Dancing on the Wind (38 page)

He dozed off, only to come awake with a jerk when Kit gave a choked scream and struck out with her left fist, almost smashing him in the eye. He caught her wrists to stop her flailing. "Kit, wake up! You're having a nightmare."

Her eyes opened, but she continued to struggle. "Kit, it's Lucien and you're safe," he said sharply. "You're safe."

Her thrashing stopped. "Lucien?" she whispered uncertainly.

"I'm here, Kit," He released her wrists and lit the candle on the night table. "Describe your nightmare."

"It was dreadful. I… I was wearing some strange, indecent costume, and I was flogging a man. He hung in chains, writhing as I struck him again and again." She gave a shuddering sigh. "Even though I was furious with myself, I reveled in every blow. The strangest thing of all was that I had the feeling… that he was
enjoying
it." She covered her face with chilly hands. "Do dreams reveal our inner natures? If so, mine is loathsome."

"Sometimes dreams show us ourselves," he said slowly. "But they can tell us other things." He stacked several pillows against the headboard to support himself, then cradled her against his chest. "Tell me any other details you remember before you forget them."

"A closed space—suffocating. Sweaty heat. The decor is elaborate and very vulgar." Fretfully, she undid the button that secured the throat of her nightshirt. "I'm wearing tight black boots with insanely high heels and a peculiar garment like a… a black satin snake skin. And a long wig. Red, I think."

"What did the man look like?"

She rubbed her temple, then shook her head in frustration. "It's fading away. I'm sorry. I need water." She sat up and swung from the bed, then collapsed onto the carpet.

"Kit!" Lucien dived from the bed and scooped her into his arms, then laid her on the bed and pulled the covers up.

She was white and trembling all over, but she managed a feeble smile. "I'm all right, truly. This has happened before. I'll be fine in a few minutes."

He paused, arrested, on the way to the washstand. "How often does it occur?"

"In a milder form this sort of thing has happened all my life." She exhaled wearily. "Lately it's been much worse. Now I'm not simply tired, but so drained I can scarcely stand, as you saw. The nightmares are new, too. I suppose both things are a result of worrying about Kira."

"Perhaps." He poured a glass of water and brought it to the bed. "Have all the nightmares involved whipping someone?"

She thought. "I… I think so."

He supported her while she drank, then gently laid her back against the pillows. As he went to build up the fire, he asked, "Is it possible that instead of dreaming, you are sensing Kira's actual thoughts and experiences?"

"I shouldn't think so," she said doubtfully. "Sensing her emotions is a long way from being able to read her mind."

"Think back. The whip you were using—was it in your right hand or your left hand?"

She stared at her hands and her face paled. "The right—Kira's hand, not mine." She looked up at Lucien, her face perplexed. "But the images are nightmarish, unreal. Kira would
never deliberately torture someone."

He said soberly, "You said that you felt the man was enjoying it. Perhaps he wanted her to whip him."

"No one could possibly enjoy that kind of pain!"

"Not necessarily." He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand between both of his. "The roots of desire are complex and mysterious, Kit. For some, pleasure and pain are so closely intertwined that they find the right kind of pain exciting."

Seeing her disbelief, he said, "I know it seems implausible, but right here in London there are brothels that specialize in whipping. I know a woman who owns one, and an extremely good living she makes from it."

Kit bit her lip, journalistic curiosity overcoming her personal feelings. "Has she ever explained why men come to her?"

"Dolly says that many of her customers are very powerful, influential men who carry heavy
responsibilities. Being in a situation where they are helpless and the only purpose is sex arouses them. Similarly, there are women who like to wield a whip because it is one time when they can dominate a man totally and be thanked for it."

"I suppose that makes a weird kind of sense."

"Don't expect too much logic—it's not a rational subject," he said dryly. "There are both men and women with these specialized tastes, and some take turns at both ends of the whip. And it isn't only whipping. Dolly has customers who talk rapturously about being spanked by nursemaids or schoolmasters when they were children, and ever since they've been looking for the same kind of pleasure-pain. Others—" He halted. "Never mind. I'm sure you get the general idea."

