"I don't know." Lucien brushed her hood back a little. Heavy blond tresses were twisted up to the back of her head before falling in tangled ringlets. Barely visible below the flamboyant wig, her ear was small and delicate, as exquisitely formed as a spring blossom. He traced the curve with his tongue. A taste sweet and salt, a scent redolent of spice and woman. Reminding himself sharply to keep his mind on business, he added, "But Dolly also said that it was impossible to predict what such a man might do."
Kit exhaled breathily, her hands opening and closing on his back. "What… what about Nunfield? He admitted that he had wanted to make Kira his mistress."
His hands moved downward under the mantle, over smooth satin skin and tightly laced gown, to cup her firm buttocks. He squeezed gently, molding the tempting curves with his palms. "He didn't look like a persistent suitor who had become so obsessed that he had resorted to abduction. Of course, Nunfield might be a superb actor who is secretly gloating over the knowledge that he has Kira stashed away somewhere."
"And Chiswick?"
"He behaved as if he had never seen Cassie James before. Perhaps he hasn't-I don't think he is a regular theatergoer." Though Lucien knew he should release Kit, his hands refused to abandon their clasp. Hah? amused and half exasperated with himself, he said, "It's hard to be logical with you in my arms."
"I know exactly what you mean." Shyly, she leaned forward and ran the tip of her tongue along the angle of his jaw. Warmth tingled through him. He caught his breath, hoping she would continue.
Silently she obliged, her soft lips finding the hollow below his ear. Sharp little frissons of pleasure shot through him, a rising storm that splintered into lightning when she gave his lobe a light, experimental nip. He turned his head, and they kissed with lush, openmouthed abandon. She was reserved Kathryn and flamboyant Cassie and clear-eyed Kit all at once. His grip tightened, drawing them together, her feminine belly molding to his hardening flesh.
Somewhere far, far from their fevered embrace, theatergoers were returning to their seats with coughs and shuffling feet. Knowing this must end, he said breathlessly, "I suppose you must be going downstairs now for the next act."
After an uncertain pause, she said, "I… I'm not on again until the end of the third act." Her breath was coming in quick puffs that teased the sensitive flesh below his ear.
He understood her fear of jeopardizing her bond with Kira and accepted her need to avoid the emotional firestorm of passion. Yet his hand, his wicked, selfish hand, slid around her hip and down between them, stroking over the luxuriant crimson satin and into the mysterious cleft between her thighs.
She gave a choked moan, her fingers curving into his waist like talons. "We… we shouldn't be doing this."
"I know," he agreed, probing more deeply. Even through the layers of fabric, he felt luscious warmth. "But it is… difficult to stop."
Her pelvis curled forward into his hand, and she gave a low whimper, the most enticing sound imaginable. He captured her mouth to swallow that telltale, rapturous noise.
A sharp exchange onstage precipitated a rumble of laughter all around them. He scarcely noticed, for astonishingly, her hand began to move around his waist and down his abdomen in a hesitant, exploratory caress. His hips moved forward, and he pressed into her palm. No longer tentative, her hand tightened around him. He stood paralyzed, his whole frame so rigid that he felt as if a move would shatter him.
Yet stillness was impossible. He caught a handful of skirt and petticoat and raised them upward. Under the foaming material her stockings were tied separately to her corset with dainty little bows. Ignoring the ribbons, he slid his fingers between her silk-covered thighs and found downy curls. Hidden within was hot, sweet female flesh, lavish with moisture.
She hid her face in his shoulder to keep from crying out when he first touched her. "We mustn't," she said weakly, not knowing whether or not she wanted him to be stronger than she. "What… what if someone looks into the box?"
"It's too dark… for anyone to see us," he said huskily, his words hazy, as if it was an effort to assemble a simple sentence.
