His own breath uneven, he said, "We will find Kira, and then you will marry me. Accept it, my dear tiger kitten, because we've gone too far to turn back." He kissed her again, this time lightly. "I look forward to the next time I can compromise you."
She smiled a little sadly as she emerged from his embrace. She wished she could believe they had a future together, but she couldn't.
No one saw them when Lucien escorted Kit through the silent house to an unobtrusive exit. She had insisted that she would be all right, but it was hard to let her go, and impossible to sleep when he returned to his room. Restlessness and yearning churned in his veins. Still, though the emotions were far from comfortable, they were a great improvement over the black melancholy that had followed intimacy in the past.
She filled his mind; maddening, quicksilver Kit, with her courage and loyalty, her wicked intelligence and her flowering sensuality. There was a tantalizing possibility that with her he might find the emotional intimacy that had been absent from his life since Elinor's death.
Such closeness wasn't there yet, and it might never be. Kit's first allegiance was to her twin, and dead or alive, Kira might stand permanently between Kit and himself. But at least there was hope. It would be worth marrying Kit for that, quite apart from marriage being the honorable thing to do.
It was going to be very hard to keep his hands off her while they searched for Kira.
He smiled into the darkness. Kit could not have found a better motivation for him to find her twin quickly.
Interlude
Worse than the fear, almost as dreadful as the degradation, was the boredom. Strange how even horror could become banal. Sometimes she thought she would go mad from isolation. She supposed that she should be grateful that her prison was so comfortable, but it was still a prison.
How long she had been locked in her lightless room? Weeks, certainly, perhaps months. It was hard to keep track of time. She yearned for the sight of the sun, or a rain-soaked sky.
Her only diversion was a small shelf of books, none of which she would have allowed in her home if she'd had a choice, but of choices she had none. The nauseating volumes had been essential at teaching her to understand something of her captor's perverse mind. She had also studied them religiously to glean ideas of what she might do to him. He thrived on novelty, and the day he became bored with her, she was a dead woman.
She was restlessly pacing around the sitting room when the hard-faced maid arrived. The massive armed guard who stood outside was briefly visible when the iron-bound door swung open. Knowledge of that guard was all that had kept her from making a desperate attempt to escape. She had not endured what she had to vainly throw her life away. If she waited, eventually a better opportunity would come.
The maid said, "He'll be here in an hour. He wants you to wear the furs."
She nodded wearily. Her captor was particularly fond of that costume. With the help of the maid, she donned the outfit. First a tight red satin garment that resembled an elaborate French corset. Then the inevitable black boots and lace stockings. Finally, a sable cape that swirled dramatically when she stalked about with her whip.
If… when… she escaped from this place, she would be happy to wear plain white muslin for the rest of her life.
She was adjusting her silver blond wig when the maid suddenly spat out, "You think you re safe because he likes what you do to him, but you'll see. In a fortnight you'll end up just like the others."
She spun on her heel and stared at the maid "What others'? And what happened to them?"
The maid gave an ugly smile. "Do you think you're the first he brought here? As for what happens-you'll see, you filthy slut." The maid rapped on the door, and the guard let her out.
Her cold hands clamped about the handle of her whip. She had always known that there could be no good end to her captivity, but time was running out faster than she had realized.
A fortnight.Silently, she vowed that when the time came, she would not go tamely like a lamb to the slaughter.
Chapter 26
The Gypsy Less went well even though nightmares had disturbed Kit's sleep again the sight before. As she danced through her role, she wondered if Lucien had arrived early enough to be in the audience. She suspected that he was present because she felt that someone was watching her with more than usual intensity. She hoped he enjoyed the view of her tattoo.
The performance left her exhausted and drenched in sweat, so she bypassed the green room. Her dressing room was tiny, but all hers since she was now a lead attraction with the company. She removed her black wig, washed off her face paint, and changed from her costume into a dress of Kira's, which was more dashing than her own wardrobe. Though she dared not risk intimacy with Lucien again, she did want him to be tempted. She was discovering that prim Kathryn had a shameless streak.
She smiled as she brushed out her hair. The three days since she had seen him seemed like forever. Perhaps they couldn't touch-or at least, only a little-but it would be wonderful simply to be with him. In his presence it was possible to believe that all would be well.
Her musing was interrupted by a knock at the door. She leaped up from the dressing table. Lord, she was acting like a giddy girl! But Lucien wouldn't mind.
Her greeting died on her lips when she threw open the door. It wasn't Lucien. Instead, a tall, dark-haired man stood in the shadowed hall. Her first reaction was a sense of familiarity, but when she looked more closely, she realized that he was a complete stranger.
He wasn't the first admirer of Cassie James to find his way to her dressing room, and he wouldn't be the last.
She swallowed her disappointment and gave him a friendly smile, the way Kira would have. "Good evening. Did you enjoy the play?"
"Enjoy the play?" His mouth twisted. "I scarcely noticed it. All I saw was you." Without waiting for permission, he moved past her into the dressing room.
Obviously, he knew Kira well. In the brighter light, Kit saw that his features were good, but he was thin to the point of gauntness, and a menacing scar curved from his temple into his overlong hair. He was poorly dressed, his garments ill-fitting and shabby, yet paradoxically he carried himself like a man of consequence. She tried to match his appearance to the brief descriptions that Cleo had given her, without success. Of course, Cleo couldn't know every man Kira had ever met.
Deciding that casual friendliness was the best approach, Kit said, "It's been a long time."
"It's been an eternity." He turned his palms upward. "You win, sweetheart. I surrender-foot, horse and cannon."
It was worse than she had feared, for clearly he had known Kira very well. When she hesitated, wondering about the best way to respond, he said with painful humor, "I know I look like something your cat left on the doorstep, but surely you haven't forgotten what you said the last time we saw each other. Perhaps you need a reminder."
Before she could guess his intention, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. There was raw hunger in his kiss, and a possessiveness that was a little frightening.