"Then you must call me Kit." She studied his face. Even if she had not already known that Michael had been a soldier, she would have guessed that from his quality of steely, contained strength. "Lucien said he was going to send for his most dangerous friend. I gather that is you?"
"I suppose so, but if Luce wants someone who is dangerous, he need only look in a mirror. I'm merely a retired soldier who has gone to grass like an old cavalry horse."
She smiled, liking his dry sense of humor. "Yet you are willing to come out of retirement for my sister's sake. You have my most profound gratitude."
"I hope I can be of service." He gave her a long appreciative male glance. "There is really another like you?"
"Yes, only more so. You'll see soon, I hope." Since thinking of her sister would make her anxious, she continued, "I came down to take a look at the pictures. Are you familiar with Lucien's family?"
"Yes, and what I don't know, I can invent." He nodded toward the portrait of a blond gentleman in Cavalier dress. "That's Gareth, the third earl, I believe. He supported the Royalists during the Civil War, but took the precaution of having his brother become a Puritan. When the Royalists went into exile, the brother took over the family estates and swore his allegiance to Cromwell. After the Restoration, Gareth came back, reclaimed his lands, and made sure that his brother was amply compensated for his stewardship of the Fairchild interests."
Kit examined the cool, ironic face. "Lucien said once that he comes from a long line of pragmatists."
"It's why the Fairchilds have survived so many of the vicissitudes of British history." Michael indicated another portrait, this of a dandyish gentleman in the elaborate garments of a hundred years earlier. Beside him stood an elegant lady in flowing green silk. "That's the fifth earl, Charles, and his wife, Maria. He was quite dissolute and a heedless gamester. His son inherited at the age of six when Charles died under suspicious circumstances."
She glanced askance. "Is that true, or did you make it up?"
He chuckled. "That's the story Lucien told me. He claims that there was speculation that Maria had decided to preserve her son's patrimony at the price of her husband's life. Perhaps the story is true, or perhaps it is only Lucien's antic sense of humor. He doesn't take his elevated ancestors very seriously."
"That's better than taking them too seriously."
His levity vanished. "A failing of the Kenyons, I fear."
Kenyon... Kit should have recognized the name sooner. "Your father is the Duke of Ashburton?"
"Yes," he said in a voice that made further questions impossible. He nodded to the portrait at the end of the wall. "Have you ever seen this painting? It's of Lucien and his family when he was nine or ten."
To look at the picture was to know that this had been a real family, not a mere dynastic union. The evidence was in the intimate way the countess's hand curved over her husband's arm; the fondness in the earl's eyes as he regarded his wife and children; the shared laughter of Lucien and the elfin girl with silvery blond hair flowing over her slender shoulders. Kit felt an ache in her throat at the sight. Lucien had lost so much, so young. Yet what could have destroyed him had made him strong. Softly she asked, "Did you know his family well?"
"Quite." He gazed at the canvas, his expression distant. "I didn't like spending holidays with my own family, so my friends usually took me home like a stray pup. Ashdown was my favorite place to visit because Lucien's parents were so happy together. That's not a common state among the nobility."
Kit's gaze went to the small blond girl whose radiant smile transcended the years. "And Lady Elinor?"
"She was enchanting," he said simply. "Bright and sweet and quick. She and Lucien had the most remarkable relationship. In my experience not all brother and sister twins are so close, but I think her delicate health drew them together. He was very protective of her. Her death devastated him."
There was a note in his voice that made her look quickly into his face. "And you as well?"
After a long silence he replied, "I missed them all, but especially Elinor. Though she looked like a spun-sugar angel, she was a very definite young lady. On my first visit to Ashdown, she decided that we would suit and informed me that we would marry when we were of age. I accepted her proposal quite willingly." After another long silence he said, "If she had lived..." He turned abruptly away from the portrait. "It was only childish fancy, of course. It meant nothing."
Obviously it had meant a great deal, even after so many years. The story brought Lady Elinor alive for Kit.
