"You might have to wait in line for the privilege," Lucien said dryly.

"That part about her not seeing the new year-do you think she meant that literally? Christ, January isn't much more than a fortnight away!"

"In a few more days we should have enough information to act." Though his words were reassuring, Lucien's gaze went back to the antique hourglass. He could not escape the ghoulish thought that the hours of Kira's life were trickling away as inexorably as the sand. And if she died, he might lose Kit forever to grief.

Chapter 29

Lord Chiswick peered over the railing of the box. "Whenever I attend the theater, I have a nearly irresistible desire to throw rotten fruit at the low creatures in the pit."

"The actors wouldn't thank you for it," Lucien remarked. "The fruit would almost certainly end up being pitched at them."

Lord Mace took a pinch of snuff. "Only if the actors deserve it, I'm sure."

Nunfield said, "Perhaps we should summon an orange girl up here and buy all her stock in case it is needed."

"There shouldn't be much rotten fruit tonight," Ives said cheerfully. "I understand the play is quite amusing."

"I hope so," Nunfield drawled. "Otherwise, I may abuse your hospitality and leave in the middle, Strathmore. There's a new gaming club in Pair Mall that is supposed to be quite special, and I want to pay a visit tonight."

"If the play is a bore, I'll go with you," Lucien said casually. It was fortunate that all of his suspects except Harford had been free to accept his invitation to the theater. To avoid being too obvious, he'd also invited Lord Ives, who was always willing to visit the Marlowe so he could admire his Cleo.

Much of fashionable society had left town to spend the holidays on their estates, so a number of the best boxes were empty. The pit and gallery, however, were packed with Londoners anxious to see the first performance of Scandal Street.

To qualify as a concert, the program opened with the small orchestra playing a concerto grosso which was largely ignored by the audience. Conversation died down when the music ended and the first act began. The plot involved the nefarious attempts of a corrupt merchant to discredit an honest government official, Sir Digby Upright. (The very notion of an honest government official produced a roar of laughter.)

The dialogue was witty and topical, taking swipes at current issues from the Prince Regent's extravagance to the peace negotiations at Vienna and Ghent. The whole audience was amused, even the jaded sophisticates in Lucien's box.

The climactic scene of the first act was a ball that Sir Digby gave to announce his daughter's betrothal. Unbeknownst to him, his enemy had arranged to disgrace him in front of his guests, which included many important members of the government. The scene started when Sir Digby halted the dancing to introduce his blushing daughter, played by a very demure Cleo Farnsworth, and her handsome young betrothed.

No sooner had he made his announcement than two comic cockneys marched onto the stage, carrying an enormous roll of carpet. As the guests stared, the cockneys unrolled the carpet in the middle of the ballroom. Sinuous as a serpent, Kit emerged from the carpet, wearing a brassy blond wig and a crimson satin gown that was almost as outrageous as the one Dolly had worn. Not only was it low in front, but the back was cut almost to her waist, exposing an enticing swath of creamy skin.

Lucien had placed himself at one end of the box so he could observe his companions without being obvious. At Kit's appearance, Ives and Westley simply laughed along with the rest of the audience. Chiswick leaned forward and crossed his arms on the railing, his expression intent. Elaborately casual, Nunfield leaned back and drummed his fingers on his knee, his sharp gaze fixed on the stage. Mace showed no reaction at all, except perhaps for a tightening of the lips.

Lucien cursed the shadows that obscured nuances of expression. Though he hadn't expected the villain to leap up and cry, "Guilty!" he had hoped for some hint, some sign of amazement or discomfort at the sight of "Cassie James." Not that the lack of reaction proved anything; all of the Disciples were expert gamesters, used to controlling their expressions.

To Sir Digby's horror, Kit kissed him with the appearance of long familiarity, insulted his wife and daughter, flirted with the entranced fiance, and gaily told the guests that "Diggy" supported her in great style because he was making so much money by accepting bribes. When Sir Digby sputtered a protest, she shushed him with a languid wave of her hand, a splendid female creature reveling in her power over the male of the species.

