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."

"I'm afraid not." He sat down, his face becoming serious as he pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to her. "Are any of those men customers of yours?"

"You know I don't discuss such things, Strathmore," she said disapprovingly. "My gentlemen expect me to be discreet."

"I understand and respect that, but I'm hoping you might bend your rules this time. It's highly likely that one of these men has abducted a gently bred young actress and is forcing her to participate in the sort of activities your customers enjoy."

Dolly frowned. "That's not right.Games are only good if folks participate freely and respect each other's limits. It's best when done with real caring." She looked down at the list "I don't think it would be this first one, Harford. I know of him, but he's never been in here. Sometimes he visits a regular brothel run by a friend of mine. I think he's a plain bread-and-butter type like you."

Lucien looked pained. "I would prefer that you not make comparisons between Harford and me."

She grinned and looked down again. "The others have all visited, though none are really regulars. They come more to add a bit of variety to their lives. Mace is strictly a dominant-quite good at administering discipline. Chiswick will do it either way, sometimes the master, sometimes the slave. Westley is strictly passive-fond of shackles and goes wild when his feet are tickled. Nun-field." She tapped a long, sharp fingernail on the paper. "He goes too far. After his last visit, I told him not to come back."

"Based on your knowledge of these men, is there one you would pick as most likely to be behind an abduction?"

She hesitated. "Nunfield, maybe, but it's hard to say. They're all the sort who are too bloody used to getting their own way. That could include kidnapping and whipping some respect into a girl who hadn't been properly deferential."

"Actually, I have reason to believe the young woman is being forced to play the mistress."

Dolly pursed her lips. "Strange. I wouldn't expect a man who likes being dominated to try something as aggressive as abduction. Still, one never knows." She handed the list back. "I hope that helped."

"It did." He got to his feet. "Thank you, Dolly. I appreciate your cooperation."

"Let me know if you find the girl," she said somberly. "A bloke who would kidnap a young woman and force her to do something against her nature is capable of anything."

Lucien said softly, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Lucien was working in his study when Jason Travers emerged after a lengthy rest. Bathed, shaved, and dressed in his host's clothing, he looked quite presentable, though the garments hung loosely on his gaunt frame. Lucien gestured for him to come into the study. "Good afternoon. How are you feeling?"

The American entered and began prowling restlessly around the room. "Somewhat more sane than I did last night, though I haven't ruled out the possibility that I finally caught jail fever and this is all a hallucination."

"Have my servants been taking good care of you?"

"Very much so." Humor glinted in his dark eyes. "They all call me Lord Markland. I have trouble remembering that's me."

Lucien leaned back in his oak chair. "It seemed a reasonable precaution. Even if the authorities are searching for you, they won't connect an earl with an escaped prisoner of war."

"Certainly I'm having trouble making the connection." The American's gaze roved over the shelves of leather-bound books, graceful furniture gleaming with wax, the muted richness of the carpet beneath his feet. "Everything I see is a feast for the senses. After the grayness of a prison ship, it's rather overpowering. I had coffee, a soft-boiled egg, and toast for breakfast. Ambrosia." He touched the petals in a bouquet of fresh flowers that sweetly scented the room, his fingertips caressing the silky surface with reverence. "I gathered from your servants that you're a lord yourself."

Lucien inclined his head formally. "The ninth Earl of Strathmore, last in a long line of men who knew which side to back in a power struggle and how to quit a game of cards when they were ahead. Not the most heroic of traits, but they have given the family longevity."

Jason studied his host. "Perhaps being a lord doesn't mean a man has to be totally worthless."

Lucien grinned. "American directness is so refreshing."

The other man flushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I've forgotten how to behave in normal society." He lifted an antique hourglass that sat in the bookcase and caressed the polished walnut, then turned it over and watched the white sand trickle from the top globe to the bottom. "Two years of my life gone, and not a damned thing to show for it."

"In time, the unbearable memories will fade," Lucien said quietly. "At least, that's what I'm told by a friend who spent several wretched years fighting the French on the Peninsula. You're welcome to stay here as long as you wish-as you can see, there is plenty of space. Or if you prefer, I can assist you to the Continent, where you can take ship to America or wait in safety until the war ends. There's an excellent chance that a treaty will be settled by the end of the year."

"Amen to that. But I'm not leaving England until I know about Kira." Setting the hourglass back on its shelf, he continued, "That being the case, I might as well enjoy your excellent hospitality, but you must keep an account of my expenses." He fingered the superfine wool of his blue coat. "I've transported enough fabric in my ships to know top quality when I see it."

Lucien said equably, "I'll keep track of every ha'penny and add a modest charge for interest."

"Thank you for humoring me." Jason's expression turned grim. "Now tell me everything about Kira's disappearance."

Lucien explained everything they knew or guessed. He ended with a description of Kit's nightmare and the fragmentary information received through mesmerism, repeating the exact words as closely as he could.

The American's face became rigid, only his eyes showing emotion. At the end of the recital he said with lethal precision, "When the man who abducted Kira is found, I am going to slice him into very small pieces with a very dull knife."