She felt dizzy, no longer able to remember why they should not continue. Heat throbbed against her palm, the male power unmistakable even with layers of fabric between them. Her hand tightened as she remembered how it had felt to have him inside her. The thought made her go liquid with longing. Unconsciously she began stroking her hand up and down the taut ridge of flesh.
He groaned and reached for the buttons of his pantaloons, wrenching them open in his impatience. Then he stepped backward, tugging her with one hand while he reached behind with the other. He located a chair and sat, then drew her across his lap in a wide-legged straddle, guiding her down so that she impaled herself on him.
As he slid into her, she went still with surprise. There was an indecent intimacy in the way their bodies mated beneath the rippling, respectable folds of skirts and mantle. Indecent, and unbearably erotic.
He made a small thrust upward, and urgency scorched through her. She leaned forward, her torso flattening along his chest and her cheek pressing against his. He embraced her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. They began rocking together with small, savage movements. The legs of the chair squeaked across the floor, the sound swallowed by more laughter.
Blood pounded in her temples like jungle drums, building to a tempo that was madness. Weight and pressure concentrated in a single nameless, internal place that burned with annihilating heat until sudden, violent spasms ripped through her. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, the dark wool rough against her lips.
"Dear God, Kit…" His fingers knotted into her hips, locking the two of them together as he ground upward, a raw, wordless sound rumbling from within his chest.
A potent throbbing deep inside her, then arrested moments when neither of them breathed. Slowly, taut muscles softened and burning lungs strained for air.
"Sweet… Jesus," he panted, "I'm sorry, Kit. I didn't mean for that to happen." He pressed his forehead against hers as he labored for breath. "Can you still feel your sister?"
"It was as much my fault as yours," she whispered with stark honesty. But merciful heaven, how could she have forgotten Kira like that? What kind of selfish woman would let herself indulge in lustful behavior that might threaten her twin?
She reached into her mind for Kira, fearful that their indefinable emotional bond could not have survived such scouring passion. This time she knew better than to panic when she could not immediately find the link to her sister. Patiently she focused her mind, blocking out the languid satisfaction of her body. Finally, she identified the subtle pulse of her twin's spirit. With a flood of relief she said, "It's all right. I can still feel Kira."
"In that case," he said with a breathless little laugh, "I'm not sorry that we forgot ourselves."
She lifted her head and said sharply, "This isn't funny. Passion scatters my wits dreadfully. I should never have permitted it."
"It's normal to feel scatter-witted after making love," he replied. "The effect is generally temporary. Don't be too hard on yourself-so far passion doesn't seem to have damaged your bond with your sister, and we've both enjoyed it immensely."
That was one reason she felt such wrenching guilt. Needing to lash out, she snapped, "And you don't want to give that pleasure up. Is my submission to your advances the price for your aid in finding Kira?"
His hands clamped painfully onto her upper arms, and she felt sheer rage crackling through him. They were still joined, and she felt utterly vulnerable, surrounded and invaded by his strength. Yet when he spoke, his voice was soft, lethally so. "Have I ever done or said anything to suggest that my help is conditional?"
"No." She looked down. "But I can't help feeling that I am very much at your mercy."
There was another explosive silence. Then, uncannily, he asked, "Are you trying to provoke me so that I'll stay at a safe distance?"
She stiffened, wondering how he could know her mind b
etter than she did. "Perhaps… perhaps I am. I feel overwhelmed, Lucien, terrified about Kira, exhausted by the effort of living her life, and now by you. I'm like a leaf in a storm, with no control over my life. It's not a pleasant sensation."
"I don't suppose it is," he said quietly. His hard grip on her arms relaxed and he pulled her close again. "But it won't be for much longer. Soon you'll have your own life back again."
In the lull Sir Digby Upright's voice carried through the theater as he gave a monologue about what he would do to regain his position and punish his enemies. She could float in seductive contentment for a little while longer.
