"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.
Aching, she reminded herself that the more tightly she clung now, the more painful it would be to separate. She must maintain a safe distance, not only for the sake of finding Kira, but for her own sanity.
Stepping away, she asked, "Is your ankle badly hurt?"
As she spoke, she made the mistake of looking at him. He became utterly still, and the lamplight showed the warm gold fading from his eyes, leaving them a flat, pale green. He had recognized her subtle withdrawal for the rejection it was, and she was miserably aware how much she had wounded him.
Without a word more being spoken, something significant took place between them. A hardening, a wariness, that rebuilt the barriers between them. He had made himself vulnerable, but she had spurned him, and pride would not permit him to do that again.
His voice cool and uninflected, he said, "My ankle is only twisted. It will be fine tomorrow."
She retrieved her cloak, which had been dropped by her attacker, and wrapped it around her trembling body. Then she collected his hat and cane and silently handed them over. This time she avoided looking into his eyes.
Twenty feet away, Henry Jones had risen and was dusting himself off. A bruise was forming on his jaw, and his lip was split and bloody, but he didn't seem to be seriously injured. "A very timely appearance, my lord," he said genially, oblivious to the undercurrents throbbing between Kit and Lucien. "It was almost worth having my coat ruined to see you in action."
Lucien's head swung toward him. In a voice that could have scorched granite, he asked, "Might I inquire why you didn't wait for my coach to take you and Lady Kathryn home?"
Guessing that his anger toward her was being transferred to Henry, she said quickly, "It was my fault, Lucien. I didn't believe I was in danger, so I insisted on walking."
Ignoring her, he regarded the Runner with narrowed eyes.
Henry's face sobered. "I've no excuse, my lord. Her ladyship didn't understand the risk, but I should have."
"Yes, you should. If you're that careless with Lady Kathryn again, you'll have more to fear from me than from a whole gang of ruffians." Lucien's tone was still caustic, but his expression had relaxed at the Runner's honest admission of error. He gestured toward the coach. "Do you want the driver to take you home after he drops Lady Kathryn and me at Strathmore House? After the drubbing you took, I imagine you could use a ride."
"Thank you for the offer, my lord, but walking will keep me from stiffening up." Henry grimaced as he leaned over and scooped up his crushed hat. "When you've been in as many scrapes as I have, you learn what's best for the old bones."
After bidding Kit good night, the Runner walked away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Kit said, "If you don't think I would be safe at Kira's, take me to Aunt Jane's house. The villain can't possibly know where she lives."
"Don't talk rubbish," he said crisply. "You're staying with me for the duration. I never should have allowed you out of my sight." He held the door open for Kit, saying to the fascinated coach driver, "Hanover Square, please."
As he handed her into the coach, she opened her mouth to protest again, but Lucien cut her off. "Don't bother to mention the potential damage to your reputation. You've said that you are indifferent to such considerations."
He climbed in after her and slammed the door shut. "If you're concerned about propriety, Lady Jane can come and stay at Strathmore House. If you're going to say that your sister's Shakespearean cat needs tending, the creature can come, too." He sat on the opposite seat and braced himself as the coach lurched into motion. "And for the rest of the drive to Hanover Square, you can tell me what an overbearing beast I am."
She might have done exactly that, except that his last sentence disarmed her. Grateful that he was setting a casual tone to replace vanished intimacy, she said, "To be honest, I'm fresh out of arguments. I'll wait until tomorrow to point out your beastliness."
"Tomorrow you'll have better things to do. I've identified seven properties owned by the suspects that are within a couple of hours of London." He gave an exasperated sigh. "It's a start, but such information is not easily come by. There could be other locations that I don't know about."
"I'm sure you have discovered more than anyone else could have." She bit her lip, again feeling the sense of time flowing too rapidly. "I'm supposed to do Scandal Street tomorrow night, but if we're going to search for Kira, I can let the understudy take my part."
"That won't be necessary. The two properties closest to London can be visited during the day. Both are small, so it shouldn't be necessary to trespass for you to sense if Kira is being held at one of them."
"Thank heaven," she said fervently. "It will be good to be doing something."
A few minutes later they reached Strathmore House and Lucien escorted her inside after a lavish payment to the coach driver. There was no question of her sharing his bed; impeccably formal, he handed her into the keeping of a maid without so much as a good-night kiss.
As she wearily settled into a guest room, she told herself that sleeping alone was much wiser. She would have no ambivalence about whether to make love, nor the guilt that would come if she succumbed, which she probably would if Lucien seriously tried to persuade her.
What a pity that wisdom was so cold and lonely.
Because of her fatigue, Kit slept heavily and awoke only after prolonged knocking on her door. Groggily she looked around, at first not recognizing her luxurious surroundings. By the time she remembered where she was, the door had opened and her aunt swept in, followed by two familiar tabby cats and a maid carrying a tea tray. The cats jumped onto the bed and flopped on opposite sides of Kit, where they could glare mistrustfully at each other over her knees. Apparently Viola and Sebastian had forgotten that they were litter mates.
Ignoring the feline byplay, Jane said brightly. "Good morning, Kathryn. You're looking rather dreadful. Have some tea and currant muffins." She dismissed the maid and poured two cups of tea, adding sizable dollops of sugar to each.
Kit stifled a groan; her aunt had always been one of those regrettable creatures known as Morning People. "What are you doing here, Jane?" she asked as she accepted the tea cup and gratefully drank a scalding mouthful.