She met his gaze directly. “I've told you the truth.”

“Then produce a doctor for me soon, Pauline—one who'll stake his reputation on the fact that you're breeding. That's the only chance you have of keeping me from wringing your neck.”

“You're in an ugly mood because I've thwarted your plans to bed that little theater whore tonight—”

“Not one word against her.” A bolt of fury caused his voice to shake.

Although enraged, Pauline recognized the sincerity of his unspoken threat. For several moments she struggled to control her emotions.

“I understand that you want her,” she finally said. “Perhaps as much as you once wanted me. But I will not step aside to make things easy for you. I will have what I want, what I am owed.” She stared into his granite-hard face and softened her voice, her expression changing from sullen to cajoling. “It's not exactly a torment to be with me, is it? You've enjoyed my company in the past—that doesn't have to change. If our games in bed have begun to bore you, I'll invent new ones. I'll satisfy you in ways that most women would never dare—”

“It's over,” he said coldly.

Her dark eyes widened. “Exactly what is over?”

“Our relationship—at least the way it has been.”

“What about the child?”

“If you produce a baby within the next nine months, I'll decide what my responsibility is. If not, there will be no doubt that I'm not the father—because I'm not going to bed you, I'm not going to touch you, and God willing, I won't even have to see you.”

“There is a baby,” she said, each word snapped out like a whiplash. “You'll eat your words, Damon. You'll regret that you treated me this way.”

“Perhaps.” He took her by the arm in a painful grip and began to usher her upstairs. “In the meanwhile you're going to dress yourself and get the hell out of my house.”

Chapter 8

“Tell the butler that I wish to see Mr. Scott,” Julia said to the footman, stepping down from the carriage. “Tell him I regret that the hour is late, but this is an urgent matter.”

“Yes, Mrs. Wentworth.” The footman strode rapidly to the front door and alerted the butler inside to their arrival.

Julia followed slowly, her courage evaporating with each step she took toward Logan Scott's luxurious house in the quiet court suburb of St. James Square. The house was three bays wide and fronted with massive fluted columns that seemed designed to intimidate curious visitors such as herself. She had never been here before—Logan had all but forbidden the actors and crew of the Capital to set foot on the property.

As far as Julia knew, Logan rarely entertained at home. The few who had been privileged to visit hadn't breathed a word about the house or its occupant, respecting his wishes for privacy. It was his exclusive domain, this small estate, and it seemed to be covered by an invisible shroud of mystery. But she wanted to see him, and it didn't seem possible to wait until morning.

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 secret, 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.”