His fingers slid through gossamer tangled curls to the hotly moist folds below. She whimpered with delirium when his fingers stroked, probing and preparing. Shaking with urgency, he positioned himself so that he was pressing into intimate heat.

Her back arched in readiness and her silk-clad ankles wrapped around his as he braced himself over her. Then, with a single eager thrust, he entered her.

She cried out-a sound of shock, not pleasure-and her nails ripped his back as she spasmed with pain.

He went rigid, the muscles of his arms and shoulders like granite, and stared down at her in disbelief. "Jesus bloody Christ! he exploded, his eyes changing from the lucent gold of passion to the guttering green of anger. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Chapter 23

Shaking, Kit closed her eyes. Perhaps this was another nightmare and soon she would wake. But the masculine weight and texture of the body pinning her to the bed, the sharp, intimate discomfort, were inescapably real.

She opened her eyes. Taut and dangerous, Lucien loomed over her, the powerful breadth of his shoulders limned by candlelight. "I… I didn't think you would have to know," she whispered. "I didn't realize how much it would hurt."

He dropped his head forward and rested his brow on her collarbone as a shudder went through him. After a long moment, he sighed and raised his head again. "It would have hurt a great deal less if I had known in advance. Even the most skilled of actresses can't fake everything, kitten." His angry shock had passed, leaving rueful tenderness in its wake. He bent forward and touched his lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. "I'm sorry. I should have known that nothing would be simple where you are concerned. Try to relax now. The worst is over."

He was right. The tearing pain had lasted only an instant, and the uncomfortable sense of being overstretched was also ebbing. He didn't move, simply continued to soothe her with delicate nibbling kisses on her face and throat. His urgency had been transformed into patience, though the perspiration that sheened his torso testified that his restraint did not come easily.

Her body began to accept his alien presence as natural. As it did, the sensual craving that had vanished when they first joined started to build again. Very carefully she curled her hips upward. There was no pain, merely a new kind of compression that was… intriguing.

She moved again with more force. He gasped, and she felt the silky-steel length of him throbbing inside her. "You'd best be careful," he panted, "because I am very close to the breaking point."

"Break away, Lucien," she said huskily. "But you'll have to tell me what to do."

"Just… just move against me rhythmically."

He pressed deeper into her. She matched the movement, feeling the flex where they were joined. Sharp pleasure tingled through her in newly discovered places. "Like this?" she asked breathlessly.

"God, yes," he groaned. "Exactly like that."

He thrust forward again, and this time her body responded instinctively, already understanding what her mind had not yet mastered. The rhythms were as integral as her marrow. A queer aching. Shock friction and liquid heat. Wanting. Needing.

He made a suffocated sound and began driving into her, his muscular frame and implacable strength imprisoning her with a finality that was also liberation. This was not the considerate lover of the Clarendon, slowly bringing her to fulfillment, but a man demanding what was his right. He filled her arms and her senses, taste and touch and heat. She was no longer alone…

With sudden panic, she realized that he was penetrating her spirit as deeply as her body, stripping away her painfully constructed defenses. She tried to withdraw to the safety of being an observer, but it was impossible. She was utterly vulnerable, needing his warmth and strength with a desperation that shattered her will.

He slid his hand between them and touched her intimately, producing a violent pleasure that hurled her into the maelstrom. When she cried out, he buried his face in the angle between her head and shoulder. Air rushed into his lungs, and a savage shudder passed from him into her. She nearly danced out of her skin, out of control, ravaged as much by the searing force of his spirit as by the tumult of physical release.

The storm passed, leaving her shivering with shock. Dear God, if she had known, she would have dived out the window rather than let him touch her. She should have guessed that asking his help would irrevocably change the balance between them. Instead, she had willingly-eagerly-trusted him with her body, thinking that she would still be mistress of her soul and her secrets.

She had been mad to believe that she could withhold any part of herself once they became intimate. Fearfully, she recognized that anything he asked of her, she would give. And may God have mercy if he was unworthy of trust.

As she tried to choke back her tears, he rolled onto his side and gathered her against him. His hands skimmed over her, as gentle as they had previously been demanding. Quietly he said, "It's always been you, every time, hasn't it?"

She nodded, her face pressed against his collarbone.

"And you're Kathryn, not Kristine." It was a statement, not a question.

Reflexively trying to keep him at a distance, she asked "Why do you say that?"

"My head accepted that you must be two different women, but my instinct disagreed." Her discarded chemise had chanced to land on the bed, so he used it to carefully blot the small amount of blood between her legs. "You did an excellent job of playing the role of a worldly actress, but even at your most brazen, there was an underlying shyness. I wondered about it a little."

She made a face. "As you said earlier, there is a limit to what acting can do. I can mimic Kira very well, but I can't always make myself enjoy it."

"The final proof was your virginity. Kristine may be many things, but I doubt that virgin is one of them." He grimaced. "If I had listened to my intuition rather than logic, I wouldn't have hurt you as much."

"Virginity is nature's bad joke on womankind," she said gloomily.

