Dancing on the Wind (43 page)

Chiswick made a number of admiring comments, sounding exactly like a man who had just seen her for the first time. Westley had also been impressed by her, though his attitude was more casual. Even to a listener as attuned to lies as Lucien, there was no hint that either man might be the kidnapper.

Lucien tried to concentrate on his subtle interrogation,but he found himself becoming more and more anxious about Kit. Though he had made arrangements to see that she got home safely, he couldn't escape the feeling that he should have escorted her himself. That was doubly true because his conversation with the remaining Hellions was proving so fruitless.

His uneasiness continued to grow as they made then-way along busy Piccadilly. They were almost to Watier's when Westley's voice penetrated his abstraction. "Strathmore, are you still with us?"

Lucien's attention snapped back to the present, and he realized that someone had asked him a question. He also realized that he didn't give a damn what it was. He must go to Kit
now
.

He rapped on the roof for the coachman to stop. As the carriage slowed, he said, "I just realized that I forgot another engagement. I'll have to give Watier's a miss. Sorry."

Before any of the other men could comment, he leaped from the carriage and bounded across the street to catch a hackney coach that was discharging passengers. "The Marlowe Theater, please," he snapped as he climbed inside. "And there's an extra five quid in it if you make the trip in less than ten minutes."

"You've got it, guv," the driver said enthusiastically.

The coach lurched forward so quickly that Lucien had to grab a ragged strap to keep from being pitched to the floor. As he braced himself, he wondered why the devil he was so concerned.

Kit stopped in the green room, scanning faces and watching reactions, just in case. But nothing significant occurred, so after a brief stay she went to her dressing room. She was bone-weary, and not only because of her exertions on stage. Passion was exhausting, and disagreeing with Lucien even more so.

By the time she had changed into her regular clothing, Henry Jones arrived. " 'Evening, miss," he said with a respectful nod. "Are you ready to go home?"

"I certainly am."

Henry consulted his pocket watch. "Lord Strathmore's coach should be here in another fifteen or twenty minutes."

She pulled on her cloak. "I don't want to wait that long. Let's walk. It's not far, and I could use the fresh air." Brushing past the Runner, she headed toward the theater exit.

"His lordship was most particular that you should go in his coach. He's sending two armed footmen with it," Henry said as he followed her down the hall. "You might be in danger."

"If this were tomorrow night, I'd agree, but surely even the most efficient villain would have trouble organizing an abduction when he is right under Lord Strathmore's nose." When Henry showed signs of protesting again, she added, "If you will recall,
I'm
the one who hired you, and I want to walk."

The Runner frowned. "His lordship is not the sort I like to cross. A very forceful man."

She put on her fiercest face, the one she and Kira had perfected as children when they wanted to scare goblins under the bed. "And
I am a very forceful woman, Mr. Jones. Are you coming with me or not?"

He chuckled, tacitly conceding defeat. "I'll tell the porter that we've gone so he can tell Strathmore's coachman."

The brisk air of the Strand dissipated some of her fatigue, but it could not alleviate her depression. She had been a fool to tell Lucien that he would fall in love with Kira when, God willing, they met. Of course he had been outraged; no man of honor or sensitivity could have accepted Kit's statement. But he didn't know.
He didn't know
.

Kit had never resented her sister's ability to effortlessly enchant every male between the ages of two and ninety-five, mostly because there had never been a man whom Kit had really wanted for herself. Except for Philip Burke, who had visited friends in Westmoreland the summer the twins had been sixteen. He had been a handsome, witty, university student of twenty. For the first time in her life Kit had desperately wanted a man to think she was special.

But in spite of her best efforts, it was Kira who had captured Philip's fancy. He had joined the eager crowd of admirers around her and scarcely noticed Kit's existence. That had hurt a little—more than a little—but Kit had not blamed her sister. It wasn't as if Kira had deliberately tried to win Philip's regard; she had merely been her usual charming self.

With Lucien it would be much harder. There was a good chance that Kira would choose Jason because of what was already between them. In that case Lucien would doubtless feel obligated to stand by his offer to Kit. However, she could never marry
him, knowing it was her sister who he really wanted—and clever though Lucien was, he would be unable to deceive her about which sister he preferred.

For one of the few times in her life, Kit wished she was not a twin. The thought vanished as quickly as it had come, for it was impossible to imagine her life without her sister. When they were very small, they had resolved not to marry unless they could find suitable twin brothers. When they were older, they had discussed how dreadful it would be for the survivor when one of them died. Solemnly, they had decided that when they were very old and feeble, they would hold hands and jump off a cliff together so that they would die at the same time.

Oh, Kira, Kira…

She shivered and tightened her cloak around her throat, feeling suddenly chilled. If her sister died, Kit knew there was a very real chance that she would jump off that cliff alone.

