His head snapped up, and he stared at her incredulously. Then he lifted his free hand and skimmed his fingers over her face. "Oh, God," he whispered. "It's true—you're not Kira." His face grayed. "I'm sorry, so sorry. If I'd known, I would never have behaved as I did."
"I would hate to think you considered that an acceptable way to treat my sister," she said crisply. "Of course, if I were Kira, I would have behaved differently myself."
He couldn't meet her eyes. "For two endless years the thought of Kira kept me alive. I expected you... her... to fall into my arms. When you treated me like a casual acquaintance, I... I went a little crazy. I hope you can forgive me."
She studied his pale face. Poor devil. "Forgiven and forgotten. But who are you?"
"Jason Travers." His mouth quirked. "Rather belatedly at your service."
"A relative?" Lucien asked.
Kit's eyes widened. "I believe this must be the American second cousin I mentioned—the one who is now the fifth Earl of Markland."
Lucien whistled softly. "Interesting. The fact that he's a peer could be useful if the authorities discover his presence." To the American, he said, "You just escaped from the hulks?"
Kit exclaimed, "Those ghastly prison ships moored out in the Thames? Surely not!"
Jason smiled humorlesslv. "I'm afraid so—Hades afloat. Yesterday I had an opportunity to go over the railing, so I did. Damned near froze, got dragged down by debris in the filthy water, and almost didn't make it to shore." He regarded Lucien warily. "How did you figure that out? And who are you?"
"Lucien Fairchild, the future husband of the young lady you were mauling." Lucien held out his hand. "You look like a man who has been on prison rations. Since there are some American prisoners of war on the hulks, it seemed a likely explanation."
Jason shook the proffered hand, then took a swallow of sherry. He was trembling and appeared on the verge of collapse.
Lucien said to Kit, "We should take him to my house, I think. Obviously he needs food, clothing, and rest."
She nodded agreement. Her new-found cousin looked up in confusion. "You're not going to send me back to the hulks? The last I heard, our countries were at war."
"God willing, not for much longer. It was a damned fool war to begin with. And frankly, I wouldn't send a rabid dog to the hulks." Lucien helped the American to his feet. "Can you walk? Good—carrying you would be a bit conspicuous." He put his arm around Kit's waist, and the three of them went outside, where his carriage waited right outside the stage door.
Half an hour later they were in the kitchen of Strathmore House. Kit noted that Lucien was surprisingly familiar with the area for a peer; midnight raids on the larder must not be uncommon. He even found a pot of soup. Kit heated it while he rummaged for bread, cheese, and a steak and kidney pie.
In spite of his obvious hunger, Jason Travers was unable to eat much. After pushing away his soup bowl, he studied Kit. She became aware of his gaze and glanced up inquiringly.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I know you're not Kira. If I hadn't been expecting to see her, I would have realized the moment I laid eyes on you. Yet the resemblance is astonishing."
"You're not the first to be confused," she remarked. "Even our father couldn't tell us apart."
"Then he wasn't paying attention." His hands tightened around his mug of ale. "Where is Kira? I assume she must be in some kind of trouble."
Tersely, Kit explained about her sister's disappearance and her own impersonation. Jason's face darkened as she spoke. When she finished, he said with barely suppressed violence, "Damnation, I've felt that something was wrong for weeks, but assumed it was one of the strange fancies one gets in prison." He rubbed the scar on his temple, which was visibly throbbing. "I suppose that was why I risked trying to escape—I knew I had to find her."
Recognizing a distress that nearly equaled her own, Kit said reassuringly, "Wherever she is, she is in good health—I would know if she weren't. And we're doing everything we can to get her back."
"Tell me what I can do," he said, his expression like granite.
"Don't worry," Lucien said, pouring more ale for each of them. "You'll be conscripted if necessary. First we have to locate her. But now it's your turn to talk."
"Yes, I'm curious how you met my sister."
Jason closed his eyes briefly, marshaling his thoughts. "Four years ago your family solicitor notified me that I was the new earl. Because of the late earl's improvidence, there was no financial legacy, so I scarcely paid attention to the letter. My grandfather was a younger son who had emigrated to America and maintained only the most tenuous connection with his family. As an American citizen I couldn't hold the title, so the whole subject was of only intellectual interest.
"However, when business called me to Britain, I found I had a certain curiosity about where the family came from. After I'd finished in Liverpool, I traveled up to Kendal. The current owner of the estate showed me around and invited me to dinner. I looked at the parish church with all of its memorials to dead Travers and rode through the hills and generally found it an interesting trip." He made a face. "I see why my grandfather left, though—it was the dampest, grayest place I've ever seen."
Kit smiled. "Westmoreland is wet even by British standards, but one grows accustomed. The countryside is very beautiful."
"In a bleak sort of way," he agreed. "I was about to leave when the innkeeper told me that one of the late earl's daughters had just arrived at the inn. He said Lady Kristine was visiting because she and her sister had been slowly paying off their father's debts, and that she had probably come to make the last installment and thank the creditors for being patient."
Lucien cocked an inquisitive brow at Kit.
