"Mace." Though his reply was immediate, it took longer to analyze his reasons. "He showed the least reaction, to the point where it was a little conspicuous because every other man in the theater was intoxicated by your performance. And I don't doubt that he is capable of coldness and cruelty."
"Your friend Dolly said he was the sort who had to have the whip hand," Kit reminded him. "Why would he want to force a woman to abuse him?"
"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."