She must have been as clever as her brother, for even as a small child she had been able to identify a boy who would grow into an admirable man. "Thank you for telling me so much, Michael. I want to learn as much about Lucien's past as I can."
He gave her a piercing glance. "It's information that comes at a price. Try not to hurt him, Kit. Luce deserves better."
She caught her breath at the unexpectedness of his remark. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is hurt Lucien."
Whatever he saw in her face must have satisfied him. Casual again, he said, "Down here is a portrait of the seventh earl. In the eyes of society he disgraced himself by dabbling in trade, but was redeemed by making pots of money in the process."
Eccentric relations were so much more comfortable than vanished happiness.
* * *
That night, her escort increased to three, Kit went to Blackwell Abbey, Mace's estate. It had been left until last because she had been there before and found no traces of Kira, but the estate was so large that there were areas that she could not have sensed from the house.
As with the other estates, Lucien had obtained a detailed map, this one drawn by a local man who had once worked there. It showed every cottage, every field, every footpath, as well as the stone wall that enclosed the entire property.
Before setting out, each of them had studied the map so that they could find their way unseen in the dark. Even so, the survey would have been impossible without Michael. Not only did he have the night vision of a cat, but he seemed to carry the map in his head. Like an army scout in hostile terrain, he led them on a weaving course carefully calculated to take Kit within a few hundred yards of every section of the estate.
Lucien traveled by her side, making sure she would not stumble because her attention was turned inward rather than on the rough ground. Behind them, moving with the soft-footed grace of a forest hunter, came Jason Travers. In their dark clothing, all of them were shadows in a moonless night.
Blackwell Abbey disturbed her in ways she could not define. As they made a wide circle around the manor house she stopped and stared at its dark, ominous silhouette. The men halted. "Do you sense something?" Lucien asked in a voice that would not have been audible ten feet away.
She was acutely aware that within those brick walls she and Lucien had become lovers, and she had the uneasy certainty that he was thinking the same thing. Yet that was not what had stopped her. "There is something about this place. Kira isn't there now. I don't think she ever was. Yet I feel that there is... is some connection with her."
"Perhaps someone at Blackwell Abbey has been with her?"
"Perhaps." She bit her lip, wanting to shriek with frustration. "This is like being blindfolded and dropped into a crowd, then having to identify someone by scent."
Lucien's fingers touched her elbow. "Don't worry, Kit, you can do it. We need only get close enough to Kira."
He was mind-reading again. She released her breath, then reached out again, seeking the ineffable essence of her sister. They resumed their slow trek across the estate.
They had had no problems on the earlier searches, but this time their luck ran out. As they passed behind a row of tenant cottages, several dogs started barking furiously. Instead of assuming that a deer or rabbit had sparked the canine attention, men came out of several of the cottages, pulling on coats against the winter damp. A hoarse voice grumbled, "Probably nothin'."
"That's not for
us to judge," a second one said sternly. "Could be poachers. Turn the dogs loose."
Kit's heart jumped in panic. Michael hissed, "There's a stream ahead. You three wade along it, and I'll draw them off."
Lucien grabbed her arm and guided her swiftly down a scrubby hill to the stream. Behind them the barking of the dogs increased as they were released from their chains.
On the bank of the stream she stumbled on a shifting rock, but Lucien kept her from falling. Together they waded into the water, Jason on her other side.
Trying to move soundlessly through the rushing current, they went up the stream and around a sharp bend. There they found a pool roofed with bare, arching branches. Lucien led them into the most heavily shadowed section and stopped. The icy water came to mid-thigh on Kit.
A hundred yards away at the place where they had entered the stream, the barking rose to hysterical excitement. "This way!" one of the pursuers shouted.
The frenzied baying of the dogs began to diminish. A little sick, Kit realized that Michael was leading them in the opposite direction by laying a trail downstream along the bank. She began shaking so hard that her teeth chattered.
