“No,” Julia replied thoughtfully. “‘dashing’ implies a devil-may-care quality, which Savage hasn't got. There is something very controlled and intense about his manner.”
“Fascinating.”
The two women sipped cups of tea and talked languidly as they waited to be called for rehearsal. Logan Scott, Charles Haversley, a handsome blond actor in his twenties, and two other players were currently occupied on stage with a complicated bit of blocking. The rehearsal was for The Taming of the Shrew, a production that Julia was particularly enjoying because it was her first opportunity to play the part of Katherine. Arlyss had been cast as the younger sister, Bianca.
Although Julia and Arlyss were often in competition for the same roles, they had become friends during the past two years. Each had come to recognize that the other had talents different from her own. Some roles were better suited for Arlyss's comic abilities, while others required Julia's more versatile range. In between rehearsals and performances, they talked about their personal Lives, their fears and ambitions, although Julia was careful never to reveal too much about her past.
“Why don't things like that ever happen to me?” Arlyss complained, stirring more sugar in her tea. The possessor of an incurable sweet tooth, she battled constantly to keep her short, shapely figure from becoming too plump. “I would adore being pursued by an attractive marquess who happens to be as rich as Croesus. Instead, I get the fat old men who only want a quick roll in bed, and then point to me while I'm on stage and boast to their friends.”
Julia gave her a sympathetic glance. “You allow men to take advantage of you, Arlyss—and there's no need for that. You're beautiful, talented…you're one of the most popular actresses on the London stage! There's no need to give away your favors so easily.”
“I know,” Arlyss said with a glum sigh, toying with her mop of brown curls. She pulled a few hairpins from her untidy coiffure and stuck them back in haphazardly. “I just can't seem to help myself where men are concerned. I'm not like you, Julia. It's hardly natural for a woman to be so iron-willed. Aren't you ever lonely? Don't you crave a man in your bed sometimes, if only to remind you that you're a woman?”
“Sometimes,” Julia admitted. She stared into her own cup of tea, her gaze fixed on the amber depths. “But I usually manage to save those feelings and use them on the stage.”
“Maybe I should try that,” Arlyss said. “After all, the men I entertain are merely substitutes for the one I really want.”
Julia gave her a half-pitying, half-amused glance, knowing exactly whom Arlyss was referring to. “You know Mr. Scott's rule about actresses. Besides, I don't see the reason for your infatuation with him.”
“It's more than infatuation! It's undying love. I can't believe any woman wouldn't feel that way about him!”
“Mr. Scott is far from the perfect man,” Julia said sourly. “Good heavens, I just told you about the way he's forced me to have supper with Lord Savage! Mr. Scott may seem like a man of grand principles, but at heart he's nothing but a money-grubber.”
Arlyss airily waved the comment away. “All men have flaws. Besides, he was right—five thousand pounds is nothing to turn up your nose at.” She chewed thoughtfully on a slice of dry cake, and followed it with more tea. “I've heard that there is a woman living at Mr. Scott's house this very moment—his latest paramour. She'll last no longer than six months…they never do. There must be some reason Mr. Scott is so opposed to the idea of marriage! Something must have happened in his past…something dark and painful…”
Julia snorted at her friend's dreamy expression. “Really, Arlyss, you have too many romantic illusions. I would think that a life in the theater should have cured you of that.”
“No, it only makes it worse! When you spin romantic illusions for other people all the time, you can't help but be caught up in them.”
“I don't.”
“You're made of iron,” Arlyss said. “I don't know whether to envy or pity you.” She leaned forward, her green eyes sparkling with interest. “Tell me…what are you going to wear when you dine with his lordship?”
“Something plain and unbecoming.”
“No, no, no…wear something to make his eyes drop out! Something to make his mouth turn dry and his head spin and his heart pound—”
“As if he had some horrible disease,” Julia said with a laugh.
“You must wear your black and pink gown,” Arlyss urged. “I won't allow you to choose anything else.”
“I'll consider it.” Julia looked up as a member of the house staff appeared at the greenroom door to inform them that Mr. Scott desired their presence onstage.
