"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.
"That earl of yours called first thing in the morning and hauled Sebastian and me over here in the interests of propriety." Jane settled into a chair. "Though I suspect that trying to preserve your reputation is rather a case of closing the barn door after the horse has disappeared over the nearest horizon."
When Kit blushed, Jane added, "You needn't comment on that."
"I don't intend to." Though Kit had told Jane everything about her search for Kira, she had been rather less forthcoming about her relationship with Lucien. "And he's not my earl."
Jane grinned. "He seems to think he is. Since I'm not your legal guardian, he didn't bother to ask me for your hand, but he did inform me of your future nuptials."
"That has yet to be decided," Kit said sharply.
Her aunt frowned. "Is he bullying you, Kathryn? Men can be such brutes."
Kit stared into her steaming cup, "Lord Strathmore is not a brute. He simply feels that he has compromised me and we should marry. However, I doubt anything will come of it."
"If you say so, my dear," Jane said skeptically. "He seems the determined sort. But I rather like him. You could do far worse for a husband."
Afraid to risk her fragile hopes by speaking them aloud, she said mildly, "I don't know that I want a husband, and I don't really think he wants a wife. After Kira is found, I expect that Strathmore and I will go our separate ways." Knowing the dangers of showing favoritism, Kit set aside her cup so she could pet both cats at once. "How did he get Viola from Kira's house?"
"Perhaps he woke Cleo Farnsworth and asked her to let him into the flat." Jane's eyes twinkled. "Then again, he may have picked the lock. I wouldn't put it past the gentleman."
"Neither would I. That sort of thing is what makes him so useful on a quest." Kit broke a muffin in half, automatically keeping it out of range of the cats' paws. "I don't care if the earl is a professional housebreaker. What matters is that he is helping me search for Kira."
Jane's expression sobered. Kira's disappearance was almost as hard on her as on Kit. "Have you learned something new?"
Kit outlined what had happened since she had last seen her aunt, concluding with the plan to visit two of the Hellion-owned properties that day.
Jane said doubtfully, "You really think you can detect Kira's presence if you're close to her?"
"I certainly hope so." Kit's fingers tightened on the muffin. It fragmented across the counterpane, eagerly pursued by the cats. "If I can't, I don't know what we'll do next."
Kit thought it would be less conspicuous to ride about the countryside dressed as a young man, so after eating, she delved into the clothing Jane had brought from home. Her aunt had wisely included her burglar's garb, so clad in boots and breeches, she, Lucien, and Jason Travers rode south into Surrey.
Their first destination was a small estate owned by Lord Chiswick and leased to a wealthy City merchant. With her escorts beside her, Kit circled the property on a series of lanes and small roads that came as close to the perimeter as possible. Then they tethered their horses in a copse and hiked across the estate on a public footpath.
The whole time she strained for a sense of Kira's presence. In the very center of the estate, she stopped and closed her eyes. Then she turned in a slow circle, like a hound scenting the wind, while the men watched in silence. The psychic space was as empty as the winter-blasted fields, with no trace of Kira's distinctive warmth and brightness.
Opening her eyes, she said bleakly, "Nothing."
His expression as strained as her own, Jason said, "It was too much to hope that she would be in the first place we looked."
"And this is not the most likely of the estates." Lucien laid a light hand on Kit's shoulder. "Come along to the next property. Nunfield owns it, and a couple of his aging relations live there. I think it's a better prospect."
Kit didn't answer. Not only was she disappointed at the lack of results at this location, but on a deeper level she was terrified. What if she was wrong, and she would be unable to sense Kira's presence even if her sister was near? What if the ability Kit had once possessed had failed under the pressure of her desperation?
If that was the case, her sister was doomed.
Interlude
She had not expected him to come for another session so soon, and she had little warning of his arrival. There was barely time to don her black wig, boots, and a red velvet shift that ended at midthigh. But clothing was simple compared to attitude. It was never easy to become the dominating bitch he craved; it took fierce concentration, all of her acting skill, and acute sensitivity to his desires. Not having had enough time to prepare meant that her portrayal was weak, which allowed her underlying fear to show.
For that reason she shackled him and secured his chains to the hook that hung suspended from the dungeon ceiling. Snarling a litany of abuse, she whipped him with all of her precisely gauged skill. It was a typical interchange, with her contemptuous and him groveling. But it took longer than usual to bring him to culmination, and there was a dark light in his eyes that alarmed her. Perhaps she was no longer enough of a novelty to arouse him. And when he tired of her…
Her fears were confirmed after she released him from his bondage. In the past she had always withdrawn to the other room, and he left when he was ready. This time he caught her wrists, trapping her at his side. "In time, the slave becomes the master, the mistress becomes the slave," he said with icy menace. "This will happen soon, my lady of the whip."