He grinned, then stretched out beside her and propped his head on his hand. "I was told you were always tagging behind your sister. The implication was that you were a poor second to her, but that wasn't true, was it? Anything Kira did, you did equally well. When she played Sebastian, the male twin, in Twelfth Night, you were Viola, which is actually the larger, more vital role. When she went swimming nude in the river or galloping in breeches with the hunt, you were right beside her, equally brave and equally athletic. And given the nature of identical twins, I'll wager that you instigated your share of mischief."

She stared at him, shocked to her toes. "How do you know that? No one else has ever realized, even Aunt Jane. Everyone assumed that Kira was always the leader."

"Because identical twins are simultaneously alike and different, some people have trouble dealing with them," he said obliquely. "It's easier and more convenient to put them in pigeonholes. The bold twin, the shy twin. The good sister, the wicked sister." His eyes sparked with amusement. "My guess is that Kira is less wild than generally presumed, and that you are less respectable, despite the splendidly straitlaced performance you gave as Lady Kathryn."

"You're right that many people preferred to think of us as opposites rather than variations on a common theme," Kit agreed. "There are also what Kira and I used to call 'those people'-the ones who would only talk to one of us and would ignore the other as if she didn't exist. We used to joke about that."

"You probably also played games with your identicalness, and laughed between yourselves about the world's gullibility."

She smiled a little. "When someone said, 'Kristine's ribbon is red and Kathryn's is blue,' we'd switch ribbons and mannerisms as soon as the person turned away. But we are different in many ways. As I said at Jane's, Kira has the kind of charm and vitality that can light up a whole theater. She has always been outgoing and far more willing than I to try something new. I'm the prim and proper one."

He cocked his brows with exaggerated disbelief. "Prim? Proper? Is this the female who has been leading me a merry dance across the rooftops and bedrooms of London?"

"That has been necessity, not choice," she said bleakly.

His amusement vanished. "This is all about Kira, isn't it? Something has happened to her."

The fear that had eased a little during their teasing conversation flared again, clutching at her belly like an icy talon. "My sister is none of your business."

In a calm, implacable voice, he said, "Tell me."

She rolled away and sat up, wrapping the sheet tightly around her body. "Why do you want to know?"

"You wouldn't have risked coming to this ball and going off with Roderick Harford if you weren't desperate. You need help, Kit. Why not accept mine?"

She looked away, knowing that she feared him and not wanting to explain why.

As if reading her mind, he asked, "Why won't you trust me?"

"I can't afford to make a mistake," she said tightly. "There's too much at stake."

"I would never harm you or your sister, and in your heart you know that."

She did know, but the knowledge did not eliminate her wariness. She temporized with part of the truth. "I've never found men very trustworthy. My father could charm the scales off a snake, but heaven help anyone who dared rely on him."

"I am not your father." He took her cold hand, his warm clasp engulfing her fingers. "I try very hard to do what I say I will, and I'm generally considered quite good at solving problems. Why not let me try to solve yours?"

Against her will, she found herself blurting out what she would have preferred to keep secret. "It isn't you that I distrust, but myself. I'm not good at being alone, Lucien. For the first eighteen years of my life, Kira was always there. We were more like two halves of a whole than individuals. We knew that we needed to separate and develop our own lives, but I've done a rotten job of becoming independent. I feel incomplete, like a… a vine casting about for a pole to wrap myself around. I don't think you would like that. I don't like it about myself."

"You underestimate your strength, Kit. What you are worrying about might never come to pass." His thumb made slow circles on her palm. "Don't let your fears of what might happen stand in the way of helping Kira."

Her resistance collapsed. She buried her face in her hands, thinking that he had gone right to the heart of the issue. Kira's safety was far more important than the likelihood that Kit would make a fool of herself by falling in love with the rich, powerful, rakish Earl of Strathmore.

Besides, she had the uneasy feeling that if she didn't tell him what was wrong, he would reach inside her mind and pull the facts out directly. And she really could not bear to have him invading her thoughts more than he already had. She raised her head and said wearily, "It's a long story."

"Then we might as well get comfortable." He got out of bed and pulled a shirt from the wardrobe. "Put this on. It's easier for a man and woman to talk sensibly when they're dressed and vertical."

She emerged from her sheet and complied. The voluminous folds of his shirt covered her almost to her knees, absurdly, she still wore her stockings, so she stripped them off and tossed them in the general direction of her other scattered garments. Then she settled cross-legged on the bed.

Lucien donned a luxuriant blue wool robe that made his hair glow like spun gold. After building up the fire, he dug a flat silver flask from his baggage, poured some of the amber contents into two glasses, and handed one to her. "Drink this."

Meekly she obeyed. The brandy couldn't touch the cold knot in her belly, but it did help steady her hands.

He settled beside her on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. "What has happened to Kira?"

She stared into her glass. "I don't know, and I'm not sure where to begin."

"Wherever you like. We can sit here all night if necessary, and the nights are very long at this time of year."

"Most of what I told you at Jane's was true." She made a face. "Though I slandered Jane herself. She's not the tyrant I led you to believe. Without her cooperation I could never have done what I've been doing."