Dancing on the Wind

Chapter 28

Kit's face contorted. "She's gone!"

"Relax, be calm," Lucien said soothingly. "Kira was probably startled. Reach out and give her time to find you."

Several taut minutes passed before Kit gave a soft, relieved exhalation. She had connected with her sister again.

Lucien asked, "Is Kira in London or the country?"

Kit's brow puckered. "C-country."

"Does she know where?"

When Kit looked confused, he suggested, "Visualize a map of Great Britain with a cross where London is. Does she have any idea where she is in respect to London?" After a minute of silence had passed, he suggested, "North? West? South? East?"

"Don't know," Kit said fretfully. A long pause, then, "But… but not far from town. Maybe two hours or so."

If true, that narrowed the range considerably. "What is her prison like?"

"Dark. Always dark, only lamps. Silence. Guards." The sheet over her breasts rose and fell as her breathing roughened. "Not uncomfortable, but it's ghastly not to see the sun."

"Does she know who her captor is?"

Kit gasped and terror flashed across her face. "No! No!"

"It's all right, Kit, you're safe," he said quickly. "Tell Kira that we'll find her and she'll be safe, too."

Instead of soothing, his words produced more distress. "Not much more time! The sun… the sun is dying, and I'll not see the new year." Tears began flowing down her cheeks. She whispered desolately, "Don't cry, Kira, please don't cry, I can't bear it."

Her grief was wrenching. He set aside the candle and took her hand. "We're looking for you, Kira," he said forcefully. "When we find you, we'll bring you home as quickly as we can."

Kit's face twisted with agitation. "Want to come home now."

"The more you can tell us about your situation, the sooner we can find you, Kira. Is there anything at all you can tell us about your captor that might help us identify him?"

"A… a long devil from the fires of hell." Kit twisted her head in agitation. "Want to leave!"

It was time to end this, before one of the three of them broke down entirely. He inhaled deeply, then managed to say in an even voice, "Tell Kira that you love her, Kit. That you love her, and that she. must not despair."

Kit's expression smoothed out. "Love you, Kira. Always."

"I'm going to count from one to ten, and when I reach ten, you'll wake up and remember what happened. One… two…"

After reaching ten, he said crisply, "Wake up, Kit."

She blinked, her eyes coming into focus. "It worked," she said in a barely audible voice. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "But merciful heaven, I've never been so tired in my life. It was even more exhausting than the nightmares."

He lay down and put his arms around her, wanting to warm her shivering body. "You did wonderfully. Do you remember?"

"Yes. It was strange." Kit stopped and drew several jagged breaths. "She knew I wanted information, but it didn't seem possible to communicate words, no matter how hard we tried. Mostly it was emotions, with some images. Frustrating."

"I assume that 'a long devil' means that her captor is tall and probably thin. Does that fit your impression?"

"Yes, and it matches my vague memory of the man in my nightmare. I'd forgotten until now." She rubbed her temple. "Did I say something about the fires of hell?"

"Yes. My guess is that is how your mind translated the idea of a Hellion. That's what we've assumed, but it's good to have confirmation. We've also learned that Kira is outside London, though not far away, and being held in a closed, isolated structure." He frowned. "That could be almost anything from a cottage with its windows boarded up to a genuine dungeon. Did you have any other impressions that you didn't speak aloud?"

"Only that she is afraid that something dreadful will happen to her soon." Kit shivered. We are rapidly running out of time."

"But finally we are making progress. Starting tomorrow, I'll have all of your suspects watched. Perhaps the abductor will lead us right to your sister. I'll also try to learn what properties the men own within two hours or so of London, since she may be held at one of them." He considered, his fingers gently stroking her upper arm. "I'll review the dossiers on the Hellions that I've assembled as part of my search for the spy. I don't think there is anything relevant, but one never knows."

"That would be good," Kit agreed. "I had to keep my search as narrow as possible because of limited resources, but I won't rule out the possibility that my quarry is someone I thought unlikely." She shivered again. "Even if we become convinced that one of the men is guilty, how do we actually find Kira?"

"We use you as a divining rod. From what you say, if we get close to where she is being held, you'll be able to find her."

Kit bit her lip. "If the distance isn't too great, but I think I would have to be within a quarter of a mile of her."

"We could search an estate by night, cutting back and forth in a pattern that would cover the whole property." He drew her closer, thinking how fine drawn and fragile she felt. It hurt to know that he could not protect her from what she feared most. Gravely he said, "It's asking a lot of you, kitten."

"I'll do whatever I have to," she said, stark shadows under her eyes. "But once we find her, how will we get her out? I think she is guarded heavily."