Wordlessly, Lucien drew her into his arms, the warmth of his body countering the freezing water. "Don't worry, Michael will be all right," he said in a voice softer than a whisper.
And if he wasn't, it would be her fault. She wrapped her arms around Lucien's waist. Since the night of the street attack he had hidden his most private self behind a wall of reserve, but on a more mundane level he had never stinted with his support. If not for him, she would be raving by now.
He held her tightly, slowly stroking her back. Even here, in the presence of cold and fear and danger, desire stirred languidly through her veins, a teasing reminder of the passion they had shared. She wondered if they would ever be intimate again. It was hard to imagine such happiness.
When the barking of the dogs was only a distant echo, they clambered ashore on the opposite side of the stream and continued their trek. At the outer wall, Lucien said, "If we go west a quarter of a mile and cut across the estate one more time, we can cover the remaining ground. Can you manage, Kit?"
"I can do it," she said with grim determination, even though her soaked feet were numb with cold.
"Invincible Kit," he said with a smile in his voice. "If I am ever abducted, I hope you come looking for me."
His vote of confidence raised her spirits a little. With Jason leading the way, they began their last trek across the estate. It seemed to take forever, and Kit was so cold that she was not sure how reliable her sensing was, but eventually they reached the far wall of the estate.
Lucien leaped and caught the edge of the wall so he could swing himself onto the top, then stretched a hand down to help her. Jason jumped up the same way Lucien had. Good food and regular riding exercise had restored much of the strength that the American had lost in prison.
After they lowered themselves down on the other side, they made their way to the horses. Michael was there waiting.
Kit asked, "You're all right?"
"Splendid," he assured her. "The best sport I've had since I left the army."
She shuddered as she heaved her weary body onto her horse. If being pursued through the dark by a pack of slavering dogs was his idea of sport, he was welcome to it.
It was a silent group that rode back to London. The mission had gone well, and they had gotten away safely. There was only one problem.
Kit had still not found a single trace of her sister.
Chapter 33
It was nearly three in the morning when they arrived back at Strathmore House, and Kit was reeling with cold and fatigue. She was intending to go straight to bed until Lucien said, "It's time for a council of war."
His expression was grim, the usual charm planed away to reveal the underlying steel. His gaze went to Michael and Jason, then to her. "Can we do it now, or is everyone too tired?"
"Now," Jason said harshly. "There is no time to be wasted." Michael agreed with a silent nod.
Knowing that they must be as tired as she, Kit squared her shoulders. "If you all can keep going, so can I."
"Good girl." Lucien gave her a smile that dispersed some of the chill from her bones. "Everyone go change to dry clothing. We'll meet in the kitchen."
Fifteen minutes later they were all seated in Windsor chairs around a trestle table. The kitchen was a comforting room, with tangy clumps of dried herbs hanging from the beams and light from the roaring fire glinting from copper pans. Lucien, bless him, had made arrangements to have food and drink ready when they returned. Kit drank her first cup of tea in two scalding gulps. Bread, cheese, sliced ham, and a bowl of thick lentil soup made her feel almost human.
After hunger had been slaked, Lucien pushed his chair back from the table and stalked to the fireplace. He tossed a shovel of coal on the fire, then turned to face the others as the flames rose behind him. So must Lucifer have appeared when addressing his hosts. "We've hit a dead end," he said flatly. "Does anyone have any suggestions of what we might do next?"
After a long silence, Michael said, "Only the one that you and I discussed—choosing the most likely suspects and forcing them to talk."
Horrified, Kit said, "You mean torture?"
Lucien looked at her. "If that's what it takes to find your sister."
He meant it, she realized. She bent her head and pressed her fingertips into the center of her forehead. Based solely on her unsupported word, these men—three strong, utterly competent men—were willing to harm someone who might be innocent. The thought was terrifying.
"It's an ugly idea, Kit, but it may be our only hope," Lucien said quietly. "Is there one man you would choose as your prime suspect? Nunfield, perhaps, or Mace?"
