Dancing on the Wind (32 page)

"God, yes," he groaned. "
Exactly
like that."

He thrust forward again, and this time her body responded instinctively, already understanding what her mind had not yet mastered. The rhythms were as integral as her marrow. A queer aching. Shock friction and liquid heat. Wanting.
Needing
.

He made a suffocated sound and began driving into her, his muscular frame and implacable strength imprisoning her with a finality that was also liberation. This was not the considerate lover of the Clarendon, slowly bringing her to fulfillment, but a man demanding what was his right. He filled her arms and her senses, taste and touch and heat. She was no longer alone…

With sudden panic, she realized that he was penetrating her spirit as deeply as her body, stripping away her painfully constructed defenses. She tried to withdraw to the safety of being an observer, but it was impossible. She was utterly vulnerable, needing his warmth and strength with a desperation that shattered her will.

He slid his hand between them and touched her intimately, producing a violent pleasure that hurled her into the maelstrom. When she cried out, he buried his face in the angle between her head and shoulder. Air rushed into his lungs, and a savage shudder passed from him into her. She nearly danced out of her skin, out of control, ravaged as much by the searing force of his spirit as by the tumult of physical release.

The storm passed, leaving her shivering with shock. Dear God, if she had known, she would have dived out the window rather than let him touch her. She should have guessed that asking his help would irrevocably change the balance between them. Instead, she had willingly—eagerly—trusted him with her body, thinking that she would still be mistress of her soul and her secrets.

She had been mad to believe that she could withhold any part of herself once they became intimate. Fearfully, she recognized that anything he asked of her, she would give. And may God have mercy if he was unworthy of trust.

As she tried to choke back her tears, he rolled onto his side and gathered her against him. His hands skimmed over her, as gentle as they had previously been demanding. Quietly he said, "It's always been you, every time, hasn't it?"

She nodded, her face pressed against his collarbone.

"And you're Kathryn, not Kristine." It was a statement, not a question.

Reflexively trying to keep him at a distance, she asked "Why do you say that?"

"My head accepted that you must be two different women, but my instinct disagreed." Her discarded chemise had chanced to land on the bed, so he used it to carefully blot the small amount of blood between her legs. "You did an excellent job of playing the role of a worldly actress, but even at your most brazen, there was an underlying shyness. I wondered about it a little."

She made a face. "As you said earlier, there is a limit to what acting can do. I can mimic Kira very well, but I can't always make myself enjoy it."

"The final proof was your virginity. Kristine may be many things, but I doubt that virgin is one of them." He grimaced. "If I had listened to my intuition rather than logic, I wouldn't have hurt you as much."

"Virginity is nature's bad joke on womankind," she said gloomily.

He grinned, then stretched out beside her and propped his head on his hand. "I was told you were always tagging behind your sister. The implication was that you were a poor second to her, but that wasn't true, was it? Anything Kira did, you did equally well. When she played Sebastian, the male twin, in
Twelfth Night
, you were Viola, which is actually the larger, more vital role. When she went swimming nude in the river or galloping in breeches with the hunt, you were right beside her, equally brave and equally athletic. And given the nature of identical twins, I'll wager that you instigated your share of mischief."

She stared at him, shocked to her toes. "How do you know that? No one else has ever realized, even Aunt Jane. Everyone assumed that Kira was always the leader."

"Because identical twins are simultaneously alike and different, some people have trouble dealing with them," he said obliquely. "It's easier and more convenient to put them in pigeonholes. The bold twin, the shy twin. The good sister, the wicked sister." His eyes sparked with amusement. "My guess is that Kira is less wild than generally presumed, and that you are less respectable, despite the splendidly straitlaced performance you gave as Lady Kathryn."

"You're right that many people preferred to think of us as opposites rather than variations on a common theme," Kit agreed. "There are also what Kira and I used to call 'those people'—the ones who would only talk to one of us and would ignore the other as if she didn't exist. We used to joke about that."

"You probably also played games with your identicalness, and laughed between yourselves about the world's gullibility."

