Face pale, the American said, "I've never seen anything like that happen before."
"Presumably, you've never worked with a woman who was searching for her lost twin." He stroked Kit's trembling shoulders. She seemed painfully fragile.
Hating the necessity of probing, he asked, "I gather that you connected with Kira's emotions?"
Kit swallowed hard. "Yes, just at the end of one of the whipping sessions. It was ghastly, like having a nightmare while still awake. I could see and hear everything and feel Kira's emotions, but I could do nothing. I felt paralyzed, like a fly trapped in a web with the spider approaching."
"Is Kira all right?"
Kit frowned, then relaxed. "Yes. He's gone now. She knew I was there. I think that helped."
"You think she's being held at a place called Castle Raine?"
Kit shuddered and hid her face again. "I believe so."
Lucien extended one arm, keeping the other around Kit. "Michael, give me the map."
His friend silently placed it in his hand. After studying the area, Lucien said, "Castle Raine is a ruined medieval fortress, and it's probably no coincidence that it falls roughly halfway between the estates of Mace and Nunfield."
"Probably not." Michael glanced at Kit. "A castle dungeon would fit your impression of a lightless underground prison."
She grimaced. "You're right. Even furnishing the place comfortably can't cover up that atmosphere."
Lucien was still frowning at the map. Not surprisingly for a medieval castle, a river ran nearby. What caught his attention was a nagging sense of familiarity. An image popped into his mind: standing on a hill amidst old stone walls, looking down at a curving, moonlit river. Stone walls and moonlight… "Damnation, I think I've been there!" he exclaimed. "Castle Raine must be the place that the Hellions hold their rituals."
"You attended one of their infamous orgies?" Michael said, his brows raised.
Kit's head came up, her gray eyes narrowed as she waited for Lucien's answer. Uneasily he remembered the hard-faced whore, and the horrible desolation he had felt after allowing her to earn her fee. His arm tightened around Kit's shoulders. "Strictly in the way of business, not for pleasure."
She relaxed again. A good thing she was so tired, or she might have guessed that his answer was not the whole truth. The night was one Lucien preferred to forget.
Jason said, "Do you know if the castle has dungeons?"
"I didn't see any, but it's likely. The grounds are quite extensive. Almost anything, or anyone, could be hidden there."
Silence fell on the room until Michael said with quiet menace, "I assume that tonight we will go to Castle Raine and search for Lady Kristine."
"That we will," Lucien said. "But first we sleep. In the morning Kit and I will call on Lord Ives, who is one Hellion we can trust. He should be able to tell us more about the castle."
"One can never have too much information about the target of a raid." Michael ran a weary hand through his chestnut hair. "But the earlier we go to Berkshire, the better. There's a bad storm brewing. Freezing rain or sleet, I think."
"Then we'll need a place to go to ground near the castle. A private house would be better than an inn." Lucien tapped the map. "Rafe owns a small manor near Basildon. The tenant died recently, and it's still vacant. I'm sure he'll let us use it. We can ride there this afternoon. After the raid we can spend the night and not have to ride all the way back to London."
In spite of her fatigue, Kit's curiosity was piqued. She said to Michael, "You can predict a storm so accurately that Lucien accepts your word without a blink?"
"They used to call me the weather wizard. Even as a child, I could always tell when a storm was coming, and how severe it would be." Michael flexed one arm. "After I took a ball in the shoulder, my predictions became even better." Getting to his feet, he added, "Sleep well for what is left of the night."
Jason covered a yawn. "Since tomorrow is the winter solstice, we still have a few more hours of darkness."
Lucien stood, Kit still in his arms. "Good night."
As he headed toward the stairs, she protested, "I can walk."
"I have my doubts," he said dryly. "Remember how drained you've been the other times you've reached Kira's mind?"
"Oh." Conceding the point, she closed her eyes and let her head drop against his shoulder.
He was struck again by how frail she seemed. Poor gallant, exhausted kitten. She must be operating on pure will.
