Dancing on the Wind (30 page)

He groaned when she rubbed her hips against him, then began impatiently undoing his buttons. She waited until he was pulling his breeches down and off-balance. Then she shoved him violently in the chest. He crashed backward into the desk, then went sprawling on the floor.

Not stopping to see if he was hurt, she bolted out the door. The west wing ended to the left, so she turned right toward the main corridor. She was just swinging around the corner when she heard a bellow of fury followed by pounding footsteps. No doubt it was fortunate that he wasn't dead, but it was a pity he hadn't been knocked senseless.

"You'll pay for that, you little slut!" echoed through the halls above the sounds from the ballroom. Ordinarily, this much racket would bring people, but she supposed the other guests were too busy dancing, drinking, or fornicating to notice.

Knowing that he would be able to see her as soon as he turned the corner, she slowed long enough to try the nearest doorknob. Locked! She began running again, heading for the stairs to the ground floor. Once she got through the ballroom and into the garden, Harford would never find her.

Her plans changed when she saw Lord Mace and two other men talking at the foot of the steps. Perhaps she would be safe if she went to them, but she wouldn't have bet a ha'penny on it.

She swerved and continued along the corridor with the speed she had learned running over the Westmoreland fells. A few seconds after she turned the corner into the east wing, the pursuing footsteps stopped. Harford called, "Mace, did a woman just run down these stairs?"

"No," his brother replied. "What the devil are you up to?"

"Chasing a sly, troublemaking little tease," Harford said viciously. "I'll make her sorry she ever met me."

"Well, chase her more quietly, Roderick," Mace drawled. "There may be a few guests trying to sleep."

Gasping for breath, Kit used the brief reprieve to test the doors in the east wing. One was Strathmore's,
the
next two were locked. The fourth opened, and she breathed a sigh of relief which lasted until she heard the fevered sounds of a couple in the throes of passion. She retreated hastily, shutting the door behind her.

Harford's steps were approaching rapidly. In a few seconds he would turn the corner and see her. Frantically, she scanned the corridor. Another dead end. One of these blank doors probably led to a service stairway,
but
she didn't know which, and time was running out.

With her goal still unachieved, it would be disastrous to let Harford catch her. At the very least she would be beaten and raped. The worst didn't bear thinking of.

There was only one hope. Please God, let him be there and willing to help her in spite of all she had done to him.

With a feeling of doomed inevitability, she pivoted and fled straight to Strathmore's door.

After his encounter with the lady in the blue domino, Lucien returned to his room, seething with a combination of physical and mental frustration. He had told his valet not to wait up, so after removing his domino and mask, he built up the fire, then poured himself a small glass of brandy and sat down to think.

There was no rational reason for his suspicion that the lady in blue was Kristine Travers; apart from height, there was no real resemblance between the two women. Nonetheless, he had been unable to shake the persistent feeling that it had been her laughing at him from behind that mask. Perhaps it was obsession that made him see her everywhere; that, and the knowledge that she was a mistress of disguise.

Yet he had gone thirty-two years without being attracted to a woman as intensely as he was to Kit. It made sense that he would also find her identical twin alluring, but it was hard to believe that a total stranger could also arouse him in precisely the same way. If he hadn't made a fool of himself with Kathryn Travers, he would have forcibly removed the mysterious lady's mask. A good thing she had disappeared into the crowd before he had succumbed to temptation.

With a wry smile, he finished his brandy. It was hard to be rational when waltz music from the ball throbbed through the air. Every rippling measure reminded him of how his last partner had felt in his arms. Maybe the lady in blue was a damned Travers cousin, which was why she affected him the way Kristine and Kathryn did. In the morning he would ask a few questions and see if he, could find out who the lady really was, but now it was time for bed.

After he removed his coat and boots, he remembered that he hadn't locked the door on his return. He crossed the room and was reaching for the key when the door swung violently open, almost hitting him in the face. And headlong behind it came Lady Nemesis wearing the blue domino, ash blond curls, and false age lines of his earlier dance partner.

Eyes enormous, she gasped, "Harford's right behind me. Please…"

Explanations could wait. He instantly swung the door shut and turned the key in the lock. "Get into the bed and pull the covers over your head. Then stay put and don't talk."

As she dived for the bed, he stripped off his cravat and threw it aside, then yanked his shirt loose so that it hung over his breeches. As he was unfastening his collar button, a fist struck the door and Harford's voice barked, "Open up!"

"Go away," Lucien called back, his voice sharp with irritation. "I'm busy." As he spoke, he used one hand to rumple his hair and the other to twist a pinch of skin on his neck, leaving a red mark that looked like a love bite.

Harford bellowed, "Dammit, Strathmore, let me in!"

