Dancing on the Wind

Chapter 31

Given the bleakness of her thoughts, Kit was grateful Henry was not disposed to chatter. They turned from the Strand into a quieter side street.

Halfway down the block, the clatter of hooves and wheels sounded behind them. A battered hackney coach rumbled past, then stopped. Idly Kit noted that the horses were unusually good for a livery vehicle. Then the door swung open and three men in half masks barreled out and charged toward Kit and her companion.

Henry barked, "Run, miss!"

He gave her a shove back toward the Strand, then pulled a pistol from beneath his coat and moved purposefully between her and the newcomers. Two ruffians lunged at Henry, and one knocked the pistol from his hand before he could fire. The third and largest swerved around the scuffle and raced toward Kit.

She bolted. Before she had taken ten steps, her pursuer grabbed her arm, bringing her to a wrenching halt. She tried to shout for help, but before she could make a sound, he clamped a hand over her mouth.

His cruel grip tilted her head back. The eyes behind his mask were as dull as pebbles-the eyes of a man who would kill a human as easily as a spider. Had he helped to kidnap Kira? Furiously Kit sank her teeth into his leathery fingers.

"You little bitch!" He walloped the side of her head with an open-palmed blow that made her vision dim. "Try that again and I'll really hurt you."

Over her assailant's shoulder she saw that Henry was wrestling with one of the men while the other stood by with a pistol, unable to shoot for fear of hitting his comrade. Then she lost sight of him as her captor started dragging her toward the coach. She fought every inch of the way, kicking and clawing, but she was no match for him.

Another coach turned into the street and began rattling toward them. Making a supreme effort, Kit chopped her assailant in the throat with the side of her hand. He made a garbling sound, and his grip loosened. She wrenched herself away, her cloak coming off in his hands. Praying that the driver or passengers would help rather than turn and flee, she darted toward the oncoming vehicle, shouting for assistance. Behind her she heard the heavy footfalls of her pursuer.

The coach ground to a halt. Even before it stopped moving, the door swung open and Lucien leaped out, his expression as fierce as the fallen archangel he was named for. He snapped, "Get behind me, Kit!"

As she obeyed, the other man grinned nastily. "Aren't you the gallant fellow," he sneered. "I eat swells like you for breakfast."

Before he could say more, Lucien whipped his cane around like a quarterstaff. The heavy gold head slammed into the ruffian's skull with an ugly, pulpy sound and he dropped into an ungainly heap.

With movements as economical as a dancer, Lucien pivoted and went to aid the Bow Street Runner. Henry was down, and the man with the pistol was aiming it when Lucien cracked his cane over the barrel of the weapon. It spun away into the gutter. Even before it clattered onto the cobblestones, the third man leaped at Lucien in a flat dive that knocked them both to the ground.

The attacker landed on top. Rather than fight, he bounded to his feet and shouted, "Time to go, mates!" He grabbed the arm of his fallen comrade and hauled him toward the coach.

Lucien rose and lunged after them, but his ankle turned under him. As he stumbled, the three attackers piled into the vehicle. The driver cracked his whip over the horses, and they took off into the night, heading away from the Strand.

Lucien swore as he got to his feet. Then he turned and limped toward Kit. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said shakily. She took a step toward him, then another quicker one. A moment later she was in his arms, and he was embracing her with rib-bruising force.

Now that the danger had past, her knees turned to rubber. She hid her face against his shoulder and felt the hammering of his heart gradually slow to a normal tempo.

"They were trying to kidnap you?"

After she mastered the desire to break into hysterical tears, she replied, "I think so. It was no normal robbery."

He smoothed her mussed hair back from her forehead. "Did you recognize any of the men?"

"I'm sure that none were Hellions. I had the feeling they were hirelings." She tried to recapture those chaotic moments. "When the big one was dragging me toward the coach, I remember wondering if he had done the same with Kira. Perhaps he had taken part in her abduction, and I was vaguely sensing that."

"Mace and Nunfield left the theater during the second act. Possibly one of them could have arranged for an ambush in that short period of time if he knew where to go." Lucien's embrace tightened. "But it's also possible that the attack could be unrelated to your performing before your chief suspects tonight. There's simply not enough real evidence."