"Not Papa's gambling debts," she said. "His ghastly gamester friends can fry in hell for all we care. But we felt an obligation to pay the tradesmen. We would have been in rags and living on porridge if the Kendal shopkeepers hadn't extended credit to the family."
His eyes glowed with the tenderness that turned them gold. "What an honorable pair you are."
She traced a figure eight in spilled ale. "Kira did more than I. Successful actresses earn more than scribblers."
"All the more credit to you." He took her hand under the table, his fingers lacing through hers.
"The innkeeper spoke very highly of you both," Jason said. "Since I was curious about my English cousin, I asked for an introduction to Lady Kristine. She was... not what I expected." A reminiscent smile played around his lips.
When the silence became lengthy, Lucien said, "We may assume that the stars stopped in their courses and angelic choirs sang?"
Jason pulled himself back to the present. "That's a fair description. I followed her to York, where she was performing. For the next weeks..." His voice thickened, and he stopped.
"Did Kira want marriage, but you couldn't bring yourself to marry an actress?" Kit asked, an edge in her voice.
"No!" He gave her a fulminating glance. "I did propose to her—in fact, I damned well got down on my knees and begged—but she refused to marry me unless I settled in England. I don't know whether she wanted to be a countess, or whether she was enjoying her career too much to leave, but I couldn't agree to give up my home and country."
"Not an easy choice," Lucien agreed.
"We had an almighty row. I told her if she changed her mind, she knew where to find me in Boston. She answered that if I changed mine, she'd welcome me back with open arms, but otherwise never to darken her door again."
"No wonder you were so angry when you showed up and my arms weren't open," Kit said.
He ran a distracted hand through his dark hair. "I haven't known a moment's peace since I left York. After I got through cursing Kira, I missed her horribly. So I started to think seriously about moving back to the old country even though, like any good American, I despise the British government. It's rotten to the core."
Kit shot a glance at Lucien, who had spent much of his life defending th
at government. He said only, "There are many here who would agree with you, but a government is not a nation."
Jason gave a lopsided smile. "True, and when I thought about it, I realized that I like the English as individuals. Since I don't have any close family left in America and my business, which is shipping, could be run as well from Britain as Boston, I decided to go back to Kira, hat in hand, and offer to settle here. Then the war broke out. I volunteered my services, and a few months later I was a prisoner in one of the hulks, living on swill and praying that I wouldn't die of jail fever."
"The hulks are the vilest prisons in Britain," Kit said gravely. She had written several furious articles about how inhumane they were. "You're lucky to have survived."
"Believe me, I know," Jason said with an involuntary shiver.
Lucien commented, "You were a privateer captain?"
The American stared at him. "You must be a damned uncomfortable man to know. How did you guess that?"
"Only someone captured at sea would be likely to end up in a British prison rather than in Canada," Lucien explained. "You mentioned that your business was shipping, and you seem like the sort who prefers giving orders rather than taking them. Hence, a privateer seemed probable. Still, I'm surprised that an officer was sent to one of the hulks."
"The captain of the frigate that captured the Bonnie Lady took a personal dislike to me and used his influence to see that I was sent to the rottenest prison available."
"You said that you escaped over the side and swam to shore," Kit said. "How did you manage for money and clothing?"
"I broke into a used clothing shop near the waterfront and outfitted myself with the best I could find," the American said uncomfortably. "By chance, I also found some money hidden under a pile of shirts."
"If you remember the name and location of the shop, I'll send payment for what you took," Lucien said.
Jason gave him a quick glance. "I would appreciate that. I swear I'll pay you back."
Lucien made a deprecatory gesture. "After the peace treaty. What happened then?"
"I was going to take a coach to York in the hopes that Kira was still playing the northern circuit, but at the coaching inn I saw a playbill posted for The Gypsy Lass, starring Cassie James, so I went to the theater." He sighed, his face haggard. "I thought my luck had changed. Instead..."
After another silence, he said, "That sounds ungrateful. Believe me, I appreciate how fortunate I am that you aren't sending me back to that hellhole."
Lucien smiled a little. "Since we are practically related by marriage, it would be bad form for me to permit you to starve on a godforsaken tub on the river." He stood. "You look dead on your feet. Get some rest. We'll talk again in the morning."
Kit took the American's thin hand in hers. "We'll find her, Jason—or die trying."
"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Lucien said quietly.
* * *
Kit cleaned up after the meal while Lucien took Jason off to a guest room. When he returned, he wrapped his arms around her as if the action was as natural as breathing. She leaned into him, her fatigue and tension dropping away like petals falling from an overblown rose.
"Do you resent his closeness to Kira?" he asked.
"My newfound cousin was right—you know too much." She hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I like Jason... he seems an honorable sort and obviously he loves Kira deeply. If I read her feelings correctly, she loves him just as much. God knows that I truly want her to be happy."
She gave a soft, unhappy exhalation. "But at the same time, I do resent his coming between us. After she met him, she started shutting me out. She had every right to do that. And yet..." Kit hid her face against his shoulder and said wretchedly, "She never even told him we were twins! That has been the most significant fact in my life, yet she didn't think it important enough to tell him."
