His caresses became longer, his palm sliding down her thigh to her knee. On the return journey the hem of her shift caught on his thumb and slithered upward. He hadn't done that intentionally, but he couldn't resist drawing his head into the scented darkness under the quilt and kissing the tender satin curve of her belly. Her slim fingers moved to his neck and began toying with his sensitive nape. Delicious, utterly delicious.
They moved into the rhythms of mating with dreamlike ease, each not quite innocent step succeeded by another that was even less so—the friction of bare skin against crisply tufted hair, delicate nips along an arching throat; the crush of pliant femininity into angular maleness, subtle body scents enhanced by the darkness into intoxicating lures.
When her hand sought and found taut male flesh, he responded by an intimate exploration of her secret depths. Her thighs parted invitingly. Even when he lifted himself over her and they joined, there was no real sense of urgency. Passion, yes, and blood beating with a heat that kindled into pure flame. But no desperation, for their union felt deeply right, a sharing of cares that paradoxically strengthened each of them.
When they fell asleep in each other's arms, their rest was deep and dreamless.
* * *
Kit opened her eyes to the pearly light of dawn. The onset of winter made sunrise relatively late, but even so, she could not have slept more than four hours. Still, she felt amazingly rested, for which she must give full credit to Lucien. The intimacy of a shared bed seemed so right and natural that it was hard to imagine that it might never occur again.
But she would never regret loving him, no matter how much pain it cost her in the future. Nor would she forget that he had wanted her.
She studied his sleeping face, which was framed in tousled golden hair. He was heart-stoppingly handsome and more relaxed than she had ever seen him when he was awake.
A small, rebellious thought stirred in the back of her mind. Lucien was the cleverest man she'd ever met, and not at all prone to self-delusion. Perhaps she could believe that he truly loved her; maybe he really would prefer her to her sister.
She released her breath in a slow sigh. No one else ever had. Not only was Kira livelier, more charming, but she was stronger. She had blossomed in her independent life, unlike Kit, who had barely been able to function when she was no longer half of a larger whole. Lucien would admire Kira's strength as much as he would be enchanted by her vivacity.
It was deeply ironic. If Kira died, Kit might be so emotionally crippled that she would be of no use to anyone again, yet rescuing her twin might doom her hopes of love.
But for this poignant, ephemeral moment, Lucien was hers. Kit stretched her neck and pressed the lightest of kisses on his mouth. His lids opened a little, revealing a golden glow of contentment in his eyes.
"I warned you that I might not be able to behave properly if I stayed," he said with a wicked gleam. "Though I did think I could keep temptation at bay a little longer than I did."
"Nonsense," she said with a smile. "You only behave properly when it suits you."
"And it doesn't suit me now." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him.
She gave a small squeak of surprise, then relaxed, her legs lying outside of his, her breasts flattened against his chest. She said with regret, "We really must get up soon. It's going to be a long day."
"Which means that it should start right." He silenced her with a kiss as his hands slid under her chemise and cupped her buttocks, his fingers kneading deep into the muscles.
As they kissed, she felt him hardening against her belly. She stretched with catlike litheness, enjoying the feel of his muscular body, and the way their bodies fitted together. As the kiss deepened, liquid heat began to burn through her veins.
She was about to roll onto the bed so that they could make love properly when he caught hold of her hips, then sheathed himself inside her with one swift movement. She inhaled sharply. "Oh, my. Now I understand why you put me on top of you."
He smiled and thrust upward. "Education is a wonderful thing."
"It certainly is," she said breathlessly. "L. J. Knight has written a number of provocative essays on the subject."
"As provocative as what we're doing?"
"This isn't provocation," she said with a choke of laughter. "It's blatant lechery."
"Mmm, lechery, my favorite deadly sin." He pushed upward again. She shuddered as heat coursed through her.
Carefully, she sat upright so that she straddled him. Then she peeled off her chemise with a deliberately seductive movement and tossed it over her shoulder. Lucien responded by raising his head and capturing her left breast with his mouth. As he suckled her, she moaned and rocked back and forth, driving him more deeply until he fell back on the pillows, panting for breath.
She leaned forward and trapped his wrists against the bed. Looking down into his face created the pleasing illusion that she was as strong as he. Wanting to see him helpless with longing, she slowly ground her pelvis against him. He gasped, his expression utterly open, every nuance of desire visible as he responded to her.
There was a profound intimacy about making love in the daylight with gazes locked. She discovered a whole range of delicious new ways for male and female to move together. Every movement by one of them was instantly reflected in the other's face, as if they were not two bodies but one.
She bent her head and kissed him with hot-tongued ardor. They were doubly joined, each inside the other. With painful intensity she yearned to merge emotionally as deeply as she had physically, to complete her ragged self with his powerful spirit.
No sooner had the thought formed then a clench of fear drove her back to the safety of humor. Breaking the kiss, she said lightly, "Now I understand a joke I overheard at the theater about a woman riding a man."
She saw a shadow—disappointment?—in his eyes and felt his subtle emotional withdrawal. Sadly, she recognized that in her need to protect herself, she had failed him again.
