Dancing on the Wind

Chapter 29

Lord Chiswick peered over the railing of the box. "Whenever I attend the theater, I have a nearly irresistible desire to throw rotten fruit at the low creatures in the pit."

"The actors wouldn't thank you for it," Lucien remarked. "The fruit would almost certainly end up being pitched at them."

Lord Mace took a pinch of snuff. "Only if the actors deserve it, I'm sure."

Nunfield said, "Perhaps we should summon an orange girl up here and buy all her stock in case it is needed."

"There shouldn't be much rotten fruit tonight," Ives said cheerfully. "I understand the play is quite amusing."

"I hope so," Nunfield drawled. "Otherwise, I may abuse your hospitality and leave in the middle, Strathmore. There's a new gaming club in Pair Mall that is supposed to be quite special, and I want to pay a visit tonight."

"If the play is a bore, I'll go with you," Lucien said casually. It was fortunate that all of his suspects except Harford had been free to accept his invitation to the theater. To avoid being too obvious, he'd also invited Lord Ives, who was always willing to visit the Marlowe so he could admire his Cleo.

Much of fashionable society had left town to spend the holidays on their estates, so a number of the best boxes were empty. The pit and gallery, however, were packed with Londoners anxious to see the first performance of Scandal Street.

To qualify as a concert, the program opened with the small orchestra playing a concerto grosso which was largely ignored by the audience. Conversation died down when the music ended and the first act began. The plot involved the nefarious attempts of a corrupt merchant to discredit an honest government official, Sir Digby Upright. (The very notion of an honest government official produced a roar of laughter.)

The dialogue was witty and topical, taking swipes at current issues from the Prince Regent's extravagance to the peace negotiations at Vienna and Ghent. The whole audience was amused, even the jaded sophisticates in Lucien's box.

The climactic scene of the first act was a ball that Sir Digby gave to announce his daughter's betrothal. Unbeknownst to him, his enemy had arranged to disgrace him in front of his guests, which included many important members of the government. The scene started when Sir Digby halted the dancing to introduce his blushing daughter, played by a very demure Cleo Farnsworth, and her handsome young betrothed.

No sooner had he made his announcement than two comic cockneys marched onto the stage, carrying an enormous roll of carpet. As the guests stared, the cockneys unrolled the carpet in the middle of the ballroom. Sinuous as a serpent, Kit emerged from the carpet, wearing a brassy blond wig and a crimson satin gown that was almost as outrageous as the one Dolly had worn. Not only was it low in front, but the back was cut almost to her waist, exposing an enticing swath of creamy skin.

Lucien had placed himself at one end of the box so he could observe his companions without being obvious. At Kit's appearance, Ives and Westley simply laughed along with the rest of the audience. Chiswick leaned forward and crossed his arms on the railing, his expression intent. Elaborately casual, Nunfield leaned back and drummed his fingers on his knee, his sharp gaze fixed on the stage. Mace showed no reaction at all, except perhaps for a tightening of the lips.

Lucien cursed the shadows that obscured nuances of expression. Though he hadn't expected the villain to leap up and cry, "Guilty!" he had hoped for some hint, some sign of amazement or discomfort at the sight of "Cassie James." Not that the lack of reaction proved anything; all of the Disciples were expert gamesters, used to controlling their expressions.

To Sir Digby's horror, Kit kissed him with the appearance of long familiarity, insulted his wife and daughter, flirted with the entranced fiance, and gaily told the guests that "Diggy" supported her in great style because he was making so much money by accepting bribes. When Sir Digby sputtered a protest, she shushed him with a languid wave of her hand, a splendid female creature reveling in her power over the male of the species.

Kit turned to face the audience, her gaze lingering fractionally on Lucien's box. Then, with a clash of drums, she whirled into a dance of floating petticoats and slender flashing legs. Lucien tried to watch his companions, but his gaze was irresistibly drawn to Kit. Her vitality and stage presence riveted every eye in the house.

There was a new sensuality in her movements. In The Gypsy Lass she had artfully mimicked passion. Now passion had become part of her. Every curve of her hand, every graceful arch of her neck, every slanted, beckoning glance, was a promise of earthy delights. His body tightened with longing. The two days since he had seen her seemed like an eternity.

