Chapter 2

1827

As soon as the hired detective left the room, Damon abandoned all pretense of calm. Although he never allowed himself to lose his self-control, this was too much frustration to bear. The urge to shout, hit someone, break something, was unbearable. He wasn't aware that he had been holding a glass until he heard it shatter in the library fireplace with explosive force. “Dammit, where is she?”

A few moments later, the door opened and his brother Lord William peered gingerly around the edge. “Apparently the detective had no luck in finding our mystery marchioness.”

Damon was silent, but the uncharacteristic flush on his face betrayed his emotions. While the two brothers were strikingly similar in appearance, in temperament they couldn't be more different. They both had the black hair and the striking, sharp-hewn features common to the Savage clan. But Damon's gray eyes, the shade of smoke and shadows, rarely revealed his thoughts, whereas William's gaze was usually filled with mischief. William possessed a charm and happy-go-lucky air that Damon, the elder, had never had the time nor the inclination to cultivate.

So far in his short life of twenty years, William had managed to land himself in a large number of scrapes and predicaments. He had sailed through them all with the youthful conviction that nothing bad would ever happen to him. Yet Damon seldom rebuked him, knowing that at heart William was a good lad. What did it matter if he indulged his high spirits for a while? Damon intended for his younger brother to have all the freedom and advantages that he'd never been allowed—and he would protect Will from the harsh realities that he himself had not been spared.

“What did he say?” William prompted.

“I don't want to talk now.”

William sauntered into the room, heading to the mahogany pedestal side cabinet that held rows of opulent cut-glass decanters. “You know,” he remarked casually, “it's not necessary that you find Julia Hargate in order to get rid of her. You've been searching for three years, and there's no sign of her here or abroad. It's clear that the Hargates don't want her to be found. Her relatives and friends are either unwilling or unable to divulge any information. You could obtain an annulment, I daresay.”

“I won't without Julia's knowledge.”

“But why? God knows you don't owe her anything.”

“I owe her a fortune,” Damon said grimly. “Or rather, the family does.”

William shook his head as he handed a fresh glass of brandy to his brother. “You and your damned sense of responsibility. Any other man in your position would cast off Julia Hargate like unwanted ballast. You don't even know her!”

Taking a deep swallow of brandy, Damon stood from his desk and wandered around the room. “I need to find her. She was a victim in this as much as I. The agreement was made without our consent, but at least we can dissolve it together. Besides, I don't want to take any steps without making some kind of settlement on her.”

“With her family's fortune behind her, she has no need of a settlement.”

“There's a possibility she has broken with the Hargates. I won't know until I find her.”

“I hardly think Julia is destitute, brother. More likely she's amusing herself at some French or Italian seashore and living quite well off her papa's money.”

“If that were true, I'd have located her by now.”

William watched as his brother went to stand at the window. The view was spectacular, as it was from nearly every room in the modified medieval castle. It was built on a lake, with great stone arches that rose from the water and supported the ancient building as it reached toward the sky. Many of the once impenetrable honey-colored walls had been replaced by spectacular windows filled with diamond-shaped panes of glass. Behind the castle stretched the endless green countryside of Warwickshire, lush with pastures and gardens. Long ago the castle had served as a staunch defense against invaders of England, but it had now settled into a mellow and gracious old age.

The Savage family had nearly lost possession of their ancestral home—and everything else they owned—because of the present duke's bad investments, not to mention his taste for gambling. Only Damon's marriage to Julia Hargate, and the dowry her father had provided, had saved the family from ruin. And now they owed her the title of duchess, which wouldn't be long in coming, judging by their father Frederick's failing health.

“Thank God I wasn't the firstborn child,” William said in a heartfelt tone. “It was a damned strange bargain Father struck, marrying off his son at age seven in order to secure money for his gambling debts. And it's stranger still that you've never met her since.”

“I never wanted to see Julia. It was easier to pretend she didn't exist. I couldn't acknowledge that she was—is—part of my life.” Damon's fingers clenched tight around the glass.

“Is the marriage legal?” William asked.

“No—but that's not the point. Father made a promise all those years ago, one involving me. It's my responsibility to honor it, or at least reimburse the Hargates for the money we accepted from them.”

