After the tricky maneuver of swinging from roof to rope, she descended in a controlled slide, her leather gloves protecting her hands from being rasped raw. She reached the ground safely, only to slip on a patch of ice directly under the rope. Luckily she was still holding onto the line, which kept her from falling.

She stepped away cautiously, then signaled to Strathmore. As soon as he was on the ground, she would be away at a speed that would do credit to a frightened hare. The tipsy earl would be on his own, and good riddance.

He made the descent so quickly that she wondered about the condition of his bare hands. Telling herself that it was none of her concern, she gathered herself for flight. Then Strathmore hit the ice below the rope and went down hard. She winced at the violence of the impact. "Are you all right?"

"I believe so." He started to rise, then went down again as his right ankle folded under him. "Then again, maybe I'm not."

"Damn!" Kit said with feeling. "Have you broken your leg?"

"I don't think so." He probed the limb in question. "This ankle gives way whenever it's abused. In a day or two it should be fine." With the aid of the rope he pulled himself up, then leaned heavily against the wall of the house.

"Does it hurt badly?"

"My dear, nothing hurts at the moment." He chuckled. "I could have my foot hacked off with a dull knife and not notice. If I'm ever forced to submit to the surgeon's knife, I intend to saturate myself with nitrous oxide first." He took a cautious step and went down to his knee. "However, though my ankle doesn't hurt, it's showing a certain stubbornness about walking."

Kit sighed. "I'll help you to Lord Mace's front door. Please don't knock until I've had a chance to get away."

"I appreciate the offer," he said politely, "but I'd really rather not return to Mace's house."

"If you stay outside in your condition without so much as a cloak to keep you warm, you'll be dead before dawn," she pointed out, trying to hold on to her temper.

"I live about two blocks away. Don't worry, I can hobble that far on my own." He attempted to demonstrate and almost fell again. If not for the wall, he would have.

Resigned, Kit slung his right arm over her shoulders. He was very large and very solid. "I'll help you home, if you think you can stay out of further trouble for that long."

"No guarantees, my dear." In spite of everything, there was laughter in his voice.

Trying not to think of the lean, hard length of his body, she headed toward the street. They must look like two drunks helping each other home. "If you hadn't interfered," she said acidly, "I would have been able to leave at my leisure and escape with my rope. Now I'll have to buy a new one."

"I'll buy you another." He considered. "Then again, maybe I won't. The last thing I want is to encourage you in your life of crime. Not that you need any encouragement. I'd wager that you didn't ask for directions to my house since you already found out where it is while planning your burgling schedule. Am I right?"

Since he was, she didn't dignify the remark with an answer.

At first he kept up a flow of nonsensical chatter, but soon he fell silent, his breath becoming more labored. At least the vile weather meant the streets were deserted.

Half a block from their destination, they hit another patch of ice and both of them went down. Kit wasn't hurt, but the earl gave a sharp gasp. As she helped him up, he panted, "The effect of the nitrous oxide is wearing off. Unfortunately."

The last two hundred yards seemed endless. When they finally reached his house, she frowned at the high marble steps. "I'll ring for your servants. It will take a couple of footmen to get you up to the door."

"There's a better way," he panted. "Down the alley."

By the time they reached a ground-level door at the rear of the house, she was so tired that she wasn't sure who was supporting whom. When he ordered, "Turn your back for a moment," she obeyed without even trying to cheat and steal a peek.

There was a sound of rasping stone, followed by a key grating in a lock. She turned back, curiosity revived. "If you keep a key hidden behind a brick, you must do this regularly. Why don't you use the front entrance like a proper earl?"

"I like to come and go unobserved sometimes." He opened the door into a drab hall lit by a small oil lamp.

"I'm beginning to think you're as big a sneak as I am." She helped him inside, thinking that it was dangerous to feel such comradeship with a suspect. "Since there's a cane in the corner, I assume that you can get upstairs on your own." She lifted the cane and handed it to him. "Good night, Lord Strathmore."

She had left escape too late. Before she could take a step, a long, powerful arm wrapped around her waist, stopping her in her tracks. "Not so fast, my felonious friend."

