Dancing on the Wind

Chapter 6

Lucien swore to himself as the girl slid away. Why did he have to set his sights on a doxy with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility? He reached out to draw her into his embrace again. "You can look for Harford later, if you still want to."

She gracefully stepped away, turning as she did. For an instant her face was silhouetted against the lamplight. A delicate profile, as pure as a Greek coin…

The recognition stunned him. Surely it wasn't possible-the resemblance was mere coincidence.

Instinct said otherwise.

Lust vanished, and he dived after her, catching her arm when she was halfway into the corridor. None too gently he pulled her back into the room and slammed the door, then swung her around so that he could see that unmistakable profile again. "By God, it really is you!"

She tried to twist away. "Let me go! I don't know what you're talking about."

He wondered if Lord Mace could have set her to spy on him. If so, that meant Mace was suspicious about his prospective new member, and the situation was more dangerous than Lucien had realized. But the girl shaking in his grasp did not seem like a hardened spy, or a whore, either. She had kissed like an innocent-an innocent who was learning quickly.

"Don't think you can deceive me again, my larcenous lady." He gripped her shoulder so that he could study her face at close range. With his other hand, he skimmed his fingertips over her features. "Clever how you've used cosmetics to subtly alter the shape and planes of your face. Your own mother would have trouble recognizing you. And you've padded your figure again, though not as obviously as when you were Sally."

Her resistance collapsed, and she stared at him, tears shimmering in her blue-gray eyes. "The game is up, isn't it?" All trace of the Yorkshire accent had vanished.

"It certainly is." He released her wrist. "Who the devil are you?"

She turned away and pressed trembling hands to her temples.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said more quietly, "but I want the truth. What is your real name-Kitty? Emmie Brown? Or Sally, like the bawdy tavern wench? Probably none of those."

She sighed and raised her head. "My name is Jane. I won't tell you my family name. I'm in enough trouble already."

He suspected that meant that he might recognize her family; her natural air was that of a gently bred young woman, the sort usually found in a London drawing room rather than a theatrical tavern. "Why have you been haunting the Hellions? Or is it only me you're trying to drive to distraction?"

"It's not you I'm interested in, Lord Strathmore, but another of your associates."

"Which one?"

She hesitated. "I'd rather not say."

"You're going to have to tell me something," he said sharply. "Surely you're aware of the penalties for theft. Since you're pretty, I don't suppose you will end up at Newgate, but if I decide to press charges, you will certainly be transported."

Her face paled. "Please don't turn me over to a magistrate. I swear that I want only what I'm entitled to."

He frowned. "Is your quarry a man who ruined you?"

She began prowling restlessly about the room, her pale gown fluttering around her ankles. "It was my brother who was ruined, though I'm affected, too."

"Did your brother lose a fortune at cards?"

She stopped and stared at him. "How did you know?"

"An informed guess," Lucien said dryly. "Gambling is the quickest road to ruin for a man. But what kind of contemptible young swine would allow his sister to risk herself to save him from his own folly?"

"James isn't like that." She drifted to the fireplace and gazed down at the banked coals. "One couldn't ask for a better or more responsible brother. He's in the army and had come home to convalesce from wounds. Just before he was due to return to his regiment, he was lured into a card game with… with a certain man. My brother was coerced, cheated, and probably drugged. When he awoke the next morning, the man had a note of hand saying that he would receive title to our family estate if James didn't pay him twenty thousand pounds within sixty days."

Lucien gave a soft whistle. "A bad business if true."

Hearing the reservation, Jane glared at him. "My brother is not a liar, and he did not make up that story in order to excuse his folly."

"If he feels he was cheated, why didn't he challenge the man to a duel?"

"And make a bad situation worse? The man who cheated him"-she gave a humorless smile-"for the purposes of this discussion, I'll call him Captain Sharp- has a great deal of influence. There would have been a terrible scandal that would have ruined my brother's career. James is a good shot and would probably have killed his opponent. If not…" She shivered. "I don't want to think of the alternative. I told James to return to his regiment because I had a plan that would solve the problem."

"So he went blithely off and left the situation in your hands." Lucien shook his head. "What is your plan-to slide a dagger between your quarry's ribs? Not a good idea."

She began drumming her fingers on the mantelpiece. "Believe me, I don't fancy myself as Lady Macbeth. I've learned that Captain Sharp has done this sort of thing to other young men-usually ones like my brother, who are well-born but not extremely wealthy or influential. It's his custom to keep the notes close, either on his person or in his baggage. I hoped to steal the note back before the sixty days are done."