"All right, all right," Lucien said testily. "I'm coming." He scanned the bed, where Kit was a long, curving shape under the blankets. She was covered except for a fold of blue silk that hung down one side of the bed. He shoved the telltale fabric under the blanket, then ambled across the room, taking his time.

After snuffing all but one candle and donning an expression of intense exasperation, he opened the door. "Is the house on fire? I can't imagine anything else so important that it can't wait until morning."

In the hall was Roderick Harford, his eyes furious and his clothing disheveled. "I want the woman you have with you!"

Lucien's brows arched. "You can't have her. She's mine, and I'm anxious to get back to what we were doing."

"The teasing bitch tried to rob me! I caught her searching my desk, as bold as brass."

"Oh?" Lucien folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. "It can't have been recently, because I've been keeping her busy for the last half hour or so."

"But I just saw her come into this room!"

"Not in here," Lucien said positively. "Your ladybird must have gone through a different door. They all look the same."

Expression belligerent, Harford tried to shove past. "I want to see who's in your bed, and I'm aot leaving uatil I do."

Lucien's arm whipped across the doorway, stopping the other man in his tracks. "I really can't permit that," he said in a voice of dangerous softness.

"I'm not asking your permission, Strathmore!" Again Harford tried to bull his way through.

Lucien grabbed the other man's right arm and yanked it up behind his back. When Harford began thrashing violently, Lucien twisted his wrist to a point on the edge of excruciating pain. "If you insist, I'm afraid that I shall have to call you out," he said coolly. "That would be regrettable—it's damned bad form to kill the brother of one's host."

Brought back to a realization of the circumstances, Harford stopped struggling. Lucien released his wrist, but the other man was not done yet. Furiously he said, "You and that slut are working together, aren't you?"

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "You are beginning to irritate me, Roderick. I am respecting the lady's privacy for reasons that have nothing to do with you."

"Why?"

Lucien rolled his eyes heavenward. "Quite apart from normal gentlemanly behavior, there is the regrettable fact that not all husbands are tolerant of their wives' amusements."

After another silence Harford gave an embarrassed laugh. "A married woman. I should have thought of that."

"Yes, you should have. Now kindly seek your felonious female elsewhere. The next door to the left is a servants' stair, isn't it? Perhaps she went that way."

Harford's brow furrowed. "I guess she must have. In dim light and at a distance, it was hard to tell which door she opened." As he turned to go, he added gruffly, "Sorry. I was out of line."

"Apology accepted. Just don't bother me again tonight." Lucien swung the door shut and locked it, then slid the key under the cushion of a nearby chair.

This time, by God, she was not going to get away.

He listened to the sound of Harford's retreating footstep, then the faint creak of the door to the service stairs. With his usual curiosity, Lucien had explored the stairwell soon after he had arrived. Harford would wander for a long tune in the bowels of the house before finally giving up in frustration.

Turning to the bed, he said, "You can come out now."

Expression wary, she pushed back the covers and sat up, surrounded by drifts of bed linen and blue silk. The atmosphere vibrated with complicated emotions: anger, deceit, desperation, and desire. Most of all, desire.

But for Lucien, anger was a damned close second. "So it really was you earlier," he said, his voice low and hard. "I'm glad to know that my instincts were sound. What have you to say for yourself this time?"

She grimaced. "That facing you under these circumstances is in some ways worse than having to deal with Roderick Harford." With a cavalier lack of respect for the expensive silk, she wiped off most of her cosmetics with the hem of her domino. Looking slightly smudged and much younger, she added wryly, "I've provoked him only once."

Her humor raised his anger another notch. "Perhaps you should have taken your chances with him. You asked for my help, but it comes at a price. And this time, my deceitful lady, I am flat out of gullibility."

Her expression became grave. "Given what you've endured from me, that's hardly surprising."

During the long silence that followed, he saw a shimmer of changing emotions in her eyes: regret, doubt, longing, and finally determination. Her hands locked in her lap. "I know that payment is long overdue," she said quietly. "Once you wanted me in your bed. If that's still true—well, I'm here."

Once again she astonished him, this time by her sheer, arrow-straight directness. He drew an unsteady breath. Though he disliked the implication that her offer was rooted in obligation rather than desire, there was no question of his refusing. Gentlemanly compunctions were a feeble consideration when set against the passion smoldering in his veins. "You had better mean it," he said tightly, "because this time you won't be allowed to change your mind or cry for mercy."

"If anyone cries for mercy, it won't be me, Lucien." She stretched out a slim, strong hand. "I've had enough of lies. It's time for some honesty."

He knew with absolute certainty that this time she would not run away. Yet she looked brittle, her eyes still haunted by the aftermath of her encounter with Harford.

Lucien frowned. Fear made a poor bedmate. He wanted her to be as hungry, as vulnerable, as he was. That meant he must control himself while bringing her to a fervor that matched his own. But restraint would not be easy.