She raised her head so she could see his face. "How did you find out we were going to be attacked?"

He hesitated before saying, "I didn't. I just… felt that I should find you."

He had said that he had had a sixth sense where his sister's safety was concerned. Apparently, that ability extended to other females in need. And he had known exactly where to come. She shook her head in amazement. "No wonder you're known as Lucifer-your instincts are uncanny. A good thing you're on my side."

"Always, Kit," he said quietly. "Don't ever doubt that."

Her lover, her protector. With a desire so strong it was pain, she wanted to melt into him, to shelter in his strength and kindness forever. A kind of shiver went through her, as if the invisible walls that separated one person from another were on the verge of dissolving. If that happened, she would sink into him so deeply that she would never be wholly free again.

Aching, she reminded herself that the more tightly she clung now, the more painful it would be to separate. She must maintain a safe distance, not only for the sake of finding Kira, but for her own sanity.

Stepping away, she asked, "Is your ankle badly hurt?"

As she spoke, she made the mistake of looking at him. He became utterly still, and the lamplight showed the warm gold fading from his eyes, leaving them a flat, pale green. He had recognized her subtle withdrawal for the rejection it was, and she was miserably aware how much she had wounded him.

Without a word more being spoken, something significant took place between them. A hardening, a wariness, that rebuilt the barriers between them. He had made himself vulnerable, but she had spurned him, and pride would not permit him to do that again.

His voice cool and uninflected, he said, "My ankle is only twisted. It will be fine tomorrow."

She retrieved her cloak, which had been dropped by her attacker, and wrapped it around her trembling body. Then she collected his hat and cane and silently handed them over. This time she avoided looking into his eyes.

Twenty feet away, Henry Jones had risen and was dusting himself off. A bruise was forming on his jaw, and his lip was split and bloody, but he didn't seem to be seriously injured. "A very timely appearance, my lord," he said genially, oblivious to the undercurrents throbbing between Kit and Lucien. "It was almost worth having my coat ruined to see you in action."

Lucien's head swung toward him. In a voice that could have scorched granite, he asked, "Might I inquire why you didn't wait for my coach to take you and Lady Kathryn home?"

Guessing that his anger toward her was being transferred to Henry, she said quickly, "It was my fault, Lucien. I didn't believe I was in danger, so I insisted on walking."

Ignoring her, he regarded the Runner with narrowed eyes.

Henry's face sobered. "I've no excuse, my lord. Her ladyship didn't understand the risk, but I should have."

"Yes, you should. If you're that careless with Lady Kathryn again, you'll have more to fear from me than from a whole gang of ruffians." Lucien's tone was still caustic, but his expression had relaxed at the Runner's honest admission of error. He gestured toward the coach. "Do you want the driver to take you home after he drops Lady Kathryn and me at Strathmore House? After the drubbing you took, I imagine you could use a ride."

"Thank you for the offer, my lord, but walking will keep me from stiffening up." Henry grimaced as he leaned over and scooped up his crushed hat. "When you've been in as many scrapes as I have, you learn what's best for the old bones."

After bidding Kit good night, the Runner walked away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Kit said, "If you don't think I would be safe at Kira's, take me to Aunt Jane's house. The villain can't possibly know where she lives."

"Don't talk rubbish," he said crisply. "You're staying with me for the duration. I never should have allowed you out of my sight." He held the door open for Kit, saying to the fascinated coach driver, "Hanover Square, please."

As he handed her into the coach, she opened her mouth to protest again, but Lucien cut her off. "Don't bother to mention the potential damage to your reputation. You've said that you are indifferent to such considerations."

He climbed in after her and slammed the door shut. "If you're concerned about propriety, Lady Jane can come and stay at Strathmore House. If you're going to say that your sister's Shakespearean cat needs tending, the creature can come, too." He sat on the opposite seat and braced himself as the coach lurched into motion. "And for the rest of the drive to Hanover Square, you can tell me what an overbearing beast I am."

She might have done exactly that, except that his last sentence disarmed her. Grateful that he was setting a casual tone to replace vanished intimacy, she said, "To be honest, I'm fresh out of arguments. I'll wait until tomorrow to point out your beastliness."