“Honor…responsibility…” William shivered and grimaced playfully. “My two least favorite words.”

Damon swirled his drink and stared moodily into the glass. Although it wasn't Julia's fault, each letter of her name was a link in the invisible chain that bound him. He would never be at peace until the matter was resolved.

“I've imagined Julia a hundred different ways,” Damon said. “I can't stop wondering about her, and what drove her to disappear like this. God, I'd like to be free of her!”

“When you do locate her, Julia may want to hold you to your obligation. Have you considered that? You've tripled the family's wealth since you've taken charge of the Savage finances.” There was a teasing glint in William's dark blue eyes as he added, “And women seem to find you attractive, in spite of your gloomy character. Why would Julia be different? She wants what every woman desires—a titled husband and a fortune to go with him.”

“I don't know what she wants from me.” A bitter laugh escaped Damon. “Nothing yet, apparently, or she wouldn't still be in hiding.”

“Well, you'd better do something about the blasted situation soon, or Pauline will make a bigamist of you.”

“I'm not going to marry Pauline.”

“She's told everyone in London that you are. Good God, Damon, don't you think you should tell Pauline the rumors are true, that you are in fact married?”

The subject of Pauline, Lady Ashton caused Damon's scowl to deepen. The sultry young widow had pursued him ardently for a year, invading his privacy and cornering him at every social event he attended. Pauline was the kind of woman who knew exactly how to please a man. She was beautiful and dark-haired, completely uninhibited in bed, and possessed a dry sense of humor that appealed to Damon.

In spite of his better judgment, he had begun an affair with Pauline about six months ago. After all, he was a man with the same needs as any other, and he had little taste for prostitutes. Neither did he have an interest in the flocks of marriage-minded virgins being brought out each season. They were forbidden to him, though the fact of his marriage was not known for certain by the public.

Recently, however, Pauline had begun a campaign to become the next Marchioness of Savage. So far she had been wise enough not to pressure him or make demands. In fact, she hadn't yet dared to ask him if the gossip was true, if he already had a wife.

“I've told Pauline many times not to hope for a future with me,” Damon said gruffly. “Don't pity her—she's been well-compensated for the time she's spent with me.”

“Oh, I don't pity Pauline,” William assured him. “I have a fair idea of the jewels, gowns, and credit accounts you've given her.” A sly grin curved his mouth. “She must be damned entertaining in bed to deserve all that.”

“She's good at many things. Beautiful, charming, and intelligent. All things considered, she wouldn't make a bad wife.”

“You're not seriously considering…” William frowned and stared at him in surprise. “Talk like that alarms me, Damon! Pauline may like you, may even be fond of you, but in my opinion she's not capable of love.”

“Perhaps I'm not either,” Damon murmured, his face inscrutable.

A quizzical silence passed, and William appeared nonplussed. Then he gave a short laugh. “Well, I can't say that I've ever seen you fall madly in love—but having a wife since age seven is something of a handicap. You haven't let yourself feel anything for a woman because of some obligation to a girl you've never known. My advice is, dispose of Julia…and you may be surprised at how quickly your heart thaws.”

“Always the optimist,” Damon accused ruefully, and motioned for his brother to leave the room. “I'll consider your advice, Will. In the meantime, I have work to do.”

Julia suppressed a yawn of boredom as she surveyed the ballroom. The dance was an elegant affair with sprightly music, a grand display of refreshments, and a sophisticated assemblage of rich and titled guests. The room was too hot, even though the towering rectangular windows had been opened to admit cooling summer breezes from the garden. Guests dabbed surreptitiously at their perspiring faces and drank cup after cup of fruited punch in between dances.

In spite of Julia's objections, Logan Scott had insisted that she accompany him to the weekend party at Lord and Lady Brandon's Warwickshire country house. Julia was fully aware that it was not precisely her company Logan desired, although they had developed a friendship of sorts over the past two years. The real reason he had wanted her to attend was her ability to attract donations to the Capital Theatre.

Julia stood with Logan in the corner of the ballroom, sharing a discreet conversation before they would mingle separately with various guests. Idly she smoothed the skirts of her ice-blue silk gown, a simple design with a wide, straight neckline that almost bared the tops of her shoulders. Aside from the four blue satin bands that molded the dress to her slender waist, the only ornamentation on the gown was a subtle pattern of satin cord and banding at the hem.