They had never separated, and as she lay in his arms, she realized that he was beginning to firm inside her. If they made love again, it would be slower and gentler than before. There would be more time to savor the growth of desire, the rich splendor of fulfillment____________________
The very last thing she needed was to become even more dependent on a man who turned her mind and body to butter. Summoning all her will, she disengaged herself and got to her feet.
As she withdrew she felt the shiver of protest in his muscles, followed almost instantly by acceptance. Silently he handed her a handkerchief so that she could dry herself, then stood and began to order his appearance.
Trying to sound more worldly than she was, she said, "As if there weren't already enough good reasons for me to behave myself, there is the risk of pregnancy. That is a possible complication so disastrous I don't even want to think about it."
"Not so disastrous." He smoothed the wrinkles from his coat. "Even if you have already conceived, by the time you are sure, we will be married."
Her hands clenched on the edge of her mantle as she said involuntarily, "I wish you would stop talking about that."
Chapter 30
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Kit froze, wishing she could retract them.
It was too much to hope that he would let her remark pass. He fixed his too-observant gaze on her, his face unreadable in the dim light. "Is it the idea of having a child that bothers you, or is it marriage?"
Knowing that the only way to distract him was with a partial truth, she said, "I dislike the idea of being dragged to the altar to appease your notion of honor. It seems a poor foundation for a marriage."
He turned his head slightly, and a ray of light caught his eyes with a green, catlike flash. "So that's the problem. I should have guessed."
He took her hand, not pulling her toward him, but simply interlacing his fingers with hers. "I have been less than honest. Though I have talked about marriage as the right, honorable, and moral thing to do, I would not have offered if I hadn't wanted to marry you." He lifted their joined hands and kissed her fingertips. "There is already a great deal between us. I hope that in time there will be more."
She tried to pull her hand free. "But I don't think I want to be married."
His fingers locked on hers, preventing her retreat. "I'm not asking for your whole heart. A fairly small piece will do. I swear that I won't interfere with your work or try to come between you and your sister."
"Don't make promises you'll regret," she said miserably. "The less said now, the easier it will be to part later."
"I don't intend to part from you, my dear," he said calmly. "Not unless you loathe me so much you can't bear to be in the same room with me, and that doesn't appear to be the case."
"You may want me now," she said in a brittle voice, "but you haven't met Kira. After you do, you'll lose interest in me."
His hand clenched hard on hers. As clearly as if he had spoken, she sensed his shock and a searing edge of anger.
A burst of applause filled the theater. Soon the second act would end. When the applause died, Lucien said with scathing humor, "I once knew a man who said that women are like rugs-both need to be beaten regularly to keep them in good condition. I never agreed, but perhaps he had a point. Where did you get the nonsensical notion that I am going to fall madly in love with Kira as soon as I meet her?"
"Because everyone does!" Kit snapped. "She is whatever you like in me, and so much more."
"Even if you are right, her affections are engaged. At least Jason Travers seems to think so," he pointed out dryly. "So I shall have to settle for marrying you."
Though she knew he meant the words ironically, they were too painful to be amusing. "Marriage is one place where I won't happily settle for being second best to Kira. I'd rather be a spinster. In fact, I've planned on it all my life."
She wrenched her hand free. "When the time comes, be willing to fight for Kira. Jason is quite a man, but you surpass him. If you want her, you may well be able to win her." She turned and headed for the door. "I must leave now. I have to change my costume for the third act."
Swift as a panther, he slid across the box and blocked her exit. "It's much easier to have a twin of the opposite sex. Less competition," he said, so much compassion in his voice that she wanted to weep. "You haven't a very high opinion of love, do you? It's not a contest to be won; it's a bond that is forged between two hearts. The fact that you and Kira are virtually identical in appearance doesn't make you interchangeable to those who care about you. And while I'm gratified that you find me more attractive than Travers, it's doubtful that your sister will share your opinion."
Wearily she said, "You think I'm talking nonsense, but you haven't met Kira. You don't know the impact she'll have on you."