Spontaneous applause burst out when her skirts lifted high enough to show the butterfly tattoo. He found himself torn between wanting to inflict grievous harm on every man in the audience who was lusting after her, and primitive masculine pride in the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever kissed that teasing butterfly, the only one who knew the secrets of her body and the bright clarity of her spirit.

He was also well on the way to becoming as mad as a March hare. Sanity was unlikely to return until Kit married him.

At the end of her dance Kit sank into a graceful posture of subservience at the feet of the mortified Sir Digby. His wife and daughter stormed off stage, the daughter dragging her reluctant fiance. The outraged guests followed, leaving Sir Digby alone with his fraudulent mistress. Kit bounced to her feet, blew Sir Digby an airy kiss, and skipped away, leaving the poor public servant alone amidst the ruins of his life.

The act ended to thunderous applause. Lord Chiswick said with an unusual show of enthusiasm, "What a delicious actress."

"Indeed," Sir James said. "Does anyone know her name?"

"Cassie James." Nunfield inhaled some snuff, then proffered the box to Mace, who took a pinch. "I offered the girl a carte blanche once, but she turned me down, alas. Perhaps I shall try again with more generous terms." His gaze slid to Lucien. "Of course, she may have a protector already." The ironic amusement in his eyes showed that he had heard how Lucien had swept Kit from the green room, but there was no jealousy in his expression. Was his tolerance real or feigned? Impossible to tell.

Mace drawled, "I've had my fill of actresses. A greedy, self-obsessed lot. I prefer bored wives myself. They're much less expensive, and so grateful for the attention." He got to his feet. "I think I'll stretch my legs before the next act."

The other men also decided to go for refreshments or to visit people in other boxes, leaving Lucien alone to ponder what he had observed. He was about to go downstairs himself when a sixth sense made him look up as Kit entered his box. She wore a dark mantle with a hood drawn over her hair and looked chaste and modest, like a medieval nun.

For a moment they simply gazed at each other. Then they were in each other's arms. Her body was warm and pliant from her exertions, her kiss as hungry as his own. They embraced for a few mindless moments until she turned her head with a rueful laugh. "Actually, I came to find if you had learned anything."

Reminded of their surroundings, he said, "We shouldn't try to talk here. One of the others might return at any time."

"I know. I made inquiries before the performance, and the box at the end of this row should be empty. We can talk there." She peered into the corridor, then took his hand and swiftly led him to the empty box.

Kit had chosen well, for the box had an odd, deep shape and the interior was so shadowed that it was doubtful that anyone could see them. Nonetheless, for discretion's sake he drew her into his arms at the back of the box. If they were observed, it would be assumed they were lovers stealing an illicit kiss. Speaking quietly into her ear, he recounted what Dolly had told him and his own observations of his theater companions.

When he was finished, she said nothing, her disappointment palpable. "I'm sorry, kitten," he said ruefully. "Perhaps I missed something, but once you began dancing, I couldn't look away. Neither could anyone else. You were superb."

"I was dancing for you," she said in a voice so light it was nearly inaudible.

"That's what I hoped." He slipped his hands under her cloak. She still wore the low-backed costume, so he began to stroke her bare, velvety shoulders. Touching her underneath the garment gave him a delicious sense of doing something forbidden.

She gave a little shiver, and her gray eyes darkened. Speaking slowly, as if it were an effort to remember the subject, she asked, "If you had to make a guess, from pure intuition, which of the four would you pick as the abductor?"

"Mace." Though his reply was immediate, it took longer to analyze his reasons. "He showed the least reaction, to the point where it was a little conspicuous because every other man in the theater was intoxicated by your performance. And I don't doubt that he is capable of coldness and cruelty."

"Your friend Dolly said he was the sort who had to have the whip hand," Kit reminded him. "Why would he want to force a woman to abuse him?"

"I don't know." Lucien brushed her hood back a little. Heavy blond tresses were twisted up to the back of her head before falling in tangled ringlets. Barely visible below the flamboyant wig, her ear was small and delicate, as exquisitely formed as a spring blossom. He traced the curve with his tongue. A taste sweet and salt, a scent redolent of spice and woman. Reminding himself sharply to keep his mind on business, he added, "But Dolly also said that it was impossible to predict what such a man might do."