Swiftly masking his reaction, he answered humor with humor, saying drolly, "You should also be able to think of a whole new interpretation of the old nursery rhyme about riding a cockhorse to Banbury Cross."
"Lucien!" she exclaimed, laughing even as hot color flooded her face. "That's indecent. A cockhorse is just another name for a rocking horse."
"That's what they tell little girls, but little boys know better," he said darkly. "Since you're a writer, you might want to reevaluate phrases you've used without thinking. Cock of the walk. To feel cock-a-hoop. To go off half cocked. To be cocksure. The language is full of double entendres."
"Don't forget Scottish cock-a-leekie soup," she said primly, "where a tough old bird is stewed with a mess of leeks. And very good the cock tastes, too."
She didn't see a double meaning until he laughed. Whole new realms of bawdiness opened before her. Beet red, she closed his mouth with a kiss. Luckily, he took pity on her bruised modesty and teased her no further.
Kit had not known that passion could be so playful. She mastered the art of inflaming him by rolling her hips, and of keeping him simmering on the brink with her stillness. She found that she could behave like a wanton, and he would delight in her abandon. And she almost choked with laughter when he gasped, "Do you smell something burning? I think we're scorching the sheets."
But her levity swiftly died. In the next twenty-four hours everything would change. God willing, her sister would be free, but the price might be that never again would she know such intimacy with Lucien. And there was a very real element of danger; she felt it hovering around Kira like a dark London fog.
With sudden frenzy, she used her newfound skills to bring them both to culmination. There was no room for fear or regret in the violence of fulfillment.
The cure was a fleeting one. As she lay panting in his arms afterward, it was hard to conceal the melancholy that beat in her blood like a drum. Never again, never again, never again.
* * *
; Lucien stared at the ceiling, feeling Kit's heartbeat as strongly as his own. She was pressed against him as pliant as taffy, and they had just made love with searing intensity. That being the case, why did he feel that she had been silently saying good-bye?
The closer they came to Kira, the more Kit detached herself emotionally; that had been blindingly clear when they made love and normal defenses dropped away. The logical result of this would be that when they found Kira, he would lose Kit entirely.
At the beginning he had been confident that physical intimacy would draw them ever closer, but that was no longer true. Though he didn't doubt that he could persuade her into marriage—gratitude was a potent force, and he was a master of subtle manipulations—he was no longer sure marriage would give him what he wanted.
He was no longer sure of anything.
It was a relief when Kit spoke. "I have a horrible feeling that rescuing her will be harder than you think," she said somberly. "Remember that Kira said there were guards? There's danger there, Lucien."
Glad to return to the mundane, he said, "How many guards can there be? We're not talking about laying seige to a sovereign city. The kidnapper is merely one wealthy, perverse man. The chances are there will be a single guard, two at most. If the villain is there himself, that would be three." He shrugged. "Even if there are half a dozen, which is hard to imagine, we'll still prevail because we have Michael."
"I'm awed that he is willing to risk himself when he has no stake in the outcome. Jason and I love Kira, and you are doing this for my sake"—Kit gave him a quick kiss—"for which I am deeply grateful, but Michael is acting from friendship for you and the goodness of his heart. Those are rather abstract motives."
"I suspect he is glad to use his warrior's skills for such a good cause. He would have made a fine medieval knight."
"Slaying dragons and rescuing damsels?"
"Precisely." Lucien looped an arm around her waist, wanting to hold her a little longer.
But time had run out. Kit pushed herself up. "If we hurry, we should be able to catch Lord Ives at Cleo's flat."
"Are they living together?"
"Very nearly." She smiled a little. "He wants to set her up in a larger, more luxurious house, but she keeps refusing. She says she'd rather be her own woman than merely a lord's mistress. It's ironic; she means every word of it, but it might result in him offering marriage to keep her."
"It wouldn't be the first time a lord had chosen his lady from the theater," Lucien remarked. "I've heard the way he speaks of her. They might do very well together." Losing interest in the subject, he caught Kit's wrist and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Twenty-four hours from now we'll be celebrating Kira's freedom. Then we can think about a wedding date. Personally, I favor a special license and an immediate marriage. Would that be agreeable to you?"
He wanted her to react as if she wanted that as much as he did—or if not that much, that at least she did want it. Instead, she gave a gentle smile that could not conceal the sadness in her eyes. "As I promised last night, I will agree to whatever you want."
If this was victory, it tasted remarkably like ashes.
Interlude
After he left, she was so drained that she could scarcely move. She fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep, then awoke with a jerk. How much time had gone by? With so little of that left to her, she shouldn't waste any. After achieving his satisfaction, he had told her with cruel glee precisely what her fate would be. The next time he came, it would be for her life.
Yet what could she do except pace frantically about her plush prison? She had looked for weapons before, but her captor had taken care not to furnish the rooms with anything that might be dangerous. The heavy furniture was bolted to the floor; her cutlery was made of soft, easily bent tin; and the plates and cup were of pewter, which could not be broken into sharp pieces.
