Feeling on the verge of suffocation, he closed his eyes until he could breathe again. As he opened them, the curtain was descending for the interval. He turned to his companion. "Tell me about Cassie James."

"Taken with her, were you?" Ives grinned. "Well, they say she's destined to be as successful in comedy as Mrs. Jordan was. She started on the stage in London three or four years ago, I believe, but had only minor parts so she went to the provincial circuits. Two years ago I saw her in the Theatre Royal in York in a production of She Stoops to Conquer, and she was excellent. The manager of the Marlowe decided Cassie was ready for London, so he hired her for this season and wrote The Gypsy Lass for her. Both she and the play have been a great success."

Lucien didn't give a damn about her theatrical triumphs. "Does Miss James currently have a protector?"

"Not that I know of. I think she's the sort who prefers having a variety of lovers."

"Details, please."

"You really are interested, aren't you? Sorry, but I honestly don't know who has bedded her-she's fairly discreet for an actress. In York I saw her in the green room being rather brazen with some colonial-a Canadian, I think, or perhaps an American, but I have no idea what his name was." Ives thought a moment. "Nun-field was after her. I was with him the night she made her London debut this past September. He acted just as you're acting now."

Lucien's feeling of suffocation returned. "Did he succeed with her?"

"I don't think so, but again, I couldn't swear to it. I know he was prepared to offer her a very generous carte blanche."

Lucien wondered how many men "Jane" had lain with while acting like a distressed gentlewoman with him. Acting. That was the key. It explained the wigs, the makeup, the ability to assume different personalities. Even Ives, who knew Cassie James, rising comic actress, hadn't recognized her when he had made that drunken advance to Sally at the George and Vulture.

The only real question was why had she been stalking the Hellions. One nauseating possibility was that she was Nunfield's mistress and had been spying on the group at his request, either for information or because the two of them found the idea perversely amusing. Or perhaps they had been lovers, and he had dismissed her, and now she was seeking some kind of revenge.

One thing was blindingly clear: once again, she had made a complete fool of Lucien.

The interval ended, and the next act of The Gypsy Lass began. Romance blossomed between Anna and Horatio, and they were on the verge of a Gypsy wedding. Then the Duke of Omnium appeared and begged his son's forgiveness for believing the wicked lies told by the cousin.

After reconciling with his father, Horatio asked Anna to be his bride, offering her luxury and a future as the next Duchess of Omnium. Tears in her eyes, she declined the offer because of her humble birth, saying she was unworthy to be a duchess.

As the two lovers were about to separate forever, the King of the Gypsies made a grand appearance, accompanied by the whole chorus of tambourine-thumping opera dancers. The king explained that Anna was really the daughter of an earl who had been stolen as an infant because of her exquisite beauty. Her breeding established as suitably aristocratic, Anna accepted Horatio's offer. The play ended with the whole cast, including the Duke of Omnium, dancing merrily around the campfire.

As Gypsy lore the play was ludicrous; Lucien made a mental note to tell Nicholas to see it, since his friend would find the depiction of the Rom uproarious. But as entertainment it worked, and Cassie James was the best part.

After the cast had made its bows and left the stage, Ives said, "I'm going to find Cleo now. Do you want to go down to the green room with me, or shall we say good night here?"

Lucien stood and lifted the cloak he had tossed over an empty chair. "I shall accompany you to the green room. I cannot tell you how much I am longing to meet the talented Miss James."

Chapter 12

The green room swarmed with exuberant actors, actresses, and their friends. The after-performance tumult always made Kit uneasy, so she held court with her back to the wall. A dozen men stood in a half circle in front of her, offering extravagant compliments and vying for her attention.

She had become adept at the suggestive banter that gentlemen enjoyed. When one admirer said, "You were like an angel tonight, Miss James," she replied mischievously, "If that's true, the angels had better reform."

The crowd around her laughed. A dandyish fellow said soulfully, "Are you sure you won't accept my carte blanche? I long to become your protector."