Like a wild beast he must be kept in his place. She jerked her knee up and knocked him in the chest, breaking his grip. "But a cur is always a cur," she sneered. "Like a dog that cringes before its master, you need what I give you, so you will accept any humiliation."
He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall, pinning her with his sweat-stenched body. Panic surged through her, for he had never physically assaulted her.
"Soon you will know the true meaning of fear, and I will savor every nuance." His breath was heavy with anticipation. "The last and most glorious performance of your life will occur when the tables are turned. But don't worry-you will not make your final bows alone."
As abruptly as the session had begun, it ended. He lifted
the robe he had discarded and draped it over his welt-marked shoulders. Then he left, the heavy key grinding in the lock behind him.
She sank to her knees, shaking. How much longer did she have? She tried not to speculate about the evil hints he had made, but it was impossible not to wonder, even if the only real question was how long and horribly she would suffer before merciful death claimed her.
What had he meant when he said that she would not be alone?
Her stomach heaved as an unspeakable thought crossed her mind. No, that was impossible. Kit was too clever, and she knew the danger she faced.
But was she a match for pure evil?
Oh, Kit, Kit, she thought despairingly. In the name of God, be careful.
After he left the dungeon, he went to the sullen maid who tended his captive. "Make another of the bondage costumes with the slits and leather lacing," he ordered.
"Yes, my lord," she said incuriously. "How large should it be?"
"The same size as the one the mistress has now." He stopped for a moment as his mind filled with the intoxicating fantasy that would soon be fulfilled. "The costume must be exactly the same."
Chapter 32
It was late, almost midnight. After escorting Kit home from the theater and sending her off to bed, Lucien turned his attention to some of the work he had been neglecting in favor of the search for Kira. When a soft knock sounded on his study door, he answered absently, his mind full of the figures he had been analyzing.
As soon as he recognized the tall, travel-stained man who entered, he snapped back to the present. Leaping to his feet, he moved around his desk, his hand outstretched. "Good Lord, is that you, Michael, or am I hallucinating?"
Lord Michael Kenyon smiled and clasped Lucien's hand in both of his. "No hallucination. I knocked, but your servants have all retired so I used the key you gave me last year."
"Do you want something to eat?"
"No thanks, I had a substantial dinner in Berkshire. But I wouldn't say no to a drink."
Lucien waved his friend to a seat. "I didn't think you could possibly reach London for at least another couple of days. What did you do, hitch a ride with a passing falcon?"
Michael sprawled wearily onto the leather-upholstered sofa, his mud-spattered boots and breeches a mute testimony to his long journey from Wales. "I was rather disturbed by your message, so I decided to make all due speed. What's wrong?"
Thinking how fortunate he was to have friends who would come instantly, without questions, Lucien opened a cabinet and brought out a decanter of the Scottish whiskey that Michael favored. "A kidnapping, and time is running out." After pouring them each a generous measure of whiskey, he sat and succinctly told the story of Kira and Kit.
Michael listened without comment, his lean body relaxed, but his green eyes sharply alert. At the end of the recital he said, "I assume that you've considered cornering each of your suspects and beating the truth out of them."
Trust Michael to suggest the pragmatic solution. "Believe me, I've thought of that," Lucien admitted, "but we have too many suspects, and there is a distinct chance that the true villain is not among them. I'm afraid that it won't do to brutalize a number of wealthy, powerful men without more evidence."
Michael grinned. "One thing I've always liked about you is that you don't waste time being principled during a crisis."
"A characteristic we share," Lucien pointed out. "It is not generally considered a virtue."
"Principles are sometimes an unaffordable luxury." Michael eyed his host quizzically. "Though you didn't say as much, I get the impression that you are motivated as much by a desire to help Lady Kathryn as by general nobility."
"You guessed correctly. I have every intention of marrying her after we've found her sister.
Michael's dark brows rose. "You look rather glum for a prospective bridegroom."
"There are… complications." Lucien stared into his glass. Since the attempted abduction, he and Kit had been circling each other as warily as her two cats. He knew that she was under a terrible strain, and he accepted her desire to avoid physical intimacy while searching for her sister.
Nonetheless, he felt she was silently slipping away from him, and he had no idea how to stop that. In the beginning he had been confident that he could win her heart, but he was beginning to fear that when… if… she got Kira back, he would lose Kit entirely, for she would no longer need him. "Michael, why do men and women drive each other to distraction? And why do we keep reaching out to each other anyhow?"