Kit's hand clenched his. "Do you think Kira has been kidnapped and forced to work in that sort of brothel?"

"It's unlikely—such places don't need to kidnap employees. There are society women who sometimes go to Dolly's and work for free." He shifted uncomfortably, wishing he didn't have to explain such things to Kit. "I think your original idea was right. Kira was abducted by a man who was obsessed by her. However, instead of standard rape, he has… more unusual tastes. Once she was his captive, he could explain what gave him pleasure and make it clear that it is in her interest to please him."

"Oh, God!" Kit pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, expression nauseated. "That's revolting."

"There are worse things that could have happened to her," he said gravely. "It would explain why you sense she is physically well even though she is emotionally distressed."

Kit frowned. "If such a man is aroused by being helpless, what is the point of holding her captive? He would still be in control even if the whip is in her hand."

Lucien shrugged. "Perhaps he is incapable of ever allowing himself to be completely helpless, so he creates an illusion of submission while still retaining the ultimate power."

Looking as if she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, she asked, "Have you ever done such things, Lucien?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Dolly has offered to demonstrate the exquisite pleasure of being dominated by an artist like her, but I declined. The only pleasure I've ever found in pain is relief when it stops."

Since Kit still seemed baffled, he added, "Many things that are considered perverse are merely extensions of behavior that is accepted as normal. Most sets of lovers play in ways that mutually please them—teasing, or mock wrestling, or pretend seduction, for example. Some people just go further."

She made a face. "Much further. Still, explained like that, I can understand a little better. Do you think Dolly will tell you the names of her customers?"

"I doubt that she would give them to me outright, but she might confirm names that I suggest to her. Remember, though, there is no guarantee that the villain is someone who has patronized her establishment."

"It's a start. Ask her about Mace, Chiswick, Nunfield, Westley, and Harfqrd. Though I don't think Harford is the abductor, he might be involved indirectly." Looking stronger, she pushed herself to a sitting position. "What made you suspect that my nightmares were coming from Kira?"

"Linnie and I used to have the same bad dreams sometimes, though we didn't realize it until we were nine and compared notes after a difficult night. Also, there was the matter of lending strength. Remember that I said I did that with her?"

"Yes, but I wasn't sure what you meant."

His gaze became unfocused. "It's hard to explain. When we were small and she was ill, I would sit on her bed, hold her hand, and tell her to take some of my energy. It was a kind of game, yet it seemed to work. She would convalesce more quickly, while I would tire more easily. That bond held even when I went away to school. Sometimes I would wake unrested and later learn that Linnie had been ill." He cut the memory off before it could become painful. "Is it like that between you and Kira?"

"Perhaps it is, without either of us recognizing it. When I'm in a difficult situation, I'll consciously reach out to Kira. I think of myself as seeking emotional support, but perhaps I've also taken physical energy without meaning to."

"And now the current has reversed because your sister is in trouble, and she is drawing on your strength to help her endure." He grinned suddenly. "Can you imagine how strange this conversation would sound to a non-twin?"

"It makes perfect sense to me." Kit fell silent, her expression intent. She looked slim and fragile within the voluminous folds of his nightshirt. With the collar unbuttoned, the garment opened to a point well below even the most daring of evening gowns. His gaze fastened on the shadowed cleft that was teasingly revealed. He was acutely aware of the body beneath the white linen. Because they had been lovers, he knew the winsome line of her waist, the shape of her soft, unsupported breasts, the tender warmth of her inner thighs.

His mouth became dry. Though he had always been good at waiting for what he wanted, that ability seemed to have deserted him. Passion was a fever and Kit the only cure. More than anything on earth he wanted to make love to her, not only to slake desire, but to deepen the closeness he longed for.

It didn't help to know that he had the power to seduce her away from her determination to avoid physical intimacy until Kira was found. It would be so easy; a light kiss, a stroke down the graceful arc of her back, a hand on her knee. Each caress would lead to another. Soon her passion would be the equal of his, and she would welcome him with innocent fire.