"You say that as if theft is a perfectly logical solution rather than dangerous lunacy." Lucien tried to decide if she was the bravest woman he'd ever met, or the most foolish. Probably both. "Are you and James twins?"

There was an odd pause before she replied, "No, I'm three years older. What made you think we might be twins?"

He shrugged. "Because you seem to be unusually close."

A shadow crossed her expressive face. "That's because our parents died when we were young. There was only the two of us."

"No other relative to look out for the family interests?"

"A cousin has acted as guardian, but he has lived abroad for several years."

"Perhaps I can help," Lucien offered. Besides doing a good deed, it would also give him more information about one of the Hellions. His guess was that Jane's Captain Sharp was Harford or Nunfield. Both had unsavory reputations as gamesters.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, startled. "This isn't your problem."

"You would be wise to accept any aid you can get, my dear," he said mildly. "This is what-your third attempt to get close enough to your quarry to steal what you want? Or are there other occasions I don't know about?"

She gave a rueful smile. "You've seen me every time."

"It's a miracle that you haven't been ravished or arrested yet," he said with exasperation. "If you tell me who you're stalking, there's a good chance that I can get you and your brother out of trouble."

Her eyes narrowed. "I see I shall have to be blunt. Your reputation is not precisely pristine, Lord Strathmore. You may think I'm a fool to reject your help, but I would be a greater fool to trust you."

Since he did his best to seem mysterious and faintly menacing, her words shouldn't have stung, but they did.

He said acerbically, "The fact that I haven't turned you over to a magistrate should give you some reason to trust me."

"That's frail evidence since the nearest magistrate is Lord Chiswick," she said sweetly. "As you yourself said, he would not welcome interruptions in the middle of an orgy."

Lucien almost laughed out loud. Now that Jane's initial fright had passed, she was formidably self-possessed. Perhaps she would trust him more if he found a solution to her problem. "You mentioned a guardian. I assume that you are over twenty-one, but what about your brother?"

"He'll be twenty-one in February."

Lucien gave a satisfied nod. "Excellent. Since James wasn't of legal age when he contracted the debt, Captain Sharp can't collect a single farthing from him."

Her eyes widened as hope warred with doubt. "How can that be? Young men often run up gambling debts."

"For honor's sake most youths will pay off their debts if they can. But they can't be legally compelled to do so. In a case like this, where your brother believes he was cheated, Captain Sharp is hardly likely to pursue the matter with your guardian," Lucien replied. "It was foolish of him to waste time on a boy who was under twenty-one."

"He might not have realized. James looks older than twenty, and he has been in the army since he was seventeen." She dropped onto the edge of the bed, her expression stunned. "It never occurred to me that legally he is not yet considered a man."

"I suggest that you get a lawyer with long, sharp teeth to write to Captain Sharp, repudiating the debt. I can give you several names if you don't know who to go to."

"That won't be necessary; I know someone who will do." She gave him a dazzling smile. "To think that I've been sneaking around making a fool of myself when there was no real problem."

"But if you hadn't, I wouldn't have met you, and that would have been a great pity," Lucien said softly.

Their gazes met and a primitive, powerful awareness pulsed between them-male and female admiring each other and wanting to be closer. Jane swallowed hard, her throat going taut, and he knew that she was uncomfortable with her attraction to him. Her eyes held the alarmed fascination of a nervous virgin.

"I must be leaving." She got to her feet and almost stepped on one of the mechanical devices that had fallen to the floor earlier. She knelt and began gathering the scattered toys. "I'm sorry for dropping these. I hope none are damaged."

He came and knelt beside her to help. Their fingers brushed as they both reached for a small black-and-silver penguin. In the instant of contact, he felt a tremor in her hand.

She said quickly, "What does this creature do?"

He took the mechanical penguin and wound the key, then set it on the floor. With a low whirring sound the little creature bent forward, then suddenly flipped backward in a perfect somersault. As it landed on its broad webbed feet, Jane gasped, "I don't believe it!"

Even as she spoke, the penguin did another back flip, then another. Jane sat back on her heels, laughing so hard that she pressed one hand to her midriff. She looked like someone who had not laughed for too long. It made Lucien happy to watch her.

In the last few minutes she had been a frightened innocent, a sensual nymph, and a cool-eyed opponent. Now she was a joyous child. He guessed that all of those facets of her were genuine, but were any of them the deepest, most essential woman? She was a fascinating puzzle, one he meant to solve.

Tears of amusement in her eyes, she asked, "Where did you get this?"