Kit exhaled breathily, her hands opening and closing on his back. "What… what about Nunfield? He admitted that he had wanted to make Kira his mistress."

His hands moved downward under the mantle, over smooth satin skin and tightly laced gown, to cup her firm buttocks. He squeezed gently, molding the tempting curves with his palms. "He didn't look like a persistent suitor who had become so obsessed that he had resorted to abduction. Of course, Nunfield might be a superb actor who is secretly gloating over the knowledge that he has Kira stashed away somewhere."

"And Chiswick?"

"He behaved as if he had never seen Cassie James before. Perhaps he hasn't-I don't think he is a regular theatergoer." Though Lucien knew he should release Kit, his hands refused to abandon their clasp. Hah? amused and half exasperated with himself, he said, "It's hard to be logical with you in my arms."

"I know exactly what you mean." Shyly, she leaned forward and ran the tip of her tongue along the angle of his jaw. Warmth tingled through him. He caught his breath, hoping she would continue.

Silently she obliged, her soft lips finding the hollow below his ear. Sharp little frissons of pleasure shot through him, a rising storm that splintered into lightning when she gave his lobe a light, experimental nip. He turned his head, and they kissed with lush, openmouthed abandon. She was reserved Kathryn and flamboyant Cassie and clear-eyed Kit all at once. His grip tightened, drawing them together, her feminine belly molding to his hardening flesh.

Somewhere far, far from their fevered embrace, theatergoers were returning to their seats with coughs and shuffling feet. Knowing this must end, he said breathlessly, "I suppose you must be going downstairs now for the next act."

After an uncertain pause, she said, "I… I'm not on again until the end of the third act." Her breath was coming in quick puffs that teased the sensitive flesh below his ear.

He understood her fear of jeopardizing her bond with Kira and accepted her need to avoid the emotional firestorm of passion. Yet his hand, his wicked, selfish hand, slid around her hip and down between them, stroking over the luxuriant crimson satin and into the mysterious cleft between her thighs.

She gave a choked moan, her fingers curving into his waist like talons. "We… we shouldn't be doing this."

"I know," he agreed, probing more deeply. Even through the layers of fabric, he felt luscious warmth. "But it is… difficult to stop."

Her pelvis curled forward into his hand, and she gave a low whimper, the most enticing sound imaginable. He captured her mouth to swallow that telltale, rapturous noise.

A sharp exchange onstage precipitated a rumble of laughter all around them. He scarcely noticed, for astonishingly, her hand began to move around his waist and down his abdomen in a hesitant, exploratory caress. His hips moved forward, and he pressed into her palm. No longer tentative, her hand tightened around him. He stood paralyzed, his whole frame so rigid that he felt as if a move would shatter him.

Yet stillness was impossible. He caught a handful of skirt and petticoat and raised them upward. Under the foaming material her stockings were tied separately to her corset with dainty little bows. Ignoring the ribbons, he slid his fingers between her silk-covered thighs and found downy curls. Hidden within was hot, sweet female flesh, lavish with moisture.

She hid her face in his shoulder to keep from crying out when he first touched her. "We mustn't," she said weakly, not knowing whether or not she wanted him to be stronger than she. "What… what if someone looks into the box?"

"It's too dark… for anyone to see us," he said huskily, his words hazy, as if it was an effort to assemble a simple sentence.

She felt dizzy, no longer able to remember why they should not continue. Heat throbbed against her palm, the male power unmistakable even with layers of fabric between them. Her hand tightened as she remembered how it had felt to have him inside her. The thought made her go liquid with longing. Unconsciously she began stroking her hand up and down the taut ridge of flesh.

He groaned and reached for the buttons of his pantaloons, wrenching them open in his impatience. Then he stepped backward, tugging her with one hand while he reached behind with the other. He located a chair and sat, then drew her across his lap in a wide-legged straddle, guiding her down so that she impaled herself on him.