She eyed him thoughtfully. "Men are always trying to protect me. I can never figure out what from."

The group started offering boisterous suggestions of just which of them she most needed to be protected from. As they tossed names back and forth, she kept one eye on the rest of the green room, watching for surprise, or shock, or some other reaction that might be significant to her search.

Lord Ives had come, and he was now leaving the room with a smiling Cleo tucked under his arm. From what Cleo said, he was a decent young man. She saw no other Hellions. Those who were theatergoers must have long since seen The Gypsy Lass, so she was unlikely to learn much tonight.

She brought her attention back to her admirers when a sober young man tried to press a religious tract into her hand. "The theater is no life for a decent woman,"he said earnestly. "Read this, and you'll see the error of your ways."

Declining the tract, she said with a wicked smile, "To err is human-and it feels divine."

In the roar of laughter that followed, the earnest young man beat a hasty retreat. A dignified older man said, "Goodness, but you have a quick tongue."

She batted her lashes extravagantly. "Goodness has nothing to do with it."

More laughter. She glanced across the room to see if anyone new had come in, then stiffened in shock. Lord Strathmore was stalking through the crowd toward her with the single-minded intensity of a hungry leopard.

She gave an inward curse. She should have known her luck wouldn't last; Strathmore had an uncanny ability to locate her.

Her instinct was to bolt, but she quelled it. She would never be able to move quickly through the press of people. Besides, she was better off staying in the green room. He couldn't do anything too dreadful in such a public place.

She underestimated him.

While she was trying to gather her wits, Strathmore reached the inner circle of the group around her. He was in his Lucifer mode, radiating such an aura of menacing force that the other men instinctively drew back.

Yet his manner was unexceptionable when he spoke. "You were magnificent tonight, my sweet." He raised Kit's chin and gave her a light, possessive kiss, as if they were established lovers.

Impossible not to respond to his warm lips, but she distrusted his glittering smile. She flattened her spine against the wall and wondered what mischief he was planning. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show," she said warily.

"You are a continual astonishment, my dear," he said in a husky, intimate voice. "Every time I see you perform, I feel that I've just met a fascinating new woman."

While she was trying to think of a suitable response for his double-edged words, he opened the cloak that had been draped over his arm. The voluminous garment was large enough to wrap around her twice. In a flurry of swift movements, he did exactly that, pulling her away from the wall and swaddling her so tightly in the heavy folds that her arms were pinioned to her sides.

She sputtered, "What the devil are you doing?"

"You complained that I was becoming predictable," he said silkily, "so I decided to remedy that." He swept her up in his arms and brushed a kiss on her lips, deftly lifting his head away when she attempted to bite him. "Tonight, we recapture romance."

Outraged, Kit tried to struggle free, but she was helpless in the cocoon of dark fabric.

One of her admirers said jovially, "I knew a prime piece like Cassie must have a protector, but I had no idea you were the lucky man, Strathmore. No wonder she's refused the rest of us."

"I'm very aware of my good fortune." His tender tone was belied by the dangerous green light in his eyes as he gazed at her. "There's not another woman in England like Cassie James."

Their progress across the green room was accompanied by ribald suggestions for what his ladybird might find romantic. Kit tried to wriggle free, but his arms held her against his broad chest as securely as iron bands. She did manage to ram an elbow into his solar plexus, and he winced at the blow, but his smile never faltered.

Under his breath he said, "I wouldn't advise you to make a scene, my dear."

A quick glance at the laughing men around her made her realize that an appeal for help would do her no good. Any protest would be seen as part of a teasing game between lovers.

An obliging visitor opened the door for Strathmore, who gave a nod of thanks and stepped into the hall. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he carried her from the empty theater. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her over the noise of the green room.

When they reached the side door, the porter made a deep bow. "Your carriage is waiting, my lord."

Strathmore inclined his head. "Thank you, Smithson."

Kit tried to struggle free, but with no more success than before. "Help me, Mr. Smithson," she said urgently. "This is no game-I'm being kidnapped."