Logan spoke close to Julia's ear while his keen gaze swept the room. “Lord Hardington is ripe for the picking. He has a fondness for the theater, and a weakness for beautiful women. And most importantly, he has a private income of ten thousand a year. Why don't you go discuss the upcoming season with him, and our need of more sponsors?”

Julia smiled ruefully as she regarded the portly, red-cheeked older gentleman. She glanced back at Logan, who was striking in a black evening coat, an emerald silk waistcoat, and close-fitting cream trousers. His hair shone like polished mahogany beneath the light of the chandeliers. Although everyone else was here for social reasons, Logan regarded the event as an opportunity for business. He would use his good looks and charm to solicit funds for the Capital—and as always, he would be successful. Almost everyone wanted to associate with a man who was perceived as one of the greatest artists the London stage had ever known.

To Julia's surprise, she had quickly achieved her own popularity in the theater, giving her a social standing that was considered significant for an actress. She commanded a high salary, which had enabled her to purchase a house on Somerset Street, only a few doors away from her former teacher Mrs. Florence. The elderly woman took a personal pride in Julia's success and welcomed her eagerly whenever Julia had the opportunity to visit for tea and a long chat.

Wishing she were with Mrs. Florence right now, rather than wasting her time mingling with people who considered themselves superior to her, Julia sighed softly. “I don't like these large gatherings,” she said, more to herself than to Logan.

“It doesn't show. You move among these people as if you were born to it.” Idly Logan brushed a bit of lint from his sleeve. “You would do well to recruit Lord Lansdale—the short one by the refreshment table…and Lord Russell, who's recently come into a handsome patrimony. A warm smile and a little encouragement might convince him to become a patron of the arts.”

“I hope this is my last weekend party for a while. It makes me uncomfortable to flatter rich old men in hopes of attracting their money to the theater. Perhaps the next time you could bring Arlyss or one of the other actresses—”

“I don't want one of the others. You're as effective at these gatherings as you are on stage. In two years you've become the Capital's greatest asset—aside from me, of course.”

Julia smiled impishly. “Why, Mr. Scott, if you continue to praise me, I may ask for a higher salary.”

He snorted. “You won't get another shilling from me. You're already the highest paid actress I know of.”

His glowering expression made her laugh. “If only people knew that the man who wooed me so passionately on stage—and won me a thousand times as Romeo, Benedick, and Mark Antony—only concerns himself offstage about shillings and business matters. You may be quite a romantic figure to the ladies of London, but you have the soul of a banker, not a lover.”

“Thank God for it. Now go and charm the gentlemen I pointed out—oh, and don't forget that one.” Logan nodded toward a dark-haired man standing in a small group only a few yards away. “He's managed his family's estates and investments for the last few years. At the rate he's going, he'll someday be one of the richest men in England. You would do well to persuade him to take an interest in the Capital.”

“Who is he?”

“Lord Savage, the Marquess of Savage.” Logan gave her a brief smile and left to mingle with some acquaintances.

Lord Savage, the Marquess of Savage. Julia was still and silent with confusion. Her brain was suddenly slow to work. She wondered if she had heard correctly. It seemed odd to hear the name and title fall from Logan Scott's lips, odd to know that after all her fearful and outraged imaginings, the object of her resentment was a living, breathing man. Her past had finally come crashing headlong into her present. If only she could find a way to disappear…but instead she could only stand there, trapped out in the open. She was afraid that if she did move, she wouldn't be able to keep from bolting like a hunted fox.

Somehow she hadn't expected her husband to be handsome, as splendidly dark and elegant as a foreign prince. He was a tall man with a quietly powerful presence. Beneath a black coat, an amber-and-gray-striped waistcoat, and charcoal trousers, the broad, sloping spread of his shoulders tapered to a slim waist and hips. His features were austere and perfect, his gaze devoid of emotion. He was a startling contrast to the men she usually associated with, men such as Logan and the other actors in the company, who earned their salaries with their expressive faces. This man seemed utterly inaccessible.