As he slid into her, she went still with surprise. There was an indecent intimacy in the way their bodies mated beneath the rippling, respectable folds of skirts and mantle. Indecent, and unbearably erotic.

He made a small thrust upward, and urgency scorched through her. She leaned forward, her torso flattening along his chest and her cheek pressing against his. He embraced her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. They began rocking together with small, savage movements. The legs of the chair squeaked across the floor, the sound swallowed by more laughter.

Blood pounded in her temples like jungle drums, building to a tempo that was madness. Weight and pressure concentrated in a single nameless, internal place that burned with annihilating heat until sudden, violent spasms ripped through her. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, the dark wool rough against her lips.

"Dear God, Kit…" His fingers knotted into her hips, locking the two of them together as he ground upward, a raw, wordless sound rumbling from within his chest.

A potent throbbing deep inside her, then arrested moments when neither of them breathed. Slowly, taut muscles softened and burning lungs strained for air.

"Sweet… Jesus," he panted, "I'm sorry, Kit. I didn't mean for that to happen." He pressed his forehead against hers as he labored for breath. "Can you still feel your sister?"

"It was as much my fault as yours," she whispered with stark honesty. But merciful heaven, how could she have forgotten Kira like that? What kind of selfish woman would let herself indulge in lustful behavior that might threaten her twin?

She reached into her mind for Kira, fearful that their indefinable emotional bond could not have survived such scouring passion. This time she knew better than to panic when she could not immediately find the link to her sister. Patiently she focused her mind, blocking out the languid satisfaction of her body. Finally, she identified the subtle pulse of her twin's spirit. With a flood of relief she said, "It's all right. I can still feel Kira."

"In that case," he said with a breathless little laugh, "I'm not sorry that we forgot ourselves."

She lifted her head and said sharply, "This isn't funny. Passion scatters my wits dreadfully. I should never have permitted it."

"It's normal to feel scatter-witted after making love," he replied. "The effect is generally temporary. Don't be too hard on yourself-so far passion doesn't seem to have damaged your bond with your sister, and we've both enjoyed it immensely."

That was one reason she felt such wrenching guilt. Needing to lash out, she snapped, "And you don't want to give that pleasure up. Is my submission to your advances the price for your aid in finding Kira?"

His hands clamped painfully onto her upper arms, and she felt sheer rage crackling through him. They were still joined, and she felt utterly vulnerable, surrounded and invaded by his strength. Yet when he spoke, his voice was soft, lethally so. "Have I ever done or said anything to suggest that my help is conditional?"

"No." She looked down. "But I can't help feeling that I am very much at your mercy."

There was another explosive silence. Then, uncannily, he asked, "Are you trying to provoke me so that I'll stay at a safe distance?"

She stiffened, wondering how he could know her mind better than she did. "Perhaps… perhaps I am. I feel overwhelmed, Lucien, terrified about Kira, exhausted by the effort of living her life, and now by you. I'm like a leaf in a storm, with no control over my life. It's not a pleasant sensation."

"I don't suppose it is," he said quietly. His hard grip on her arms relaxed and he pulled her close again. "But it won't be for much longer. Soon you'll have your own life back again."

In the lull Sir Digby Upright's voice carried through the theater as he gave a monologue about what he would do to regain his position and punish his enemies. She could float in seductive contentment for a little while longer.

They had never separated, and as she lay in his arms, she realized that he was beginning to firm inside her. If they made love again, it would be slower and gentler than before. There would be more time to savor the growth of desire, the rich splendor of fulfillment____________________

The very last thing she needed was to become even more dependent on a man who turned her mind and body to butter. Summoning all her will, she disengaged herself and got to her feet.

As she withdrew she felt the shiver of protest in his muscles, followed almost instantly by acceptance. Silently he handed her a handkerchief so that she could dry herself, then stood and began to order his appearance.

Trying to sound more worldly than she was, she said, "As if there weren't already enough good reasons for me to behave myself, there is the risk of pregnancy. That is a possible complication so disastrous I don't even want to think about it."

"Not so disastrous." He smoothed the wrinkles from his coat. "Even if you have already conceived, by the time you are sure, we will be married."

Her hands clenched on the edge of her mantle as she said involuntarily, "I wish you would stop talking about that."