"I don't need to-I already know the impact you have on me." He caught her waist and kissed her hard, imprinting his anger and his determination with an intensity that left her shaken.
Raising his head, he said, "I will make allowances for the fact that your sister's disappearance has scrambled your wits. But don't think this conversation is over. When Kira is safe, it will be resumed, and when I am finished, you will believe me. I swear it."
It was fortunate that he released her then, for she was incapable of answering. She pulled her hood over her hair and gathered her mantle around her, then fled. She was barely in time. The applause in the theater indicated that the act was ending, and in a few moments the corridors would fill with people.
A narrow stairwell took her down to a ground-floor service passage. As she made her way backstage, she should have been thinking about her next scene, but she couldn't. Her mind was too full of the man who wouldn't go away even when he was pushed.
Knowing he was unready to face his theater guests, Lucien lingered in the empty box as the second interval began. It was hard to believe that a few minutes earlier he and Kit had been coupling with mind-drugging intensity-in the middle of a theater! He was definitely losing his mind.
Why couldn't he have become involved with a simpler woman?
Because simple women didn't interest him; didn't challenge him; didn't make him so mad with desire that he could escape his restless, overactive mind. And of course intimacy with lesser women had always proved more painful than it was worth. Kit might leave him frothing, but at least he wasn't depressed.
It would be easier if he could dismiss Kit's misgivings outright, but he couldn't quite do that. His heart didn't believe he could want another woman more than her. However, his too-rational head pointed out that he had never met Lady Kristine Travers. Could she really be another Kit, only more so-more refreshing, more stimulating, more desirable?
Nonsense! Yet as long as Kit believed that he would inevitably prefer her twin, she would withhold her heart. It was one more reason to find Kira as quickly as possible.
He leaned on the railing and gazed down into the pit, not seeing the milling theatergoers below. The argument with Kit had brought him face-to-face with a hidden motive of his own. In the past he had always been very careful to avoid fathering a child. His near-celibacy in recent years had made that easy.
Yet with Kit, he had not been careful at all. The simple explanation was that she aroused him to a fever where restraint was impossible. But he knew himself well enough to recognize that he want
ed to get her pregnant so that she would have to marry him. Instead of protecting the woman he loved, he was trying to coerce her, to trap her so securely that it would be impossible for her to fly away. Even worse, his selfish behavior might be endangering Kit's crucial bond with her sister.
It was not an insight he was proud of. Yet if he had another opportunity to make love to her, he suspected he would behave exactly the same way.
His mind skipped to an incident from his university days. An aristocratic bully at Christ Church College had issued a challenge to another student, a mild young man named Whitman who had had the temerity to disagree with the bully. Though Whitman had no experience of dueling, honor demanded that he accept the challenge even though injury or death was the likely outcome.
The approaching duel had become known among other students. Everyone deplored a match that would be so uneven, but because of the gentlemen's code, no one would intervene, except Lucien. A little investigation had revealed that the bully had sexual preferences that would have ruined him in society forever. Lucien had used that knowledge ruthlessly to blackmail the bully into dropping the challenge and issuing an apology to Whitman.
By chance Rafe had learned of Lucien's role in preventing the duel. Gray eyes cool and thoughtful, he had said, "You really are rather amoral, aren't you?"
The remark had not been offered as condemnation- Rafe had been glad when the duel was stopped-but as impartial assessment. Nonetheless, the words had stung. It was a tribute to the power of friendship that their relationship had been unaffected.
And, of course, Rafe had been right. Though Lucien did not consider himself to be without honor, he had never hesitated to set honor aside for what he considered a good reason. That trait had made him an excellent spymaster, but it was clear proof that being able to trace one's noble ancestors to the Norman Conquest and beyond did not make a man a true gentleman.
With a wry smile, he went into the corridor and headed toward his own box. Kit had the temperament of a reformer; he would provide her with ample opportunity to practice her skills.
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