"We will damned well go in and get her. Your cousin Jason will want to come, and he strikes me as an exceedingly capable gentleman. I'll also summon the most dangerous of my friends. With men like them, we could get Kira out of the Tower of London." He began massaging her back, wanting her to sleep away her exhaustion. "Try to relax, Kit. If it's humanly possible, we will get her back safely."

"You're very comforting." She closed her eyes and turned her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Soon soft, regular exhalations were wisping against his throat.

He watched the shadow-splashed ceiling, his face somber. In spite of his show of confidence, he was deeply worried. There were too many possibilities, and, if the message from Kira was accurate, very little time. The kind of monster who had abducted her was quite capable of tiring of his plaything and killing her so that he could find a new woman to torment.

So much depended on Kit's gossamer bond with her sister. It was a devastating burden for her to carry; if they failed to find Kira in time, Kit would never forgive herself. She would be doomed to the guilt and loneliness, the sense of being incomplete, that had haunted Lucien most of his life. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less Kit. And selfishly, he feared that if her sister died, Kit would never want to see Lucien again because he had failed to rescue Kira. The mere thought made his muscles cramp with tension.

When he was sure she was asleep, he carefully disentangled himself from her arms, climbed from the bed, and went to his desk. There he penned a terse note. Michael, I need your help. Can you come to London immediately? Lucien.

On the outside he wrote "Lord Michael Kenyon, Bryn Manor, Penreith, Caermarthenshire, Wales." Then he dripped wax on the closure and pressed in the Strathmore seal with his signet ring. First thing in the morning he would send the note by special messenger. If a military-style raid was needed, Michael would be invaluable. But first, they had to find where Kira was.

As he slid into bed beside Kit again, he hoped to God that he could live up to her trust.

Lucien paused in the open doorway. "Good morning, Dolly. Your footman said to come straight up."

The flamboyant blonde who frowned over an account book looked up, a smile wreathing her face. "Strathmore, what an unexpected pleasure. Have you come to add some spice to your bland life?"

He grinned and closed the door behind him. "Now, now, remember our bargain. I don't call you a disgusting pervert, and you don't tell me that I'm an unimaginative puritan who would bore any reasonable woman senseless."

She leaned back in her chair, laughing. "I've always liked the way you joke about my business. Most men either think I'm the wickedest creature since Eve, or they take me and my work so seriously they forget they're supposed to be having fun."

"Do you have a few minutes to spare?"

She waved airily. "I'm expecting a gentleman any minute, but he can wait. Frustration will help put him in the mood." She lifted an enormous ostrich feather fan from the desk, then stood and turned around, one hand on her hip. "It's a new outfit What do you think-will I drive the lads all wild?"

Lucien solemnly inspected her spectacular red velvet gown. She must be wearing a ferocious corset, for her somewhat overabundant figure was cleverly shaped to provide a maximum of stunning curves, some of which were displayed by a decolletage that would make a stone saint blush. As she turned, he saw that the skirt had thigh-high slits that revealed riding boots, silver spurs, and black lace stockings.

"Isn't it a bit conservative?" he asked. "I saw a duchess in a similar outfit several weeks ago, but hers was more daring."

"Beast!" She swatted at him with her fan. It stung across the back of his hand, and he saw that the frothy feathers concealed narrow leather thongs that would hurt if applied with vigor. The pretty and the painful blended together, a perfect metaphor for Dolly's special skills.

"I'll admit that it isn't always easy to be more vulgar than some of your society ladies, but I'm the woman who can do it." She sat and crossed her legs so that the slit skirt exposed shapely, black lace-covered legs all the way to midthigh. "Take a seat. I don't suppose this is a social call."

"I'm afraid not." He sat down, his face becoming serious as he pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to her. "Are any of those men customers of yours?"

"You know I don't discuss such things, Strathmore," she said disapprovingly. "My gentlemen expect me to be discreet."

"I understand and respect that, but I'm hoping you might bend your rules this time. It's highly likely that one of these men has abducted a gently bred young actress and is forcing her to participate in the sort of activities your customers enjoy."

Dolly frowned. "That's not right.Games are only good if folks participate freely and respect each other's limits. It's best when done with real caring." She looked down at the list "I don't think it would be this first one, Harford. I know of him, but he's never been in here. Sometimes he visits a regular brothel run by a friend of mine. I think he's a plain bread-and-butter type like you."

Lucien looked pained. "I would prefer that you not make comparisons between Harford and me."