"I designed it and built the jumping mechanism. It's going to be a christening gift for the child of a friend of mine."

Kit picked up the toy and regarded it thoughtfully. "You have unexpected talents, Lord Strathmore. Why a penguin?"

"My friend has a dozen of them on his estate. Probably the only penguins in Great Britain. They're delightful to watch."

She supposed it made sense that Strathmore would have friends as unusual as he was himself. She picked up another of the toys, a rabbit in formal court wear who sat on a chair playing a violoncello. She wound the key and the rabbit began sawing the bow back and forth while a tune tinkled inside the figure. "Charming. Did you make this one also?"

"No, it's French. A friend found it for me in Vienna." He examined the rabbit, then carefully straightened one ear. "This fellow got a bit bent when he hit the floor."

She smiled at Strathmore's concentration. He did not look menacing. Yet even though he had treated her with courtesy-chivalry, in fact-he alarmed her. He was a man of mysterious depths, and she sensed that ruthlessness was as much a part of his nature as charm.

She lifted the last of the toys, wrapped it in one of the squares of velvet that had fallen from the box, and packed it with its fellows. Then she got to her feet and returned the box to the linen drawer. Apparently there was still quite a bit of Emmie the chambermaid in her. Having tidied up, she said, "Good night, Lord Strathmore. I can't thank you enough for your help."

He had also risen and was studying her face with uncomfortable perception. She wondered uneasily if he suspected that she had been lying through her teeth about her mythical brother and his gambling debt.

"I want to see you again," he said quietly.

His words were more startling than an accusation would have been. Her heart jumped, partly from fear, more because of the shocking knowledge that she also would like to see him. After reminding herself of all the reasons why she couldn't, she said calmly, "That isn't feasible, my lord."

His brows arched, making him look more than ever like Lucifer. "Why not?"

"Because I will not be your mistress, and there is no other possible relationship between us."

Amusement gleamed in his eyes, making them seem more gold than green. "You accuse me unjustly. I haven't made an improper suggestion since I found out that you weren't really a whore. Why can't we be friends?"

It had been easier to deal with the Hellions who merely assaulted her body. She took an unobtrusive step backward.

"Friendship between men and women is rare at the best of times, and nonexistent between those of unequal station. I don't move in the same circles you do, my lord, so we cannot be friends."

"Nonsense," he replied, undeterred. "You're obviously of good birth, and while, as you pointed out, my reputation is hardly pristine, I'm still considered socially acceptable. Let me know where to find you, and I will arrange as proper an introduction as anyone could want."

Deciding to take the offensive, she asked bluntly, "What do you want of me, Lord Strathmore?"

"I honestly don't know," he said slowly. "But I intend to find out."

"Prepare yourself for disappointment." She walked around him and headed toward the door. "Unless you are going to hold me prisoner, I will leave now."

"Wait," he ordered.

She stopped, nerves jumping, knowing that she was entirely at his mercy.

To her relief, he said only. "I'll take you downstairs. It wouldn't be safe for you to go alone."

He was right, she silently acknowledged. It was too late to search any more rooms. By this time the first stage of the orgy must be over, and those of the Hellions who could still walk would be heading for the comfort of their own chambers. One of them might be in the mood for a new bedmate.

"Very well," she agreed. "I came in through the library and left the door open so I could leave the same way."

He untied his cravat and tossed it aside, then peeled off his coat. As he started undoing the buttons at the throat of his shirt, he saw her alarmed expression and interpreted it accurately. "We must look as if we have been improperly engaged," he explained, a smile lurking in his eyes.

With his blond hair tousled and his shirt falling open to reveal his broad chest, he was the very portrait of a rake, the kind of man no woman could resist. And he knew how he affected her, damn him. Alone together in this room, both in dishabille, there was almost as much intimacy as if they were lovers in truth.

He surveyed her critically. "You need to look more debauched." He pulled down one of her sleeves. Since the back of her bodice was still untied, the fabric slid easily, exposing her left shoulder. When his fingers skimmed her bare flesh she almost jumped out of her skin.

Feeling her reaction, he hesitated, as if tempted to turn his attempt at camouflage into a caress. The moment hung suspended between them.

Finally, to her relief, he moved away and opened the door. After scanning the hall, he draped an arm around her shoulders and steered her out.

Voices sounded downstairs, but there no one was in sight. Getting into the spirit, she wrapped an arm around his lean waist and tried to look like a satisfied doxy. It was easy to act the part when his warm body was twined around hers. His closeness fueled the fire that had been kindled by his earlier kiss.