After days of exacting rehearsal, the Friday performance of Taming of the Shrew went superbly. As Logan had directed, Julia threw all her energy into the boisterous production. In previous adaptations the story had been watered down to something resembling a drawing room comedy, with much of the ribald humor removed. Logan Scott had restored all of that, and added a robust physicality that both startled and pleased the audience. It was a lusty, vigorous play that made some critics howl with displeasure and others with delight.
With Logan playing the dashing Petruchio to Julia's devilish Katherine, the audience roared with laughter at their volcanic battles, and sat spellbound during some of the quieter, tender moments. Unfortunately, at the end of the production, Julia was battered and sore. The play called for many physical antics, including one bit in which Katherine tried to attack Petruchio, and he swung her off her feet like a rag doll. In spite of Logan's efforts to be careful with her, Julia was not surprised to find a few faint bruises on her arms and torso.
Ignoring all entreaties for her attention, Julia locked her dressing room door, washed the sweat and paint from her face, and used two pitchers of water in a thorough sponge bath. After dabbing perfume on her throat and inner elbows and between her breasts, she turned her attention to the gown she had brought with her. As Arlyss had insisted, she had decided on her favorite evening gown. It was fashioned of jet-black Italian silk, the surface glossy and finely corded. One deep pink silk rose adorned each short, gathered sleeve. The gown's only other adornments were the vertical slashes of pink at the hem, opening and closing rhythmically in billowy swaths as she walked.
After dressing carefully, Julia left the back fastenings undone and regarded herself in the mirror. A faint smile came to her face. No matter how she felt inside, it was reassuring to know that she looked her best. The black silk provided a dramatic contrast to her pale skin and ash-blond hair, while the touches of rose-pink echoed the color in her cheeks.
“Mrs. Wentworth,” came her maid's voice through the door. “May I come in an' see to your things?”
Julia unlocked the door to let the plump, dark-haired girl inside. Betsy was an efficient servant, taking care of her costumes, keeping the dressing room orderly, and assisting her with a multitude of small tasks. “Will you fasten my gown, please?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wentworth. I've brought some more flowers.”
“You may keep them if you like,” Julia said nonchalantly. The dressing room was already filled with floral arrangements and their cloying perfume.
“Oh, but these are so beautiful! Just have a look,” Betsy coaxed, bringing forth the massive arrangement.
Julia exclaimed in pleasure as she saw the profusion of lush roses ranging from palest pink to crimson-red, interspersed with exotic orchids and tall spikes of vivid purple and white delphinium. “Who sent them?” she asked.
Betsy read the card. “‘Savage,’ it says.”
So it was from Lord Savage. Julia reached out and pulled one of the pink roses from the arrangement. She toyed with the petals, and brought the flower with her to the dressing table. As Betsy fastened the back of her gown, Julia expertly twisted and pinned her hair into a loose, thick coil at the top of her head, leaving a few curls to dangle on her temple and neck. After a moment's hesitation, Julia broke off the blossom, wrapped the end in a bit of paper, and anchored it in the coil with a large pin.
“That looks lovely,” Betsy said, breaking off another blossom and pinning it to Julia's small black silk reticule. “He must be a special man for you to take such pains, Mrs. Wentworth.”
Julia pulled on a pair of sleek black gloves that covered her elbows. “One could say I've been waiting for him all my life.”
“How grand…” Betsy began. She stopped, her round face wrinkling in a frown as she saw the shadowy fingermarks on Julia's upper arms, and another on the tip of her bare shoulder. “Dear me, those won't do at all.”
Julia regarded the bruises ruefully. “I'm afraid they can't be helped. After the bouts Mr. Scott and I had on stage, I'm only surprised there aren't more.”
Reaching for a cake of flesh-colored facepaint, Betsy moistened her fingertips with water, rubbed them across the surface, and then dabbed the color sparingly over the bruises. Julia held still, surveying the maid's handiwork with a pleased smile. “They're hardly noticeable now. Thank you, Betsy.”
“Will there be anything else before I put your costumes away?”
“Yes…would you find out if there is a carriage waiting for me outside?”
Betsy returned soon with the news that there was indeed a vehicle behind the theater, a fine black carriage trimmed with silver, a pair of outriders beside it, and two footmen dressed in dark red livery.