"Tomorrow you'll have better things to do. I've identified seven properties owned by the suspects that are within a couple of hours of London." He gave an exasperated sigh. "It's a start, but such information is not easily come by. There could be other locations that I don't know about."

"I'm sure you have discovered more than anyone else could have." She bit her lip, again feeling the sense of time flowing too rapidly. "I'm supposed to do Scandal Street tomorrow night, but if we're going to search for Kira, I can let the understudy take my part."

"That won't be necessary. The two properties closest to London can be visited during the day. Both are small, so it shouldn't be necessary to trespass for you to sense if Kira is being held at one of them."

"Thank heaven," she said fervently. "It will be good to be doing something."

A few minutes later they reached Strathmore House and Lucien escorted her inside after a lavish payment to the coach driver. There was no question of her sharing his bed; impeccably formal, he handed her into the keeping of a maid without so much as a good-night kiss.

As she wearily settled into a guest room, she told herself that sleeping alone was much wiser. She would have no ambivalence about whether to make love, nor the guilt that would come if she succumbed, which she probably would if Lucien seriously tried to persuade her.

What a pity that wisdom was so cold and lonely.

Because of her fatigue, Kit slept heavily and awoke only after prolonged knocking on her door. Groggily she looked around, at first not recognizing her luxurious surroundings. By the time she remembered where she was, the door had opened and her aunt swept in, followed by two familiar tabby cats and a maid carrying a tea tray. The cats jumped onto the bed and flopped on opposite sides of Kit, where they could glare mistrustfully at each other over her knees. Apparently Viola and Sebastian had forgotten that they were litter mates.

Ignoring the feline byplay, Jane said brightly. "Good morning, Kathryn. You're looking rather dreadful. Have some tea and currant muffins." She dismissed the maid and poured two cups of tea, adding sizable dollops of sugar to each.

Kit stifled a groan; her aunt had always been one of those regrettable creatures known as Morning People. "What are you doing here, Jane?" she asked as she accepted the tea cup and gratefully drank a scalding mouthful.

"That earl of yours called first thing in the morning and hauled Sebastian and me over here in the interests of propriety." Jane settled into a chair. "Though I suspect that trying to preserve your reputation is rather a case of closing the barn door after the horse has disappeared over the nearest horizon."

When Kit blushed, Jane added, "You needn't comment on that."

"I don't intend to." Though Kit had told Jane everything about her search for Kira, she had been rather less forthcoming about her relationship with Lucien. "And he's not my earl."

Jane grinned. "He seems to think he is. Since I'm not your legal guardian, he didn't bother to ask me for your hand, but he did inform me of your future nuptials."

"That has yet to be decided," Kit said sharply.

Her aunt frowned. "Is he bullying you, Kathryn? Men can be such brutes."

Kit stared into her steaming cup, "Lord Strathmore is not a brute. He simply feels that he has compromised me and we should marry. However, I doubt anything will come of it."

"If you say so, my dear," Jane said skeptically. "He seems the determined sort. But I rather like him. You could do far worse for a husband."

Afraid to risk her fragile hopes by speaking them aloud, she said mildly, "I don't know that I want a husband, and I don't really think he wants a wife. After Kira is found, I expect that Strathmore and I will go our separate ways." Knowing the dangers of showing favoritism, Kit set aside her cup so she could pet both cats at once. "How did he get Viola from Kira's house?"

"Perhaps he woke Cleo Farnsworth and asked her to let him into the flat." Jane's eyes twinkled. "Then again, he may have picked the lock. I wouldn't put it past the gentleman."

"Neither would I. That sort of thing is what makes him so useful on a quest." Kit broke a muffin in half, automatically keeping it out of range of the cats' paws. "I don't care if the earl is a professional housebreaker. What matters is that he is helping me search for Kira."

Jane's expression sobered. Kira's disappearance was almost as hard on her as on Kit. "Have you learned something new?"

Kit outlined what had happened since she had last seen her aunt, concluding with the plan to visit two of the Hellion-owned properties that day.

Jane said doubtfully, "You really think you can detect Kira's presence if you're close to her?"