Given the bleakness of her thoughts, Kit was grateful Henry was not disposed to chatter. They turned from the Strand into a quieter side street.

Halfway down the block, the clatter of hooves and wheels sounded behind them. A battered hackney coach rumbled past, then stopped. Idly Kit noted that the horses were unusually good for a livery vehicle. Then the door swung open and three men in half masks barreled out and charged toward Kit and her companion.

Henry barked, "Run, miss!"

He gave her a shove back toward the Strand, then pulled a pistol from beneath his coat and moved purposefully between her and the newcomers. Two ruffians lunged at Henry, and one knocked the pistol from his hand before he could fire. The third and largest swerved around the scuffle and raced toward Kit.

She bolted. Before she had taken ten steps, her pursuer grabbed her arm, bringing her to a wrenching halt. She tried to shout for help, but before she could make a sound, he clamped a hand over her mouth.

His cruel grip tilted her head back. The eyes behind his mask were as dull as pebbles—the eyes of a man who would kill a human as easily as a spider. Had he helped to kidnap Kira? Furiously Kit sank her teeth into his leathery fingers.

"You little bitch!" He walloped the side of her head with an open-palmed blow that made her vision dim. "Try that again and I'll really hurt you."

Over her assailant's shoulder she saw that Henry was wrestling with one of the men while the other stood by with a pistol, unable to shoot for fear of hitting his comrade. Then she lost sight of him as her captor started dragging her toward the coach. She fought every inch of the way, kicking and clawing, but she was no match for him.

Another coach turned into the street and began rattling toward them. Making a supreme effort, Kit chopped her assailant in the throat with the side of her hand. He made a garbling sound, and his grip loosened. She wrenched herself away, her cloak coming off in his hands. Praying that the driver or passengers would help rather than turn and flee, she darted toward the oncoming vehicle, shouting for assistance. Behind her she heard the heavy footfalls of her pursuer.

The coach ground to a halt. Even before it stopped moving, the door swung open and Lucien leaped out, his expression as fierce as the fallen archangel he was named for. He snapped, "Get behind me, Kit!"

As she obeyed, the other man grinned nastily. "Aren't you the gallant fellow," he sneered. "I eat swells like you for breakfast."

Before he could say more, Lucien whipped his cane around like a quarterstaff. The heavy gold head slammed into the ruffian's skull with an ugly, pulpy sound and he dropped into an ungainly heap.

With movements as economical as a dancer, Lucien pivoted and went to aid the Bow Street Runner. Henry was down, and the man with the pistol was aiming it when Lucien cracked his cane over the barrel of the weapon. It spun away into the gutter. Even before it clattered onto the cobblestones, the third man leaped at Lucien in a flat dive that knocked them both to the ground.

The attacker landed on top. Rather than fight, he bounded to his feet and shouted, "Time to go, mates!" He grabbed the arm of his fallen comrade and hauled him toward the coach.

Lucien rose and lunged after them, but his ankle turned under him. As he stumbled, the three attackers piled into the vehicle. The driver cracked his whip over

the horses, and they took off into the night, heading away from the Strand.

Lucien swore as he got to his feet. Then he turned and limped toward Kit. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said shakily. She took a step toward him, then another quicker one. A moment later she was in his arms, and he was embracing her with rib-bruising force.

Now that the danger had past, her knees turned to rubber. She hid her face against his shoulder and felt the hammering of his heart gradually slow to a normal tempo.

"They were trying to kidnap you?"

After she mastered the desire to break into hysterical tears, she replied, "I think so. It was no normal robbery."

He smoothed her mussed hair back from her forehead. "Did you recognize any of the men?"

"I'm sure that none were Hellions. I had the feeling they were hirelings." She tried to recapture those chaotic moments. "When the big one was dragging me toward the coach, I remember wondering if he had done the same with Kira. Perhaps he had taken part in her abduction, and I was vaguely sensing that."

"Mace and Nunfield left the theater during the second act. Possibly one of them could have arranged for an ambush in that short period of time if he knew where to go." Lucien's embrace tightened. "But it's also possible that the attack could be unrelated to your performing before your chief suspects tonight. There's simply not enough real evidence."

She raised her head so she could see his face. "How did you find out we were going to be attacked?"

He hesitated before saying, "I didn't. I just… felt that I should find you."

He had said that he had had a sixth sense where his sister's safety was concerned. Apparently, that ability extended to other females in need. And he had known exactly where to come. She shook her head in amazement. "No wonder you're known as Lucifer—your instincts are uncanny. A good thing you're on my side."

"Always, Kit," he said quietly. "Don't ever doubt that."

Her lover, her protector. With a desire so strong it was pain, she wanted to melt into him, to shelter in his strength and kindness forever. A kind of shiver went through her, as if the invisible walls that separated one person from another were on the verge of dissolving. If that happened, she would sink into him so deeply that she would never be wholly free again.