He stroked her head tenderly. He was getting very good at soothing her, she thought with a touch of hysteria.
"Perhaps the omission wasn't because the relationship was unimportant to her, but because it was too important," he suggested. "I suspect that one reason identical twins like to confuse others is because it keeps people at a distance and protects the uniqueness of the twin bond. You are an aspect of Kira's life that is so special, she probably didn't dare share it until she was sure of him. Because of their different nationalities, she may have had misgivings about the relationship from the first, so she didn't tell him."
The constriction in Kit's throat eased. "I don't know if that's true, but it's a very nice explanation. I like it." She looked up at him. "Where did you learn to be so kind?"
Though the question was rhetorical, he replied, "From Linnie. Not only did she have a gentle spirit, but she taught me something of how the female mind works." His voice became self-mocking. "I also know that if she had grown up, fallen in love, and married, I would have resented her husband. Not because of any perverted physical jealousy of my sister, but because I would fear the loss of the special closeness between us."
And he had lost that closeness for all time when he was no more than a child himself. The thought made Kit feel ashamed of her own complaints. She hugged him harder, wishing she could change the past so that Elinor had survived. "You would have overcome your jealousy and wished her well with a full heart."
"You'll do the same." He nuzzled her hair. "It's very late. Why not spend the rest of the night here with me?"
When she hesitated, he said, "Only to sleep, Kit, I swear it. I don't want to do anything that might jeopardize your connection with Kira. But it's been a long, tiring day, and I would rest much better if you were beside me."
"I'd better not. What would your servants think?"
"They were all chosen for their ability to be discreet," he said lightly. "And they might as well get used to the sight of you since you're their future mistress."
He must have felt her tense, because he put his hands on her shoulders and examined her face. "It hasn't escaped my attention that when I mention marriage, you react like a rabbit that has been cornered by a ferret. Is the prospect of being my wife so distasteful?"
Lucien would be easier to deal with if he were less perceptive. Again choosing her words with care, she said, "It's not distasteful, but the possibility seems unreal. I can't see beyond Kira's disappearance to a time that is normal again."
"And that is as much as you're going to say, isn't it?" he said dryly. "Very well, I won't nag you. But I'm not going to change my mind, and I can be amazingly persistent."
"I know, to my cost." She rested her forehead against his cheek. "You're amazing in quite a lot of ways."
"Stay with me," he said softly. "Please."
It was as hard to deny him as it was for her to disagree with Kira. And the brazen truth was that she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted her. "Very well," she whispered. "I'll stay."
Chapter 27
In deference to the circumstances, Lucien produced two of his seldom-used nightshirts. Kit's enveloped her from chin to well past her toes. She looked delectable as she nestled against his side and quickly fell asleep. Though he was tired from a long day on muddy roads, he stayed awake longer, savoring the pure sweetness of having her with him.
Was her reluctance to marry general, or specific to him? Perhaps a bit of both. He'd have to convince her that he had no intention of clipping her wings and turning her into a domestic sparrow. She could be as much of a radical thinker under his roof as she was under her cousin's.
He dozed off, only to come awake with a jerk when Kit gave a choked scream and struck out with her left fist, almost smashing him in the eye. He caught her wrists to stop her flailing. "Kit, wake up! You're having a nightmare."
Her eyes opened, but she continued to struggle. "Kit, it's Lucien and you're safe," he said sharply. "You're safe."
Her thrashing stopped. "Lucien?" she whispered uncertainly.
"I'm here, Kit," He released her wrists and lit the candle on the
night table. "Describe your nightmare."
"It was dreadful. I... I was wearing some strange, indecent costume, and I was flogging a man. He hung in chains, writhing as I struck him again and again." She gave a shuddering sigh. "Even though I was furious with myself, I reveled in every blow. The strangest thing of all was that I had the feeling... that he was enjoying it." She covered her face with chilly hands. "Do dreams reveal our inner natures? If so, mine is loathsome."
"Sometimes dreams show us ourselves," he said slowly. "But they can tell us other things." He stacked several pillows against the headboard to support himself, then cradled her against his chest. "Tell me any other details you remember before you forget them."
"A closed space—suffocating. Sweaty heat. The decor is elaborate and very vulgar." Fretfully, she undid the button that secured the throat of her nightshirt. "I'm wearing tight black boots with insanely high heels and a peculiar garment like a... a black satin snake skin. And a long wig. Red, I think."
"What did the man look like?"
She rubbed her temple, then shook her head in frustration. "It's fading away. I'm sorry. I need water." She sat up and swung from the bed, then collapsed onto the carpet.
"Kit!" Lucien dived from the bed and scooped her into his arms, then laid her on the bed and pulled the covers up.
She was white and trembling all over, but she managed a feeble smile. "I'm all right, truly. This has happened before. I'll be fine in a few minutes."
He paused, arrested, on the way to the washstand. "How often does it occur?"
"In a milder form this sort of thing has happened all my life." She exhaled wearily. "Lately it's been much worse. Now I'm not simply tired, but so drained I can scarcely stand, as you saw. The nightmares are new, too. I suppose both things are a result of worrying about Kira."