Grimly she reminded herself that she only had to hang on to the rags of her composure for a few more minutes. Then she would be free of her alarming companion.

On the ground floor they passed one of the Hellions with a half-naked woman supporting him as the couple headed for the stairs. In the dim light, she had no idea who the man was. A wavering tenor and soprano duet sounded from the drawing room as they passed, singing a song that Kit guessed would be horribly embarrassing if she understood what all of the words meant. But as Strathmore had predicted, she was safe with him. At least, safe from other men; the earl himself was another matter.

She broke away as soon as they entered the library and retrieved the cloak she had hidden behind the sofa. When she was safely swaddled in its folds, she parted the draperies and opened the French doors. The night air was piercingly cold.

He said softly, "I assume that you have a horse or carriage waiting to take you safely away?"

She studied his face. In the moonlight he had a cool, unearthly beauty. What would have happened if they had chanced to meet in a normal, uncomplicated way? Probably he would not even have noticed her. "I have, my lord. You need not concern yourself about my welfare any longer."

Before she could step outside, he caught her shoulders and drew her to him. "My name is Lucien." Then he bent his head and kissed her with calm possessiveness.

How quickly a presumptuous male embrace came to seem natural, then desirable. Her heartbeat accelerated as she kissed him back. Quite clearly she knew that she would never forget this moment or this man. The intimacy of male nearness, the erotic contrast of icy breeze and warm flesh, the soft caress of his breath on her temple when he released her-all were graven on her soul.

"I wonder if your name is really Jane," he said pensively. "Probably not, but no matter. I shall discover who you really are."

His matter-of-factness was the most unnerving aspect of a thoroughly unnerving encounter. "No, you won't," she retorted as fear overcame the haze of sensuality that had enveloped her. "Thank you again, my lord, and good-bye. There is no room in my life for you."

"You will make room," he said absolute assurance. "Until next time, my dear."

She slipped away into the night, pulses pounding as she thought about what he had said about "dancing on the wind." The phrase was a euphemism for dying on the scaffold, which was certainly a possibility if she continued her criminal activities.

But the words also described her quest. She felt as if she were dancing frantically in midair, struggling to stay aloft in a precarious situation where the least misstep would send her plunging to her doom. For that reason, the enigmatic earl was dangerous, for he caused her to lose her balance. She hoped to heaven that their paths would not cross again.

Interlude

The silent, stone-faced maid came, which meant that it was time to prepare herself. After stripping off her regular clothing, she drew on a translucent black silk chemise that heft half her breasts bare and fell only to midthigh. Then the maid helped her into the black brocade corset, pulling the laces so tightly she could scarcely breathe.

Next came the black lace stockings that tied to her corset with scarlet ribbons. The long boots over them were made of supple black leather that clung to the curve of her calves. The boots had been specially made with high, thin heels that were difficult to walk in.

She sat still while the maid covered her light brown hair with a luxuriant red wig so long that it brushed her backside. Rouge to make her lips full and cruel and to bring a hectic flush to her pale cheeks. Last of all a black half mask with eyeslits cut at a wicked angle, and elbow-length black kid gloves.

She stood and examined her appearance in the mirror. All black, white, and scarlet, she was a caricature of femaleness with a tiny waist that exaggerated her breasts and hips and indecently long legs. The maid gave a nod of approval and left

To prepare herself mentally, she stared at the clever, loathsome mechanical device she had been given and thought of what she must do. When she was as ready as she would ever be, she went into the next room and began lighting the dozens of candles that clustered on every surface. When they were all lit, the room had the orange glow of an antechamber to hell.

He would arrive soon. She picked up the whip and gave it an experimental flick. Perfectly balanced. All was in readiness for her premiere. Yet still she tensed when the key turned in the lock. In spite of her study, there was much she did not know.

Quickly she turned her back to the door, as if utterly indifferent. She sensed his entry, heard the key turn again behind him, and listened to the heaviness of his breathing. She toyed with a long tress of false red hair, making him wait.

When his impatience got the best of him, he said huskily, "I am here, mistress. What is your bidding?"

Slowly she turned, using her body to express arrogance, contempt, dominance. He watched her with avid eyes.

When he tried to speak again, she snarled, "Silence!"

The whip twitched in her hand like the tail of an angry cat. As the tension built, sweat appeared on his face and white became visible all around his irises.

With a sudden, fierce movement of her arm, she slashed out with the whip. The vicious crack shattered the suffocating silence. She caught his gaze and said with deadly menace, "Kneel, slave."