Kit turned to face the audience, her gaze lingering fractionally on Lucien's box. Then, with a clash of drums, she whirled into a dance of floating petticoats and slender flashing legs. Lucien tried to watch his companions, but his gaze was irresistibly drawn to Kit. Her vitality and stage presence riveted every eye in the house.

There was a new sensuality in her movements. In The Gypsy Lass she had artfully mimicked passion. Now passion had become part of her. Every curve of her hand, every graceful arch of her neck, every slanted, beckoning glance, was a promise of earthy delights. His body tightened with longing. The two days since he had seen her seemed like an eternity.

Spontaneous applause burst out when her skirts lifted high enough to show the butterfly tattoo. He found himself torn between wanting to inflict grievous harm on every man in the audience who was lusting after her, and primitive masculine pride in the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever kissed that teasing butterfly, the only one who knew the secrets of her body and the bright clarity of her spirit.

He was also well on the way to becoming as mad as a March hare. Sanity was unlikely to return until Kit married him.

At the end of her dance Kit sank into a graceful posture of subservience at the feet of the mortified Sir Digby. His wife and daughter stormed off stage, the daughter dragging her reluctant fiance. The outraged guests followed, leaving Sir Digby alone with his fraudulent mistress. Kit bounced to her feet, blew Sir Digby an airy kiss, and skipped away, leaving the poor public servant alone amidst the ruins of his life.

The act ended to thunderous applause. Lord Chiswick said with an unusual show of enthusiasm, "What a delicious actress."

"Indeed," Sir James said. "Does anyone know her name?"

"Cassie James." Nunfield inhaled some snuff, then proffered the box to Mace, who took a pinch. "I offered the girl a carte blanche once, but she turned me down, alas. Perhaps I shall try again with more generous terms." His gaze slid to Lucien. "Of course, she may have a protector already." The ironic amusement in his eyes showed that he had heard how Lucien had swept Kit from the green room, but there was no jealousy in his expression. Was his tolerance real or feigned? Impossible to tell.

Mace drawled, "I've had my fill of actresses. A greedy, self-obsessed lot. I prefer bored wives myself. They're much less expensive, and so grateful for the attention." He got to his feet. "I think I'll stretch my legs before the next act."

The other men also decided to go for refreshments or to visit people in other boxes, leaving Lucien alone to ponder what he had observed. He was about to go downstairs himself when a sixth sense made him look up as Kit entered his box. She wore a dark mantle with a hood drawn over her hair and looked chaste and modest, like a medieval nun.

For a moment they simply gazed at each other. Then they were in each other's arms. Her body was warm and pliant from her exertions, her kiss as hungry as his own. They embraced for a few mindless moments until she turned her head with a rueful laugh. "Actually, I came to find if you had learned anything."

Reminded of their surroundings, he said, "We shouldn't try to talk here. One of the others might return at any time."

"I know. I made inquiries before the performance, and the box at the end of this row should be empty. We can talk there." She peered into the corridor, then took his hand and swiftly led him to the empty box.

Kit had chosen well, for the box had an odd, deep shape and the interior was so shadowed that it was doubtful that anyone could see them. Nonetheless, for discretion's sake he drew her into his arms at the back of the box. If they were observed, it would be assumed they were lovers stealing an illicit kiss. Speaking quietly into her ear, he recounted what Dolly had told him and his own observations of his theater companions.

When he was finished, she said nothing, her disappointment palpable. "I'm sorry, kitten," he said ruefully. "Perhaps I missed something, but once you began dancing, I couldn't look away. Neither could anyone else. You were superb."

"I was dancing for you," she said in a voice so light it was nearly inaudible.

"That's what I hoped." He slipped his hands under her cloak. She still wore the low-backed costume, so he began to stroke her bare, velvety shoulders. Touching her underneath the garment gave him a delicious sense of doing something forbidden.

She gave a little shiver, and her gray eyes darkened. Speaking slowly, as if it were an effort to remember the subject, she asked, "If you had to make a guess, from pure intuition, which of the four would you pick as the abductor?"

"Mace." Though his reply was immediate, it took longer to analyze his reasons. "He showed the least reaction, to the point where it was a little conspicuous because every other man in the theater was intoxicated by your performance. And I don't doubt that he is capable of coldness and cruelty."