She had always thought of herself as a civilized woman, but apparently she was not, for she found herself seriously considering Lucien's suggestion. After all, Kira's life was at stake. The faces of the suspects passed before her mind's eye. After judging each carefully, she looked up. "I honestly cannot pick one as most likely. I'm sorry. If I could, I would."
"We're looking for a needle in a haystack," Michael said, exasperated. "The only thing we know for certain is that Lady Kristine was kidnapped off the street after a theater performance. For that, we have a witness. Everything else is speculation derived from Kit's intuition."
"Do you doubt her?" Lucien asked in a neutral tone.
"No. At its best, intuition can surpass logic. The question is, how can we use Kit's ability to find her sister?"
It was the same question Lucien had asked before, but this time, there was an unexpected answer. Jason Travers said tentatively, "There's a method of divination that might be worth trying here. It involves using a pendulum and a map to find a lost object. Perhaps Kit can locate Kira that way."
When the others stared at him, he said, "I know it sounds daft, but it's not that different from a dowser finding water with a divining rod."
"I've seen successful dowsing," Lucien said slowly.
"Though it makes no sense rationally, it often works. Kit?"
She shrugged. "I suppose it can't hurt. What should I use for a pendulum?"
"I don't know if it matters." Jason thought a moment, "Perhaps a piece of Kira's jewelry if you have one."
"I have her jewelry box upstairs." She got to her feet. "I'll see if there is something suitable."
"I'll get the most detailed maps of southern England that I have." Lucien lit two candles and gave one to Kit, then opened the door for her while Jason started to clear the table.
They climbed the stairs with Kit in the lead. When they reached the first landing, she turned to him. "Have I ever really said how grateful I am for what you are doing? You've believed me when anyone else would have sent me to Bedlam, and you have used your special skills to search for Kira with a thoroughness no one else could match."
"You can thank me after we've found her," he said with a tired smile.
His words caused her expression to change. For once, Lucien misinterpreted her. "Let me repeat that this is not a quid pro quo—your freedom in return for my assistance in finding your sister. You have my help no matter what you might decide later." His expression turned rueful. "Though I can be ruthless, there are limits. Finding Kira is a separate issue from my determination to persuade you that we should marry."
"I know that." She laid a gentle hand on his cheek. Whiskers too golden to be visible prickled teasingly against her palm. "This is not the time to worry about the future. Wait to decide what you want until the crisis has passed. Anything in my power, I shall give you willingly." Even if that meant saying good-bye, for it was not her freedom that she was concerned about, but his. Her hand dropped. After he met Kira, he would not be so determined to wed the plain, quiet twin.
Taking her words at face value, he said quietly, "I'll hold you to that." For the first time in days, he kissed her, cupping her chin in his hand—lightly, quickly, but still affecting her all the way to her marrow. The constraint that had been between them for days vanished, leaving peace. Then he turned toward his study while Kit continued up to her bedroom, her knees a little less steady than they had been.
Kira liked jewelry, and the velvet-lined chest that held her collection was a tangle of beads and baubles. Kit hesitated over the open box, wondering what to choose. Even if the divination attempt was absurd, she must try her best.
Not a bracelet or complicated necklace, or any of the brooches, for they would not swing easily. Her gaze fell on a pair of sapphire drop earrings. One of those suspended on a thread should do nicely.
Reaching for an earring, her hand halted in midair. There was an odd sensation of heat against her palm. No, not heat, and not really an itch, but... something.
Feeling foolish, she poked through the mound of jewelry until she discovered a heart-shaped locket at the bottom of the chest. It was a lovely trifle with a delicately etched pattern on the golden surface and a slender chain that would be perfect for a pendulum.
Beyond that, it felt like the right choice. Fatigue and anxiety were definitely making her a little strange. She closed the jewelry box and returned to the kitchen.
Dancing on the Wind: Book 3 in The Fallen Angel Series Page 30