Michael leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his whiskey glass between his hands. "I'm the last person to ask for advice about women, Luce," he said wryly. "My record in that area is dismal. But for what it's worth, women have something that men need- and I don't mean the obvious." Lucien glanced up. "Then what do you mean?" His friend hesitated before answering. "Males and females are complimentary. Often that means that we're opposites, with all of the conflict that implies, but it also means that we complete each other. A good woman has a warmth, an accepting quality, that is a blessed relief from all the sharp edges one meets in life." He smiled. "Think of Nicholas's wife."
"If only there were ten thousand more like Clare." "I'll drink to that." Michael lifted his glass in a toast, then downed the rest of the contents. "But I gather there were a fair number of rocks in the road on their journey toward marital bliss. Nicholas and Clare have earned what they have."
Lucien's mind skipped back to a conversation he'd had with a worried Clare before her wedding. "I'd forgotten that. Thank you for the most encouraging words I've had in days."
"Wisdom offered free, and worth every penny."
Lucien laughed, his heart lighter. With Michael beside them, surely they would succeed in finding Kira. And then, by God, he would convince Kit that she needed him as much as he needed her.
Lady Jane's casual chaperonage extended only to spending her nights at Strathmore House. During the day she returned to her own home and went about her usual business. For that reason Kit breakfasted in her room so that she would not run the risk of being alone with Lucien. They were managing to rub along tolerably well during their surreptitious expeditions to Hellion-owned estates, and she didn't want to jeopardize that. She was also afraid what she might say, or do, if she spent too much time with him. Nonetheless, she missed his companionship dreadfully.
After breakfasting, she dressed and tried to work on an essay about the proposed Corn Laws, but she found it impossible to concentrate on protectionist trade policies. She had not written a decent article since Kira's abduction.
Restless, she left the room and went to the portrait gallery on the third floor, which she had been meaning to explore. It would be interesting to see if Lucien's relatives were all as handsome as he. She doubted that was possible.
When she entered the gallery, she saw a tall, brown-haired figure at the far end. Glad to have the company of her cousin, she called, "Good morning, Jason."
The man turned and she realized that he was a stranger, taller than Jason and not as thin. His hair was also a little lighter, with a touch of russet visible in the winter sun.
Coming toward her with a smile, he said, "Sorry, we haven't been introduced. I'm Michael Kenyon, a friend of Lucien's. You must be Lady Kathryn Travers."
"Indeed I am." She moved forward and offered her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. It's actually Lord Michael, isn't it? Lucien has mentioned you."
"To any friend of Lucien's, plain Michael will do." He bowed over her hand. As he straightened, she saw that his eyes were a remarkable shade of green, not Lucien's changeable green-gold but a true emerald.
"Then you must call me Kit." She studied his face. Even if she had not already known that Michael had been a soldier, she would have guessed that from his quality of steely, contained strength. "Lucien said he was going to send for his most dangerous friend. I gather that is you?"
"I suppose so, but if Luce wants someone who is dangerous, he
need only look in a mirror. I'm merely a retired soldier who has gone to grass like an old cavalry horse."
She smiled, liking his dry sense of humor. "Yet you are willing to come out of retirement for my sister's sake. You have my most profound gratitude."
"I hope I can be of service." He gave her a long, appreciative male glance. "There is really another like you?"
"Yes, only more so. You'll see soon, I hope." Since thinking of her sister would make her anxious, she continued, "I came down to take a look at the pictures. Are you familiar with Lucien's family?"
"Yes, and what I don't know, I can invent." He nodded toward the portrait of a blond gentleman in Cavalier dress. "That's Gareth, the third earl, I believe. He supported the Royalists during the Civil War, but took the precaution of having his brother become a Puritan. When the Royalists went into exile, the brother took over the family estates and swore his allegiance to Cromwell. After the Restoration, Gareth came back, reclaimed his lands, and made sure that his brother was amply compensated for his stewardship of the Fairchild interests."
Kit examined the cool, ironic face. "Lucien said once that he comes from a long line of pragmatists."
"It's why the Fairchilds have survived so many of the vicissitudes of British history." Michael indicated another portrait, this of a dandyish gentleman in the elaborate garments of a hundred years earlier. Beside him stood an elegant lady in flowing green silk. "That's the fifth earl, Charles, and his wife, Maria. He was quite dissolute and a heedless gamester. His son inherited at the age of six when Charles died under suspicious circumstances."
She glanced askance. "Is that true, or did you make it up?"
He chuckled. "That's the story Lucien told me. He claims that there was speculation that Maria had decided to preserve her son's patrimony at the price of her husband's life. Perhaps the story is true, or perhaps it is only Lucien's antic sense of humor. He doesn't take his elevated ancestors very seriously."
"That's better than taking them too seriously."
His levity vanished. "A failing of the Kenyons, I fear."
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