Dancing on the Wind (39 page)

"Reach out to Kira," he said quietly. "She's tired and lonely and will feel better if she knows you're there. Can you feel her?"

Kit's gray eyes lit up. "Yes. Kira, Kira, love…"

Interlude

She was mortally weary when he left, but she found the strength to drag off her loathsome costume. Then she rubbed herself all over with a coarse towel, for though he had never used her sexually, she always felt soiled after a session. Tonight was worse than usual, for he had hinted at her fate and it was hard not to succumb to terror.

She donned the longest, most opaque chemise in her wardrobe and lay down to sleep. She had early vowed not to allow self-pity, but it was harder to banish despair.

As always, she used the thought of her sister as a shield. The knowledge that she was never truly alone was a balm.

Her mind was drifting toward sleep when she felt a warm presence in her mind and a gentle, questioning, "Kira?"

"Kit!" She was so startled that she jerked into wakefulness when she clutched for her sister. The sense of connection disappeared.

Alarm, loss, loneliness.

After a period of desperate mental thrashing, she realized that she must relax if she was to reestablish the contact. With the grim determination that had enabled her to keep her sanity, she made herself calm again. Then she opened her mind to her twin.

Kit's face contorted. "She's gone!"

"Relax, be calm," Lucien said soothingly. "Kira was probably startled. Reach out and give her time to find you."

Several taut minutes passed before Kit gave a soft, relieved exhalation. She had connected with her sister again.

Lucien asked, "Is Kira in London or the country?"

Kit's brow puckered. "C-country."

"Does she know where?"

When Kit looked confused, he suggested, "Visualize a map of Great Britain with a cross where London is. Does she have any idea where she is in respect to London?" After a minute of silence had passed, he suggested, "North? West? South? East?"

"Don't
know
," Kit said fretfully. A long pause, then, "But… but not far from town. Maybe two hours or so."

If true, that narrowed the range considerably. "What is her prison like?"

"Dark. Always dark, only lamps. Silence. Guards." The sheet over her breasts rose and fell as her breathing roughened. "Not uncomfortable, but it's
ghastly
not to see the sun."

"Does she know who her captor is?"

Kit gasped and terror flashed across her face. "No!
No
!"

"It's all right, Kit, you're safe," he said quickly. "Tell Kira that we'll find her and she'll be safe, too."

Instead of soothing, his words produced more distress. "Not much more time! The sun… the sun is dying, and I'll not see the new year." Tears began flowing down her cheeks. She whispered desolately, "Don't cry, Kira, please don't cry, I can't bear it."

Her grief was wrenching. He set aside the candle and took her hand. "We're looking for you, Kira," he said forcefully. "When we find you, we'll bring you home as quickly as we can."

Kit's face twisted with agitation. "Want to come home
now
."

"The more you can tell us about your situation, the sooner we can find you, Kira. Is there anything at all you can tell us about your captor that might help us identify him?"

"A .. a long devil from the fires of hell." Kit twisted her head in agitation. "Want to
leave
!"

It was time to end this, before one of the three of them broke down entirely. He inhaled deeply, then managed to say in an even voice, "Tell Kira that you love her, Kit. That you love her, and that she. must not despair."

Kit's expression smoothed out. "Love you, Kira. Always."

"I'm going to count from one to ten, and when I reach ten, you'll wake up and remember what happened. One… two…"

After reaching ten, he said crisply, "Wake up, Kit."

She blinked, her eyes coming into focus. "It worked," she said in a barely audible voice. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "But merciful heaven, I've never been so tired in my life. It was even more exhausting than the nightmares."

He lay down and put his arms around her, wanting to warm her shivering body. "You did wonderfully. Do you remember?"

"Yes. It was strange." Kit stopped and drew several jagged breaths. "She knew I wanted information, but it didn't seem possible to communicate words, no matter how hard we tried. Mostly it was emotions, with some images. Frustrating."

"I assume that 'a long devil' means that her captor is tall and probably thin. Does that fit your impression?"

"Yes, and it matches my vague memory of the man in my nightmare. I'd forgotten until now." She rubbed her temple. "Did I say something about the fires of hell?"

"Yes. My guess is that is how your mind translated the idea of a Hellion. That's what we've assumed, but it's good to have confirmation. We've also learned that Kira is outside London, though not far away, and being held in a closed, isolated structure." He frowned. "That could be almost anything from a cottage with its windows boarded up to a genuine dungeon. Did you have any other impressions that you didn't speak aloud?"

"Only that she is afraid that something dreadful will happen to her soon." Kit shivered. We are rapidly running out of time."