She smiled a little. "When someone said, 'Kristine's ribbon is red and Kathryn's is blue,' we'd switch ribbons and mannerisms as soon as the person turned away. But we
are
different in many ways. As I said at Jane's, Kira has the kind of charm and vitality that can light up a whole theater. She has always been outgoing and far more willing than I to try something new. I'm the prim and proper one."

He cocked his brows with exaggerated disbelief. "Prim? Proper? Is this the female who has been leading me a merry dance across the rooftops and bedrooms of London?"

"That has been necessity, not choice," she said bleakly.

His amusement vanished. "This is all about Kira, isn't it? Something has happened to her."

The fear that had eased a little during their teasing conversation flared again, clutching at her belly like an icy talon. "My sister is none of your business."

In a calm, implacable voice, he said, "Tell me."

She rolled away and sat up, wrapping the sheet tightly around her body. "Why do you want to know?"

"You wouldn't have risked coming to this ball and going off with Roderick Harford if you weren't desperate. You need help, Kit. Why not accept mine?"

She looked away, knowing that she feared him and not wanting to explain why.

As if reading her mind, he asked, "Why won't you trust me?"

"I can't afford to make a mistake," she said tightly. "There's too much at stake."

"I would never harm you or your sister, and in your heart you know that."

She did know, but the knowledge did not eliminate her wariness. She temporized with part of the truth. "I've never found men very trustworthy. My father could charm the scales off a snake, but heaven help anyone who dared rely on him."

"I am not your father." He took her cold hand, his warm clasp engulfing her fingers. "I try very hard to do what I say I will, and I'm generally considered quite good at solving problems. Why not let me try to solve yours?"

Against her will, she found herself blurting out what she would have preferred to keep secret. "It isn't you that I distrust, but myself. I'm not good at being alone, Lucien. For the first eighteen years of my life, Kira was always there. We were more like two halves of a whole than individuals. We knew that we needed to separate and develop our own lives, but I've done a rotten job of becoming independent. I feel incomplete, like a… a vine casting about for a pole to wrap myself around. I don't think you would like that. I don't like it about myself."

"You underestimate your strength, Kit. What you are worrying about might never come to pass." His thumb made slow circles on her palm. "Don't let your fears of what might happen stand in the way of helping Kira."

Her resistance collapsed. She buried her face in her hands, thinking that he had gone right to the heart of the issue. Kira's safety was far more important than the likelihood that Kit would make a fool of herself by falling in love with the rich, powerful, rakish Earl of Strathmore.

Besides, she had the uneasy feeling that if she didn't tell him what was wrong, he would reach inside her mind and pull the facts out directly. And she really could not bear to have him invading her thoughts more than he already had. She raised her head and said wearily, "It's a long story."

"Then we might as well get comfortable." He got out of bed and pulled a shirt from the wardrobe. "Put this on. It's easier for a man and woman to talk sensibly when they're dressed and vertical."

She emerged from her sheet and complied. The voluminous folds of his shirt covered her almost to her knees, absurdly, she still wore her stockings, so she stripped them off and tossed them in the general direction of her other scattered garments. Then she settled cross-legged on the bed.

Lucien donned a luxuriant blue wool robe that made his hair glow like spun gold. After building up the fire, he dug a flat silver flask from his baggage, poured some of the amber contents into two glasses, and handed one to her. "Drink this."

Meekly she obeyed. The brandy couldn't touch the cold knot in her belly, but it did help steady her hands.

He settled beside her on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. "What has happened to Kira?"

She stared into her glass. "I don't know, and I'm not sure where to begin."

"Wherever you like. We can sit here all night if necessary, and the nights are very long at this time of year."

"Most of what I told you at Jane's was true." She made a face. "Though I slandered Jane herself. She's not the tyrant I led you to believe. Without her cooperation I could never have done what I've been doing."

"She didn't forbid Kira her house?"