She grinned and looked down again. "The others have all visited, though none are really regulars. They come more to add a bit of variety to their lives. Mace is strictly a dominant-quite good at administering discipline. Chiswick will do it either way, sometimes the master, sometimes the slave. Westley is strictly passive-fond of shackles and goes wild when his feet are tickled. Nun-field." She tapped a long, sharp fingernail on the paper. "He goes too far. After his last visit, I told him not to come back."

"Based on your knowledge of these men, is there one you would pick as most likely to be behind an abduction?"

She hesitated. "Nunfield, maybe, but it's hard to say. They're all the sort who are too bloody used to getting their own way. That could include kidnapping and whipping some respect into a girl who hadn't been properly deferential."

"Actually, I have reason to believe the young woman is being forced to play the mistress."

Dolly pursed her lips. "Strange. I wouldn't expect a man who likes being dominated to try something as aggressive as abduction. Still, one never knows." She handed the list back. "I hope that helped."

"It did." He got to his feet. "Thank you, Dolly. I appreciate your cooperation."

"Let me know if you find the girl," she said somberly. "A bloke who would kidnap a young woman and force her to do something against her nature is capable of anything."

Lucien said softly, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Lucien was working in his study when Jason Travers emerged after a lengthy rest. Bathed, shaved, and dressed in his host's clothing, he looked quite presentable, though the garments hung loosely on his gaunt frame. Lucien gestured for him to come into the study. "Good afternoon. How are you feeling?"

The American entered and began prowling restlessly around the room. "Somewhat more sane than I did last night, though I haven't ruled out the possibility that I finally caught jail fever and this is all a hallucination."

"Have my servants been taking good care of you?"

"Very much so." Humor glinted in his dark eyes. "They all call me Lord Markland. I have trouble remembering that's me."

Lucien leaned back in his oak chair. "It seemed a reasonable precaution. Even if the authorities are searching for you, they won't connect an earl with an escaped prisoner of war."

"Certainly I'm having trouble making the connection." The American's gaze roved over the shelves of leather-bound books, graceful furniture gleaming with wax, the muted richness of the carpet beneath his feet. "Everything I see is a feast for the senses. After the grayness of a prison ship, it's rather overpowering. I had coffee, a soft-boiled egg, and toast for breakfast. Ambrosia." He touched the petals in a bouquet of fresh flowers that sweetly scented the room, his fingertips caressing the silky surface with reverence. "I gathered from your servants that you're a lord yourself."

Lucien inclined his head formally. "The ninth Earl of Strathmore, last in a long line of men who knew which side to back in a power struggle and how to quit a game of cards when they were ahead. Not the most heroic of traits, but they have given the family longevity."

Jason studied his host. "Perhaps being a lord doesn't mean a man has to be totally worthless."

Lucien grinned. "American directness is so refreshing."

The other man flushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I've forgotten how to behave in normal society." He lifted an antique hourglass that sat in the bookcase and caressed the polished walnut, then turned it over and watched the white sand trickle from the top globe to the bottom. "Two years of my life gone, and not a damned thing to show for it."

"In time, the unbearable memories will fade," Lucien said quietly. "At least, that's what I'm told by a friend who spent several wretched years fighting the French on the Peninsula. You're welcome to stay here as long as you wish-as you can see, there is plenty of space. Or if you prefer, I can assist you to the Continent, where you can take ship to America or wait in safety until the war ends. There's an excellent chance that a treaty will be settled by the end of the year."

"Amen to that. But I'm not leaving England until I know about Kira." Setting the hourglass back on its shelf, he continued, "That being the case, I might as well enjoy your excellent hospitality, but you must keep an account of my expenses." He fingered the superfine wool of his blue coat. "I've transported enough fabric in my ships to know top quality when I see it."

Lucien said equably, "I'll keep track of every ha'penny and add a modest charge for interest."

"Thank you for humoring me." Jason's expression turned grim. "Now tell me everything about Kira's disappearance."

Lucien explained everything they knew or guessed. He ended with a description of Kit's nightmare and the fragmentary information received through mesmerism, repeating the exact words as closely as he could.

The American's face became rigid, only his eyes showing emotion. At the end of the recital he said with lethal precision, "When the man who abducted Kira is found, I am going to slice him into very small pieces with a very dull knife."

"You might have to wait in line for the privilege," Lucien said dryly.

"That part about her not seeing the new year-do you think she meant that literally? Christ, January isn't much more than a fortnight away!"

"In a few more days we should have enough information to act." Though his words were reassuring, Lucien's gaze went back to the antique hourglass. He could not escape the ghoulish thought that the hours of Kira's life were trickling away as inexorably as the sand. And if she died, he might lose Kit forever to grief.