"But finally we are making progress. Starting tomorrow, I'll have all of your suspects watched. Perhaps the abductor will lead us right to your sister. I'll also try to learn what properties the men own within two hours or so of London, since she may be held at one of them." He considered, his fingers gently stroking her upper arm. "I'll review the dossiers on the Hellions that I've assembled as part of my search for the spy. I don't think there is anything relevant, but one never knows."

"That would be good," Kit agreed. "I had to keep my search as narrow as possible because of limited resources, but I won't rule out the possibility that my quarry is someone I thought unlikely." She shivered again. "Even if we become convinced that one of the men is guilty, how do we actually find Kira?"

"We use you as a divining rod. From what you say, if we get close to where she is being held, you'll be able to find her."

Kit bit her lip. "If the distance isn't too great, but I think I would have to be within a quarter of a mile of her."

"We could search an estate by night, cutting back and forth in a pattern that would cover the whole property." He drew her closer, thinking how fine drawn and fragile she felt. It hurt to know that he could not protect her from what she feared most. Gravely he said, "It's asking a lot of you, kitten."

"I'll do whatever I have to," she said, stark shadows under her eyes. "But once we find her, how will we get her out? I think she is guarded heavily."

"We will damned well go in and get her. Your cousin Jason will want to come, and he strikes me as an exceedingly capable gentleman. I'll also summon the most dangerous of my friends. With men like them, we could get Kira out of the Tower of London." He began massaging her back, wanting her to sleep away her exhaustion. "Try to relax, Kit. If it's humanly possible, we will get her back safely."

"You're very comforting." She closed her eyes and turned her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Soon soft, regular exhalations were wisping against his throat.

He watched the shadow-splashed ceiling, his face somber. In spite of his show of confidence, he was deeply worried. There were too many possibilities, and, if the message from Kira was accurate, very little time. The kind of monster who had abducted her was quite capable of tiring of his plaything and killing her so that he could find a new woman to torment.

So much depended on Kit's gossamer bond with her sister. It was a devastating burden for her to carry; if they failed to find Kira in time, Kit would never forgive herself. She would be doomed to the guilt and loneliness, the sense of being incomplete, that had haunted Lucien most of his life. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less Kit. And selfishly, he feared that if her sister died, Kit would never want to see Lucien again because he had failed to rescue Kira. The mere thought made his muscles cramp with tension.

When he was sure she was asleep, he carefully disentangled himself from her arms, climbed from the bed, and went to his desk. There he penned a terse note.
Michael, I need your help. Can you come to London immediately? Lucien
.

On the outside he wrote "Lord Michael Kenyon, Bryn Manor, Penreith, Caermarthenshire, Wales." Then he dripped wax on the closure and pressed in the
Strathmore seal with his signet ring. First thing in the morning he would send the note by special messenger. If a military-style raid was needed, Michael would be invaluable. But first, they had to find where Kira was.

As he slid into bed beside Kit again, he hoped to God that he could live up to her trust.

Lucien paused in the open doorway. "Good morning, Dolly. Your footman said to come straight up."

The flamboyant blonde who frowned over an account book looked up, a smile wreathing her face. "Strathmore, what an unexpected pleasure. Have you come to add some spice to your bland life?"

He grinned and closed the door behind him. "Now, now, remember our bargain. I don't call you a disgusting pervert, and you don't tell me that I'm an unimaginative puritan who would bore any reasonable woman senseless."

She leaned back in her chair, laughing. "I've always liked the way you joke about my business. Most men either think I'm the wickedest creature since Eve, or they take me and my work so seriously they forget they're supposed to be having fun."

"Do you have a few minutes to spare?"

She waved airily. "I'm expecting a gentleman any minute, but he can wait. Frustration will help put him in the mood." She lifted an enormous ostrich feather fan from the desk, then stood and turned around, one hand on her hip. "It's a new outfit What do you think—will I drive the lads all wild?"

Lucien solemnly inspected her spectacular red velvet gown. She must be wearing a ferocious corset, for her somewhat overabundant figure was cleverly shaped to provide a maximum of stunning curves, some of which were displayed by a decolletage that would make a stone saint blush. As she turned, he saw that the skirt had thigh-high slits that revealed riding boots, silver spurs, and black lace stockings.

"Isn't it a bit conservative?" he asked. "I saw a duchess in a similar outfit several weeks ago, but hers was more daring."

"Beast!" She swatted at him with her fan. It stung across the back of his hand, and he saw that the frothy feathers concealed narrow leather thongs that would hurt if applied with vigor. The pretty and the painful blended together, a perfect metaphor for Dolly's special skills.

"I'll admit that it isn't always easy to be more vulgar than some of your society ladies, but I'm the woman who can do it." She sat and crossed her legs so that the slit skirt exposed shapely, black lace-covered legs all the way to midthigh. "Take a seat. I don't suppose this is a social call."