She shoved him away, saying flippantly, "Don't rush your fences. As I said, it's been a long time. Tell me where you've been and what you've been doing." She retreated across the room, wondering how long it had been since the end of the performance and whether there was still a chance that Lucien might come. "Would you like a glass of sherry?"
He stared at her, feverish emotion in his brown eyes. "Don't you care that I risked my life to come here? You're acting as if this is a damned drawing room."
As Kathryn, she would have made soothing noises, but tonight she was Kira. She retorted, "And you're acting as if you own me. Well, you don't, and if you won't behave in a civilized manner, I'll have to ask you to leave."
A long moment of silence throbbed between them. Then he said softly, "So you want me to be civilized." He picked up the chair at her dressing table. She thought he was going to ask her politely to sit.
Instead, he raised the chair above his head, then smashed it viciously into the wall. Shards of wood flew in all directions, bouncing crazily and shattering her dressing mirror. "Sorry, Kira, but I'm in no mood to be civilized," he said, his voice all the more frightening for its restraint. "I would never have survived the last two years if I hadn't become a savage, and savagery is not something one can put aside like an old shirt."
She flattened her back against the wall, her heart pounding as she considered shouting for help. No, she would never be heard above the racket in the green room.
Then she caught her breath. He had endured savagery for two years…
The pieces snapped into place. This must be the man Kira had fallen in love with, which was why he had seemed familiar even though Kit had never met him. Perhaps he hadn't left her sister voluntarily, but had been sent to prison. His present fury made it easy to believe that he was a criminal, or perhaps mad. Either possibility would explain Kira's misery and refusal to discuss her heartbreak.
"I'm sorry for what you've had to endure," she said, trying to sound conciliatory. "Tell me about it."
"I didn't come here to talk about my bad luck," he growled. "I came here for you."
She hesitated. If her sister was in love with this man, Kit couldn't send him away. She must confess who she was and hope that he would honor her confidence. Perhaps he might even know something that would help in the search for Kira.
Too much time had passed while she thought. "You're trying to think of a tactful way to say that feelings change in two years, aren't you?" he said, anguish in his face. "Well, mine didn't, and they never will."
It was indecent to let this stranger bare his heart to the wrong woman. She raised her hand to cut off his words. "Please, don't say more. I'm not who you think lam."
Before she could say more, his expression changed. "No, you aren't," he said bitterly. "I thought you were loving and honest, even though you were an actress, but you're as much a whore as the rest of your breed. Very well, I'll treat you as one. I'm afraid I don't have the price of a night with me, but surely I have some credit left from the gifts I gave you before."
He trapped her against the wall and kissed her again, this time with punishing force. Though she fought him, his thinness disguised sinewy strength. His hips ground into hers, and he clamped his hand on her breast. She bit his tongue.
He jerked his head back and growled, "You little bitch!"
She tried to wrench herself away, but he caught her and pinned her to the wall. They stared at each other. In his burning eyes she saw the struggle between rage and reason.
With a harsh squeal the door swung open. Kit and her assailant both looked up to see a travel-stained Lucien. Summing up the situation instantly, he strode into the room, his eyes feral. "Let go of her nowl"
"So this is why you're playing Miss Modesty!" the dark-haired man exploded. "I taught you too well. I should have known that once you discovered the delights of fornication, you wouldn't be able to keep your legs together. How many lovers have you had in the last two years? Or have you lost count?"
Before she could answer, he released her and sprang across the small room to make a wild swing at Lucien. Kit cried out, but Lucien had already reacted. In one Juid motion he sidestepped the blow and smashed a hard ist into his assailant's jaw. The man made a gurgling jound and dropped like a felled ox.
Lucien stepped over him and gathered Kit close. "Did he hurt you?"
"N-not really." She buried her face against his shoulder, wishing he could touch every part of her at once. He smelled of mud and horse and safety.
Lucien kissed her forehead and stroked her back and shoulders, kneading the fear from her muscles. "Who is he?"
She gave a shaky laugh. "We never did get to introductions, but I think he must be the man Kira fell in love with several years ago. She would never have made him free of her nickname if she weren't serious."
Lucien studied the dark-haired man, whose temporary stupor was passing. "His manners need work."
"He was badly upset." She shivered. "But I'm very glad you arrived when you did."
The man sluggishly pushed himself to a sitting position. A bruise was rapidly forming on his jaw. "Go ahead," he said wearily. "Call the watch or the magistrate or whatever the hell you use for police in London. I really don't care."
Lucien looked at him narrowly. "From your accent, you must be American or Canadian."
"American." The stranger gave Kit a satiric glance. "Naturally, you're too clever to tell the current lover about the former ones."
"If you don't stop making insulting remarks to the lady, I'll break your jaw," Lucien said pleasantly. Releasing Kit, he reached down and hauled the other man upright. "Do you have anything to drink, Kit? I think this gentleman could use some refreshment."
She went to the cabinet that held the sherry. Trust Lucien to notice the subtly un-English accent Thinking that he could also use something after his long journey, she poured two glasses and gave one to him and the other to the stranger, who was now sitting on the chaise, his head bowed. "Brace yourself," she said. "I'm not Kira, I'm her twin sister, Kit. Obviously she never mentioned me."
His head snapped up, and he stared at her incredulously. Then he lifted his free hand and skimmed his fingers over her face. "Oh, God," he whispered. "It's true-you're not Kira." His face grayed. "I'm sorry, so sorry. If I'd known, I would never have behaved as I did."
"I would hate to think you considered that an acceptable way to treat my sister," she said crisply. "Of course, if I were Kira, I would have behaved differently myself."
He couldn't meet her eyes. "For two endless years the thought of Kira kept me alive. I expected you… her… to fall into my arms. When you treated me like a casual acquaintance, I… I went a little crazy. I hope you can forgive me."
She studied his pale face. Poor devil. "Forgiven and forgotten. But who are you?"
"Jason Travers." His mouth quirked. "Rather belatedly at your service."
"A relative?" Lucien asked.
Kit's eyes widened. "I believe this must be the American second cousin I mentioned-the one who is now the fifth Earl of Markland."
Lucien whistled softly. "Interesting. The fact that he's a peer could be useful if the authorities discover his presence." To the American, he said, "You just escaped from the hulks?"
Kit exclaimed, "Those ghastly prison ships moored out in the Thames? Surely not!"
Jason smiled humorlessly. "I'm afraid so-Hades afloat. Yesterday I had an opportunity to go over the railing, so I did. Damned near froze, got dragged down by debris in the filthy water, and almost didn't make it to shore." He regarded Lucien warily. "How did you figure that out? And who are you?"
"Lucien Fairchild, the future husband of the young lady you were mauling." Lucien held out his hand. "You look like a man who has been on prison rations. Since there are some American prisoners of war on the hulks, it seemed a likely explanation."