"I certainly hope so." Kit's fingers tightened on the muffin. It fragmented across the counterpane, eagerly pursued by the cats. "If I can't, I don't know what we'll do next."

Kit thought it would be less conspicuous to ride about the countryside dressed as a young man, so after eating, she delved into the clothing Jane had brought from home. Her aunt had wisely included her burglar's garb, so clad in boots and breeches, she, Lucien, and Jason Travers rode south into Surrey.

Their first destination was a small estate owned by Lord Chiswick and leased to a wealthy City merchant. With her escorts beside her, Kit circled the property on a series of lanes and small roads that came as close to the perimeter as possible. Then they tethered their horses in a copse and hiked across the estate on a public footpath.

The whole time she strained for a sense of Kira's presence. In the very center of the estate, she stopped and closed her eyes. Then she turned in a slow circle, like a hound scenting the wind, while the men watched in silence. The psychic space was as empty as the winter-blasted fields, with no trace of Kira's distinctive warmth and brightness.

Opening her eyes, she said bleakly, "Nothing."

His expression as strained as her own, Jason said, "It was too much to hope that she would be in the first place we looked."

"And this is not the most likely of the estates." Lucien laid a light hand on Kit's shoulder. "Come along to the next property. Nunfield owns it, and a couple of his aging relations live there. I think it's a better prospect."

Kit didn't answer. Not only was she disappointed at the lack of results at this location, but on a deeper level she was terrified. What if she was wrong, and she would be unable to sense Kira's presence even if her sister was near? What if the ability Kit had once possessed had failed under the pressure of her desperation?

If that was the case, her sister was doomed.

Interlude

She had not expected him to come for another session so soon, and she had little warning of his arrival. There was barely time to don her black wig, boots, and a red velvet shift that ended at midthigh. But clothing was simple compared to attitude. It was never easy to become the dominating bitch he craved; it took fierce concentration, all of her acting skill, and acute sensitivity to his desires. Not having had enough time to prepare meant that her portrayal was weak, which allowed her underlying fear to show.

For that reason she shackled him and secured his chains to the hook that hung suspended from the dungeon ceiling. Snarling a litany of abuse, she whipped him with all of her precisely gauged skill. It was a typical interchange, with her contemptuous and him groveling. But it took longer than usual to bring him to culmination, and there was a dark light in his eyes that alarmed her. Perhaps she was no longer enough of a novelty to arouse him. And when he tired of her…

Her fears were confirmed after she released him from his bondage. In the past she had always withdrawn to the other room, and he left when he was ready. This time he caught her wrists, trapping her at his side. "In time, the slave becomes the master, the mistress becomes the slave," he said with icy menace. "This will happen soon, my lady of the whip."

Like a wild beast he must be kept in his place. She jerked her knee up and knocked him in the chest, breaking his grip. "But a cur is always a cur," she sneered. "Like a dog that cringes before its master, you need what I give you, so you will accept any humiliation."

He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall, pinning her with his sweat-stenched body. Panic surged through her, for he had never physically assaulted her.

"Soon you will know the true meaning of fear, and I will savor every nuance." His breath was heavy with anticipation. "The last and most glorious performance of your life will occur when the tables are turned. But don't worry-you will not make your final bows alone."

As abruptly as the session had begun, it ended. He lifted the robe he had discarded and draped it over his welt-marked shoulders. Then he left, the heavy key grinding in the lock behind him.

She sank to her knees, shaking. How much longer did she have? She tried not to speculate about the evil hints he had made, but it was impossible not to wonder, even if the only real question was how long and horribly she would suffer before merciful death claimed her.

What had he meant when he said that she would not be alone?

Her stomach heaved as an unspeakable thought crossed her mind. No, that was impossible. Kit was too clever, and she knew the danger she faced.

But was she a match for pure evil?

Oh, Kit, Kit, she thought despairingly. In the name of God, be careful.

After he left the dungeon, he went to the sullen maid who tended his captive. "Make another of the bondage costumes with the slits and leather lacing," he ordered.

"Yes, my lord," she said incuriously. "How large should it be?"

"The same size as the one the mistress has now." He stopped for a moment as his mind filled with the intoxicating fantasy that would soon be fulfilled. "The costume must be exactly the same."