"No, though it's true that she was not enthralled by my sister's choice of career. Well, neither was I. But Kira was hell-bent on treading the boards, so I accepted it. We kept in fairly close touch, writing each other every week when she was working in the provincial theaters. When she was in London, we would see each other every week or two, usually when we were going to the market." Kit hesitated, wondering if anyone who was not a twin could understand. "Not necessarily to talk, just to… see each other. It wasn't ever arranged. We just…
knew when it was likely that our paths would cross."

She glanced at Lucien's face, but he accepted that matter-of-factly. "Kira lives in Soho?"

Kit nodded. "She owns a small house and uses the ground floor for herself. The upstairs flat is rented to a friend of hers, another actress named Cleo Farnsworth."

When she fell silent, he prompted, "When did you discover something was wrong?"

"On our birthday, the twenty-first of October. We always celebrate it together.
Always
. When she was working in the provinces, she would come to London. Once when she couldn't get away, I took the mail coach all the way to Yorkshire so that we could be together. This year we had arranged to meet at her house for a quiet dinner." She swallowed the terror that came with the memory. "The night before, I had had a nightmare and woke up feeling horribly anxious, but I didn't connect it with Kira. Yet the minute I let myself into her flat, I knew that something was dreadfully wrong."

"Were there signs of a struggle?"

"No, just… emptiness. Horrible, echoing emptiness, even though everything was exactly where it should be." Kit's hands locked around her brandy glass. "The only thing wrong was that her cat, Viola, was ravenous, as if she hadn't been fed that day.

"After I fed Viola, I went upstairs to talk to Cleo, whom I had met several times. At first Cleo thought I was Kira and scolded me for missing a rehearsal. When I explained that I was Kathryn, Cleo became worried, too. She said Kira had left the Marlowe as usual after performing the night before, and Cleo hadn't seen her since. But Kira
never
misses rehearsals. She must have been kidnapped on her way home."

After a brief hesitation, he said gently, "Presumably you have considered the possibility that she was murdered by footpads and her body dropped in the river."

"You think she's dead, don't you? Well, she
isn't
," Kit said fiercely. "You may not be able to understand this, but having a twin is like being connected to another person by an invisible cord. On some level, I'm always aware of Kira. If she died, I would know instantly. She is unhappy, sometimes terribly frightened, but she is as alive as I am."

She expected skepticism, but he said only, "If that is the case, abduction is certainly the most likely possibility. Do you know of anyone who might want to kidnap her and why?"

He actually believed her! Almost dizzy with relief, she replied, "The last time I had dined with Kira, a month or so earlier, she had casually mentioned an admirer who was determined to make her his mistress. She made a joke of it, but I thought at the time that she wouldn't have mentioned the fellow if she hadn't found him disturbing."

"So you think the man decided that if she wouldn't come to him voluntarily, he would take her by force," Lucien said with a frown.

"It's the only explanation that makes sense. The risk to him would be minimal—no one would be very surprised at the disappearance of a young actress," she said with more than a trace of irony. "Since all actresses are considered trollops, everyone would assume that she had run off with some man who had made her an irresistible offer."

"When Kira mentioned the man, did she say anything else that might help you identify him?"

"No, but she has always used a small notebook to remind herself of engagements and things she wanted to remember. After she disappeared, I searched her flat until I found it. Most of it was irrelevant, but there were several exasperated comments about a man who wouldn't take no for an answer." Kit's face tightened.

"Kira called him Lord Hellion. She also made several critical remarks about the Hellion Club."

"No wonder you've been stalking the group." Lucien frowned. "But why have you been taking such appalling risks? Surely you could have engaged an expert, a Bow Street Runner perhaps, to search for her."

She gave a humorless smile. "That's exactly what I did do. Mr. Jones tried his best. He found a drunkard who thought he'd sees a woman forced into a carriage not far from the Marlowe Theater on the night Kira disappeared. But it was raining, and the man couldn't supply any details about the woman or the kidnappers. Mr. Jones hasn't been able to learn anything more even though he has informants all over London.
It is as if Kira has vanished from the face of the earth."