filled with vitality and a sense of lightness, Julia stood on the stage of Bath's New Theatre and surveyed the activity around her with s
atisfaction. The fire in London didn't seem to have daunted the spirits of the cast and crew. Busily they assembled new scenery, rehearsed bits of dialogue and stage blocking, and exchanged jokes about the hardships of touring.
“Bloody boring little city,” Arlyss murmured, resting her hands on her hips. She made a comical face at Julia. “Not a healthy young man in sight. Nothing but desperate old maids and invalids.”
Julia smiled wryly. “I thought we were here to perform My Lady Deception, not to look for men.”
“The day I stop looking…” Arlyss began, and suddenly stopped with an odd expression on her face.
Following her friend's gaze, Julia saw that Mary Woods, one of the company's minor actresses, was flirting openly with Michael Fiske. The scene painter seemed more than a little interested in the pretty young woman and her ebullient smile.
“What is she doing, taking up Fiske's time when she should be rehearsing her part?” Arlyss demanded, a scowl pulling at the bridge of her slim nose.
Julia repressed a smile as she heard the distinct note of jealousy in Arlyss's voice. “Mary has only a few lines. I'm sure she knows them to perfection by now.”
Arlyss's scowl remained. “Mr. Fiske has enough to do without entertaining the likes of her.”
“You could have had Fiske, had you wanted him,” Julia said matter-of-factly. “But as I recall, you were more taken with Lord William Savage.”
“Well, he was no better than any of the others,” Arlyss retorted. “Although William is divine in bed, he apparently has no interest in me outside of it. I'm finished with him. With all men, at the moment.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she pointedly turned her back on the sight of Michael Fiske and Mary Woods. Just then Julia saw Fiske take a surreptitious glance at Arlyss. So he was trying to make her jealous, Julia thought, and her lips twitched with sympathetic amusement.
“Let's talk about your paramour,” Arlyss suggested, turning impish. “Lord Savage came to see me in London—he was trying to find you. All I said to him was that the company was going to begin touring in Bath. Did he come here? Have you seen him?”