A single candle lit the room. She studied her surroundings, wondering what to look for. Once before she had searched a room of Harford's, but then he had been a guest in someone else's house. This sitting room and the adjacent bedroom were places where he actually lived for part of the year, and he must have imprinted himself deeply into his surroundings.

She began searching. The bookcase contained an impressive array of salacious books, repellent and of no value to her. She opened the wardrobe and ran her hands between the garments, trying to find traces of some unde-finable essence. Then she turned to his desk and began searching his papers with frantic haste while she prayed that he would stay longer at the ball than he had intended.

The desk contained two drawers full of bills, none of them paid. Another drawer contained highly explicit love letters written in different feminine hands. She skimmed them quickly, but it was all rubbish. Even the doggerel verse about "Roderick's remarkable rod" scanned badly. Obviously, Harford did not favor women with intelligence.

In the center drawer was a journal containing terse notes. She studied them for a few minutes and realized with distaste that it was a record of the women he had bedded, complete with evaluations of their skills and willingness to indulge his sometimes peculiar tastes. If she were actually the trollop she pretended, she would be destined to end up in these pages. He would have made a note of her tattoo.

She flipped through all of the entries for the last several months, but found nothing to confirm her suspicions. She was leaning over to pull out the lowest drawer when an angry voice barked, "What the hell are you doing?"

She jerked upright, heart hammering, and saw Harford glowering in the doorway. Dear God, why didn't it occur to her that he might have second key? She must brazen it out. "Looking through your desk, of course," she said innocently. "I became bored waiting, monsieur, so I decided to explore."

"Next time, don't explore a man's desk," he said, his irritation fading with the quick mood change of the drunk. "You're French? I didn't notice that earlier."

Damnation, she had spoken in the character she had created for Strathmore! "In a bedroom, I am always French," she said throatily. "The French may be our enemies, but they are masters at the art of making love."

"Oh, I don't know about being our enemies. Napoleon's a damned clever fellow, far superior to our own royal family. We haven't seen the last of him."Harford removed his mask, then unfastened his domino and dropped it over a chair. "Start undressing. I want to see if your face is as good as your tits."

It was the moment she had been waiting for. She stepped full into the candlelight and reached for her mask. Though her hair color was different, he would surely recognize her if he was the man she sought. She revealed her face, watching him with hawklike intensity as she waited for the reaction that would tell her all she needed to know.

Nothing! Not a flicker, not a widening of the eyes, only the careless comment, "A bit long in the tooth, but you'll do for a night. I've found that older females make good bedmates because they're so grateful."

A cold knot formed in her belly. He wasn't the one. He wasn't the one! She could not have explained how she knew, but she was positive. Though he might be involved in a tangential way, he was not the prime villain.

She had learned what she had come for. Now the trick was to escape without getting raped. "It isn't kind of you to mention my age," she complained as she edged toward the door. "A proper knight wouldn't say such a thing."

"Stop babbling about knights." He pulled off his coat and untied his cravat. "You came here to get bedded. I'm willing to oblige, but don't waste my time with female nonsense."

"You're not chivalrous at all." With a flounce she reached for the doorknob. "I don't think I like you anymore."

Moving with a speed that belied his drunkenness, he seized her shoulders and swung her around to face him. "You're not going anywhere," he growled. "It's too late for me to find another woman, so you're going to stay here and get exactly what you asked for."

His hot, wine-soured mouth clamped over hers. It was horribly like the incident at Bourne Castle when he had thought her a chambermaid. Suppressing her distaste, she made a sound deep in her throat, as if aroused by his crude embrace, and wrapped herself around him.

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.

Chapter 22

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."