And after, she would despise him for his shortsighted selfishness. Mentally uttering every curse he could remember, he forced himself to raise his gaze and ask evenly, "What are you thinking? You have a speculative gleam in your eyes."

"The Marlowe is going to perform
Scandal Street
for the first time on Friday," she replied. "It's a play that has been popular in the provinces, and this will be its first performance in London. My part is small, so Cassie James isn't featured on the playbills. Do you think you could invite the chief suspects to be your guests at the theater? You could watch when I make my first appearance and see if anyone seems unduly surprised."

"A good idea, except…" He frowned. "If the kidnapper sees you, he will know that you must be Kira's twin. As you yourself said, some men are stimulated by the prospect of bedding identical twins. That might put you in danger."

"If I'm abducted, too, at least I'll find Kira."

"Don't joke about it, Kit," he said sharply. "If something happens to you…"

Whatever she saw in his face made her gaze drop. For a moment scalding emotions hovered in the air. By unspoken consent, they both retreated. He said, "Tomorrow I'll try to arrange a theater party. From now on I don't want you to go anywhere alone. Can your Bow Street Runner act as an escort when I'm not with you?"

She nodded. "I think so. He's been as protective with me as a sheep dog with an errant lamb."

"A man of sense." Lucien regarded her speculatively. "I've been wondering. Do you think you could consciously communicate with Kira? If it's possible, perhaps you could learn something about her captor and where she is being held."

"Do you mean that the next time I have a nightmare, I should try to ask Kira questions?" She frowned. "I don't think I can control my dreaming like that. Even if I could, I doubt the results would be very helpful. The nightmares are only hazy images and a sense of her emotions."

He studied her expression, wondering if she was in a daring mood. "Rather than waiting for another nightmare and hoping for the best, we could try mesmerism."

Her brows shot up. "I thought that was mere quackery."

"I'm not convinced that Dr. Mesmer's animal magnetism exists," he admitted, "but his techniques can induce a sleeplike state in sensitive people. If you could establish contact with your sister that way, I could ask questions through you."

"You know how to mesmerize someone?" When he nodded, she began to laugh. "Lucien, where do you learn such things?"

"In this case, from a physican who had studied with Mesmer and went on to develop methods of his own. I thought it sounded interesting, so I asked him to teach me. I don't know whether mesmerism will help you reach Kira, but I'm reasonably sure that trying won't hurt."

"Very well." She rubbed her palms along her thighs nervously. "What should I do?"

He frowned. "You must be exhausted. Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow, when you've had some rest."

"Fatigue lowers one's mental barriers. I think the chances are best when Kira and I are both tired." Kit made a rueful face. "I know I am, and if she has just endured a session with her captor, she is, too. It's worth a try."

"Very well. Make yourself comfortable."

While she settled back among the pillows so that her upper body was slightly elevated, he took a candle from the branch on the night table, then held it several feet in front of Kit at a level where she could see it without strain. "Ready?"

She nodded and smoothed the blankets over her hips, but there was anxiety in her eyes.

"There really isn't much to this. You might not notice anything at all," he said in a deliberately casual manner. "All you have to do is relax and look at the flame. Steady, bright, burning away all of your worry and fatigue, leaving peace and calm. You're tired, very tired, and now you can relax. You feel very light and very tranquil, like a feather drifting in the breeze." He continued in a similar vein, making his voice soft and flowing, like warm, smooth molasses.

As he had suspected, Kit was a good subject. Muscle by muscle her tension disappeared, leaving her face peaceful and her gaze steady on the flame. When he thought she was ready, he said, "Your left arm is very light, so light it wants to float up into the air. Let it float free."

Slowly, her arm rose until it was a foot above the blanket. "Good, very good, Kit. Now your hand feels heavier. Let it drift back down." Her limp arm lowered to the counterpane.

As he readied himself for the next step, he found that he had the bizarre desire to ask her if she loved him. He suppressed the thought. This was not the time or place, and he was not sure he wanted to hear a truthful answer.