Julia felt her heart quicken with painful force. She put her hand on her chest, as if she could calm the violent thumping, and breathed deeply.
“Mrs. Wentworth? All of a sudden you look rather ill.”
Julia didn't reply. What could have possessed her, agreeing to spend a few hours alone with Lord Savage? What could they possibly say to each other—what mad impulse had driven her to this? Summoning her courage, she relaxed her shoulders, which seemed to have climbed up to her ears. Betsy helped to settle a hooded black silk pelisse over her head and shoulders, and fasten the garnet clasp at the throat. Murmuring good night to the maid, Julia left her dressing room and made her way through the labyrinth of theater facilities.
As she passed the back entrance, a small crowd of theatergoers pressed forward to meet her, a few daring to touch her cloak or her gloved arms. A towering footman helped to usher her through the crowd to the waiting carriage. Deftly he pulled out an extra step for her easy ascent into the luxurious vehicle, and closed the door behind her. It was all accomplished so swiftly that Julia barely had time to blink before she was settled in a soft velvet-and-leather-covered seat.
She stared at Lord Savage, who sat opposite her, one side of his handsome face lit to knife-blade sharpness by a carriage lantern, the rest left in shadow. He smiled with the dangerous charm of Lucifer himself. Hastily Julia lowered her gaze to her lap. Her hands lay perfectly folded and still, when she wanted to knot her fingers together in agitation.
Lord Savage belonged to a world from which she had been running for years. It was her right—some might even say her duty—to assume the title and position her parents had procured for her. She had resisted it with all her might, out of willfulness and resentment, and most of all fear at the discovery of what kind of man she had been given to. She didn't want to stop fearing Savage, didn't want to weaken her defenses in any way. But her own curiosity had led her to this…as well as the troubling pull of attraction between them.
“You were extraordinary tonight,” Savage said.
Julia blinked in surprise. “You watched the play, then? I didn't see you in the audience.”
“It was a demanding performance for you.”
“Yes, it's quite exhausting.” Briefly she wondered what he had thought of the ribald interplay between herself and Logan Scott—if he had been amused along with the rest of the audience, or if he had disapproved. Something must have shown in her face, because he leaned forward and pinned her with his disconcerting silvery gaze.
“What is it?” he asked.
Deciding she had nothing to lose, Julia told him what she had been thinking.
Savage replied slowly, considering his words with care. “It's not my right to disapprove of what you do on stage. Acting is your chosen profession.”
“And you had no personal feelings?” she asked idly. “During the part when Mr. Scott kissed me, or chased me across the stage and—”
“I didn't like it.” The words seemed to escape him before he could prevent it. His mouth twisted with self-derision. “You and Scott were rather too convincing in your roles.”
Julia had the feeling that he was as surprised by the admission of jealousy as she was. Alarmed and flattered, she retreated until her shoulders dug into the plush upholstery. “It's only a play,” she said.
“I've seen actors in plays before. The two of you seem…different.”
Julia frowned at her reticule with concentration. She had heard the popular opinion that she and Logan Scott were lovers, and she also knew why. They had stage chemistry, she and Logan, the kind that made it possible to act together so convincingly that illusion and reality were temporarily joined together with seamless perfection.
However, that rare harmony in their acting would never, could never, extend beyond the stage. Not once had the thought seriously crossed Julia's mind. She turned to Logan as everyone else did, for direction, guidance, praise, and criticism…but not for anything that wasn't directly related to her career. There was nothing comfortable about Logan, nothing that invited trust or even the barest hint of safety and warmth. It was clear that Logan would never love a woman as he loved his theater, or sacrifice for a living person what he would for his twin gods of art and ambition.
Perhaps that was why he and Julia had chemistry on the stage, because each of them sensed the other's inability to surrender to another person. There was safety in that, knowing there was no risk of love, pain, or disillusionment between them…that whereas their emotions on stage seemed to run deep, nothing would remain after the curtain fell.
Since attaining adulthood, Julia had tried to find contentment in the independence she prized so highly. If only she could stop herself from wanting more. She longed for someone to understand and cherish her, a man to whom she could give all of herself with no fear or doubt. It was her most private dream, one she hated to acknowledge even to herself.