She could use the thong of one of the heavier whips to try to strangle her adversary, but she doubted that she had the strength to overpower a grown man. Even if she did, she would be unable to get past the guard who waited outside. She would try, of course, for she would not go tamely to her death, but she had no illusions about her chances of success.
Her gaze fell on the nasty little whipping toy. With sudden rage, she raised it above her head and smashed it to the floor. Then she crushed the figures beneath her booted feet. If only she could do the same with her captor....
A thought occurred to her, and she knelt to study the pieces. A number of metal gears had been exposed. She lifted the largest and tested the sharp-toothed edge. It was hardened steel. Used carefully, it should be able to rasp through wood.
She surveyed her three rooms thoughtfully. Ah, the bedside table. Given enough time, she could cut through one of the legs. When it was loose, she should have enough leverage to wrench it free of the bolt that held it to the floor. If not, well, she would cut the leg off a couple of inches above the floor.
She sat cross-legged by the table and grimly went to work. When she was done, she would have a club heavy enough to bash a man's skull in. That wouldn't be enough to free her, but if she was going to die, she would damned well take her captor with her.
Chapter 35
Cleo was slow to answer her door. When she did, she was laughing and her blond hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders. Seeing Lucien with Kit, she hastily pulled her green velvet wrapper more closely around her. "Cassie, my dear, you're up early this morning," she said in a voice pitched to carry to the back of her flat. Her speaking glance said that she had company. "I'm afraid this isn't the most convenient time for a cup of tea. Shall I come down for a good gossip later?"
Kit said, "We've come to speak to Lord Ives. Is he here? We think we know where my sister is being held, and he might be able to help us."
Cleo's eyes widened. "God be thanked." Raising her voice again, she called, "John, you have visitors."
A coatless Ives emerged from the bedroom, looking mildly surprised. When he saw who was waiting, he smiled and gave Kit a polite bow. "Strathmore, Miss James, what a pleasant surprise. I trust you are well."
"I'm not Cassie James, I'm her twin sister. She's been abducted, and I've been pretending to be her for weeks," Kit said bluntly. "I hope you can help us find her."
Incredulously, he said, "There are two of you who can perform like that?" He scrutinized her face for a long time before giving a slow nod. "I see. Come sit down. I suspect that this might be a long story."
Actually, Kit's description of Kira's disappearance and her own impersonation was brief because she omitted the most interesting details, such as her stalking of the Hellions and the fact that her sister had been located with a pendulum. She didn't even mention her stint as a barmaid, when she had whacked Ives with her bust improver. Since he hadn't recognized her, the subject was best left unmentioned for the sake of his dignity.
After she had outlined the situation, Lucien took over. "We think that Cassie is being held at Castle Raine in Berkshire. Am I correct that it is the site of the Hellion gatherings?"
"It is." Ives gnawed his lip unhappily. "You really think one of the Disciples has abducted her? Surely none of them would need to do anything like that. They can all afford as many women as they want."
Lucien said tersely, "There are men who prefer unwilling women. There are others who will not take no for an answer."
Ives's face became grave. Kit guessed that he was remembering comments that confirmed what Lucien had said. Looking up, he said simply, "What can I do to help?"
"We need to know as much as possible about Castle Raine," Lucien said. "For example, are there dungeons underneath?"
"I believe so, though I've never seen them," Ives replied. "The Disciples have a private sanctuary for their secret rituals. Lesser Hellions like me were never allowed to see that, but I think the entrance must be somewhere behind the chapel."
"Do you know anything about their ceremonies?"
"Not really. However, another junior Hellion st
opped by the castle one night because he fancied seeing the ruins by moonlight. He left when he heard a woman screaming." Ives ran his fingers through his hair uneasily. "He thought that he must have imagined it all. He had been drinking, and that place is enough to give one odd fancies. But perhaps he was right."
"When did that occur?"
"Last summer. Around the end of June, I think."
Before Kira had been captured, Lucien thought with relief. But it raised the ugly possibility that other women had been victimized in the past. Since none had ever come forward to accuse the Hellions, the chances were that they had not survived the experience. "How does one get to the castle?"
After Ives had given a precise description of the roads and turns, Lucien asked a series of other questions. However, apart from some details of the layout, he learned nothing that he had not observed himself. At the end he asked, "Do you know if there are any guards there?"
"I believe there is a watchman when it is empty," Ives said. "Also, you might not have noticed the one time you attended, but at the Hellion banquets there are always several male servants dressed as Turkish harem guards. They're called eunuchs, though I'm sure they aren't. Actually, they look like boxers who had retired from the ring. They would make good guards, but I expect they're only there during services."
"I hope you're right." Lucien got to his feet. "Thank you for your help. I don't suppose I need to say that you must not mention this discussion to anyone."
"I won't." Ives stood also. "I assume you're going to go to Castle Raine to try to find the real Cassie James. Do you need another volunteer?"
"Thank you, but no. I've already enlisted several friends."
Dancing on the Wind: Book 3 in The Fallen Angel Series Page 32