She tensed for battle, but he said reassuringly, "Truce, my dear, at least for tonight. It would be ungentlemanly to turn you over to the law when you saved my life."

"Then what do you want?" she asked warily.

"I want you to come upstairs and warm yourself so that you don't end up frozen in a gutter somewhere."

The earl was right; now that his warm body was no longer draped over her, she was shivering uncontrollably. After he closed and locked the door, she accompanied him up the stairs.

Though Strathmore leaned heavily on the cane, he managed quite well without Kit's help. She wondered if he had exaggerated his injury in order to get her to come with him. Very likely; it was obvious the earl was devious-exactly the sort of villain she was hunting for.

Yet in spite of her misgivings, she could not fear him. She felt an odd kind of rapport between them, a sense that they were kindred spirits. Rationally, she knew that the feeling was an illusion brought on by her need for companionship. She had never been good at being alone, and it was hideously tempting to turn her problems over to someone else. If only she dared trust Strathmore! She might take the risk if hers was the only life at stake, but she could not gamble with the safety of another.

Yet even if the earl was a monster, for tonight she was safe; rescuing him had given her a margin of grace. She winced at the memory of her terror when he was sliding to his death. Alarming and inconvenient Strathmore might be, but she didn't want him dead.

When they reached the next floor, he led her to the library, where the coals of a banked fire glowed. Kit went to the fireplace and knelt to build up the fire while Strathmore used the lamp to light a branch of candles. Then he limped to a cabinet and brought out a brandy decanter and two glasses. He poured a generous measure into each glass and emptied his in a single gulp. After refilling it, he sat in one of the wing chairs that bracketed the fireplace and began to wrestle with his boots. The left one came off easily, but the one on his injured leg proved more difficult.

Once the fire was burning briskly, Kit took a mouthful of brandy. The potency made her blink, but it certainly was warming. After a more cautious sip, she went to help the earl.

As she bent to grasp the boot, she felt a light touch on her head as he pulled her scarf down around her shoulders. "This is finally your real hair color, isn't it? Pretty."

She looked up and her breath caught. His eyes were golden, the warmth more intoxicating than brandy.

Trying to sound nonchalant, she said, "It's merely light brown, as undistinguished as hair can be."

He brushed back the strands which had escaped from the knot at her nape. "You do your hair a disservice. It's like shot silk, shimmering with streaks of amber and bronze."

She shivered when his fingertips grazed her temple. As a rake, he was first class. Determinedly she bent and tugged at his boot, but without success. Hearing his sharp, painful inhalation, she said, "It might be best to cut this off."

"And ruin my best pair of top boots?" he said, scandalized. "Try again. I'll survive."

Kit shrugged, then pulled with all her strength, almost landing on the floor when the boot suddenly came off. A spasm crossed his face and he bit off an oath.

Gently she touched the swollen ankle. "Are you sure this isn't broken?"

"Quite." He removed his cravat and used it to fashion a crude bandage around the ankle. Then he pulled up an upholstered stool and rested his injured leg across it. "As I said, this has happened before. It's only a sprain."

"A pity you don't have any more nitrous oxide to blot out the pain."

He made a face. "It was an interesting experience, but not one I care to repeat. Nitrous makes one lose control, which is not a state I enjoy."

"That news does not surprise me." Feeling a need to fuss, she found a folded blanket on the sofa and spread it over the earl. Then she took off her damp coat and scarf, retrieved her glass and settled in the chair on the opposite side of the fire.

Strathmore slouched back with a sigh. "What a very strange night this has been." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I must congratulate you on your lying. I pride myself on being able to read people well, but you certainly fooled me at Chiswick's house. What the devil are you really up to?"

Her mouth tightened. "I should have known that you invited me in for an interrogation. It would have been wiser to take my chances with the cold."

"I'd have to be dead not to be curious," Lucien said dryly. "You were very convincing as a distressed sister. Do you really have a brother?"

She glanced down at the glass in her hands. "If I was convincing, it was because there was a… a core of emotional truth in what I said. However, the story was false. I have no brother, in the army or otherwise."