He took her to her room and set her on the edge of the bed, then stripped off her outer clothing. She cooperated passively, her head drooping. When she was down to her shift, he pulled back the covers. Before he could tuck her in, she reached up and linked her arms around his neck. "Stay, Lucien," she said, her eyes starkly gray. "Please."
He hesitated, grievously tempted. But…
"I'd love to stay, but I can't swear that I'll behave with suitable propriety," he said, striving to keep his tone light. "Though I understand entirely why you must avoid the confusions of passion, when I'm close to you, sense goes out the window. Fatigue will protect you tonight, but I make no guarantees about tomorrow morning."
She gave a ghost of a smile. "I'm prepared to accept the consequences. Now that we know where Kira is, I no longer feel it is critical for me to avoid intimacy." She laid her head against his chest, then added in an exhausted whisper, "And tonight, I don't want to be alone."
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "As long as I'm alive, Kit, you don't have to be."
Her face tightened, though she said nothing. He wondered if she would ever believe him, or if her unreliable father had forever destroyed her ability to take a man at his word. Well, Lucien could be as patient as he had to be. He undressed, then put out the candles and joined her under the feather comforter.
Kit settled against him with a soft sigh. The sheets were cold and so was she, but warmth slowly bloomed wherever their bodies touched. He smiled when a slim leg insinuated itself between his knees, followed by a chilly foot tucking under his ankle. He couldn't imagine why anyone would rather sleep alone.
Though fatigue had done a good job of deadening desire, it was still pleasant to stroke her from shoulder to hip. Her smooth, supple curves gradually warmed. When his hand drifted to a rest on her breast, he lazily thumbed her nipple. It tightened to a firm little nub under the lightweight chemise.
He leaned forward a few inches so that his lips touched hers. Their mouths clung, hers soft and welcoming. Tongue met tongue with velvet pleasure, and she made a muted, purring sound. After a long, leisurely kiss, he lifted his head away. "This is foolish," he said huskily. "We both need rest."
She murmured agreement, yet her hand slipped around his waist to the small of his back and began moving in languid circles, gently erotic. He felt a distinct throb of desire. Lowering his head, he kissed her breast, feeling the pebbly texture of her nipple through her shift. From the way her breathing changed, she was no more immune to desire than he.
His caresses became longer, his palm sliding down her thigh to her knee. On the return journey the hem of her shift caught on his thumb and slithered upward. He hadn't done that intentionally, but he couldn't resist drawing his head into the scented darkness under the quilt and kissing the tender satin curve of her belly. Her slim fingers moved to his neck and began toying with his sensitive nape. Delicious, utterly delicious.
They moved into the rhythms of mating with dreamlike ease, each not quite innocent step succeeded by another that was even less so—the friction of bare skin against crisply tufted hair, delicate nips along an arching throat; the crush of pliant femininity into angular maleness, subtle body scents enhanced by the darkness into intoxicating lures.
When her hand sought and found taut male flesh, he responded by an intimate exploration of her secret depths. Her thighs parted invitingly. Even when he lifted himself over her and they joined, there was no real sense of urgency. Passion, yes, and blood beating with a heat that kindled into pure flame. But no desperation, for their union felt deeply right, a sharing of cares that paradoxically strengthened each of them.
When they fell asleep in each other's arms, their rest was deep and dreamless.
Kit opened her eyes to the pearly light of dawn. The onset of winter made sunrise relatively late, but even so, she could not have slept more than four hours. Still, she felt amazingly rested, for which she must give full credit to Lucien. The intimacy of a shared bed seemed so right and natural that it was hard to imagine that it might never occur again.
But she would never regret loving him, no matter how much pain it cost her in the future. Nor would she forget that he had wanted her.
She studied his sleeping face, which was framed in tousled golden hair. He
was heartstoppingly handsome and more relaxed than she had ever seen him when he was awake.
A small, rebellious thought stirred in the back of her mind. Lucien was the cleverest man she'd ever met, and not at all prone to self-delusion. Perhaps she could believe that he truly loved her; maybe he really would prefer her to her sister.
She released her breath in a slow sigh. No one else ever had. Not only was Kira livelier, more charming, but she was stronger. She had blossomed in her independent life, unlike Kit, who had barely been able to function when she was no longer half of a larger whole. Lucien would admire Kira's strength as much as he would be enchanted by her vivacity.
It was deeply ironic. If Kira died, Kit might be so emotionally crippled that she would be of no use to anyone again, yet rescuing her twin might doom her hopes of love.
But for this poignant, ephemeral moment, Lucien was
hers
. Kit stretched her neck and pressed the lightest of kisses on his mouth. His lids opened a little, revealing a golden glow of contentment in his eyes.
"I warned you that I might not be able to behave properly if I stayed," he said with a wicked gleam. "Though I did think I could keep temptation at bay a little longer than I did."
"Nonsense," she said with a smile. "You only behave properly when it suits you."
"And it doesn't suit me now." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him.
She gave a small squeak of surprise, then relaxed, her legs lying outside of his, her breasts flattened against his chest. She said with regret, "We really must get up soon. It's going to be a long day."
"Which means that it should start right." He silenced her with a kiss as his hands slid under her chemise and cupped her buttocks, his fingers kneading deep into the muscles.
As they kissed, she felt him hardening against her belly. She stretched with catlike litheness, enjoying the feel of his muscular body, and the way their bodies fitted together. As the kiss deepened, liquid heat began to burn through her veins.
She was about to roll onto the bed so that they could make love properly when he caught hold of her hips, then sheathed himself inside her with one swift movement. She inhaled sharply. "Oh, my. Now I understand why you put me on top of you."
He smiled and thrust upward. "Education is a wonderful thing."
"It certainly is," she said breathlessly. "L. J. Knight has written a number of provocative essays on the subject."
"As provocative as what we're doing?"
"This isn't provocation," she said with a choke of laughter. "It's blatant lechery."
"Mmm, lechery, my favorite deadly sin." He pushed upward again. She shuddered as heat coursed through her.
Carefully, she sat upright so that she straddled him. Then she peeled off her chemise with a deliberately seductive movement and tossed it over her shoulder. Lu-cien responded by raising his head and capturing her left breast with his mouth. As he suckled her, she moaned and rocked back and forth, driving him more deeply until he fell back on the pillows, panting for breath.
She leaned forward and trapped his wrists against the bed. Looking down into his face created the pleasing illusion that she was as strong as he. Wanting to see him helpless with longing, she slowly ground her pelvis against him. He gasped, his expression utterly open, every nuance of desire visible as he responded to her.
There was a profound intimacy about making love in the daylight with gazes locked. She discovered a whole range of delicious new ways for male and female to move together. Every movement by one of them was instantly reflected in the other's face, as if they were not two bodies but one.
She bent her head and kissed him with hot-tongued ardor. They were doubly joined, each inside the other. With painful intensity she yearned to merge emotionally as deeply as she had physically, to complete her ragged self with his powerful spirit.
No sooner had the thought formed then a clench of fear drove her back to the safety of humor. Breaking the kiss, she said lightly, "Now I understand a joke I overheard at the theater about a woman riding a man."
She saw a shadow—disappointment?—in his eyes and felt his subtle emotional withdrawal. Sadly, she recognized that in her need to protect herself, she had failed him again.
Swiftly masking his reaction, he answered humor with humor, saying drolly, "You should also be able to think of a whole new interpretation of the old nursery rhyme about riding a cockhorse to Banbury Cross."
"Lucien!" she exclaimed, laughing even as hot color flooded her face. "That's indecent. A cockhorse is just another name for a rocking horse."
"That's what they tell little girls, but little boys know better," he said darkly. "Since you're a writer, you might want to reevaluate phrases you've used without thinking. Cock of the walk. To feel cock-a-hoop. To go off half cocked. To be cocksure. The language is full of double entendres."
"Don't forget Scottish cock-a-leekie soup," she said primly, "where a tough old bird is stewed with a mess of leeks. And very good the cock tastes, too."
She didn't see a double meaning until he laughed. Whole new realms of bawdiness opened before her. Beet red, she closed his mouth with a kiss. Luckily, he took pity on her bruised modesty and teased her no further.