Not waiting for a reply, he caught Kathryn's elbow with an iron grip and drew her across the crowded room. If he recalled rightly, there was a study at the back of the house where he should be able to wring her neck in complete peace and privacy.
As he marched his reluctant companion into the empty corridor, she tried to resist, saying, "Lord Strathmore, it's hardly proper for me to go off alone with a stranger."
He gave her a hard stare. "I don't know what we are to each other, but we are definitely not strangers." When she looked like protesting again, he said in a dulcet tone, "Shall I raise my voice and tell the room how lovely your naked breasts are? Or the sound you made when I kissed the tattoo on the inside of your thigh?"
She stopped dead and flushed violently. Then her face turned white and her resistance collapsed.
He towed her into the dimly lit study and slammed the door behind them. When he let her go, Kathryn immediately retreated to the far side of the study, rubbing her elbow and watching him as warily as if he were a fugitive from a lunatic asylum.
"Is Lady Jane your accomplice or another victim of your lies?" He lit a taper from the low-burning lamp and used it to ignite the branches of candles set about the room; he wanted to be able to see every nuance of expression on her deceitful face. "I wouldn't put it beyond your powers to convince an innocent woman that you are a relative she didn't know she had."
He blew out the taper with a sharp puff of air. "You even appropriated her name. I've been thinking of you as Jane ever since you insisted that the name was genuine. However, I must admit that Kathryn suits you better than any of the other things you've been calling yourself."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said shakily.
The tears trembling in her gray eyes were a masterly touch, but instead of being mollified, his anger erupted again. "What, no Gypsy dancing, no passionate quest for social justice? Not even a barmaid's suggestive quip?" He paced toward her purposefully. "I'm disappointed. Surely you can come up with a new story-probably half a dozen of them. Perhaps you're a Napoleonic spy who has fallen on hard times since the emperor abdicated. Or are you the persecuted ruler of a Balkan kingdom who is trying to regain her rightful throne?"
She darted behind the sofa. "I think you're mad, Lord Strathmore. Or very, very drunk."
He circled behind the sofa after her. "I assure you I am not drunk, and if I'm mad, it's you who have caused me to lose my wits."
She retreated again. "Stay away from me!"
"Don't be hen-hearted. The one thing I do expect from you is brazen courage."
She dashed around the far end of the sofa before he could reach her. "I'm not who you think I am!"
He paused and made an elaborate show of examining her. "Same face, same figure, same coloring." His mouth hardened. "And the same lying gray eyes. Only the name has changed, and that doesn't count since you've claimed a different identity each time we've met."
She tried to slide away again, but the room was too small. In two swift steps he had cornered her. She flattened her back against the wall and quavered, "What are you going to do?"
"The idea of murder is tempting." He reached for her.
"But I'll settle for completing what was interrupted when you ran away the last time we were together."
"Don't touch me!" she cried. "I'll… I'll scream for help."
"The way everyone out there is chattering, you won't be heard." As soon as he touched her, he realized how much of his anger was frustrated desire. He wanted her- dear God, how he wanted her, even though he couldn't trust her an inch.
He enfolded her in his embrace, needing to feel the slim length of her body against his. "Don't fight the inevitable," he said softly.
She tried to wriggle free. "There is nothing inevitable about this!"
"No?" Gentle but implacable, he held her captive in the circle of his arms. "Relax, my dear. I won't hurt you, because I can't stay angry with you, no matter how hard I try."
She made a choked sound and hid her face against his shoulder. He stroked her back, patiently waiting for the intense mutual attraction to work its magic. Gradually, her rigid body began to soften, becoming all warm, carnation-scented femininity.
He rested his cheek against her coiled hair, suspended in a curious state between peace and crackling desire. "A pity we can't be like this all the time," he murmured as he skimmed his hands over the familiar, supple curves of her back and waist.
His words jarred her out of her compliant state. She planted her hands in the middle of his chest and shoved herself away. "We shouldn't be like this at all!"
He braced his hands against the wall on both sides of her so that she could not escape. "Is the problem another man in your life? Tell me so at least I'll understand what I'm up against."
"You don't really want me!" she said vehemently.
"You're wrong. I want you very much." He brushed his fingertips over her cheek in a feathery caress. Her complexion had the smooth, fragile delicacy of a blossom. "And this time, I intend to have you."
"No!" She bit her lip, as if wrestling with a decision.
At length, she took a deep breath, then said unevenly, "I didn't want to tell you this."
"Tell me what?" he said encouragingly.
She gave a twisted smile. "I fear, Lord Strathmore, that you have confused me with my sister-my identical twin sister, Kristine."
Chapter 17
After a startled moment, Lucien laughed out loud. "I glad to see your imagination hasn't failed yet, but surely you can come up with something better than a mythical twin sister. That's a plot device from a Gothic novel."
"Kristine is not mythical-she is a comic actress who performs as Cassie James. You obviously know her, but you most assuredly don't know me." She swallowed hard. "So for pity's sake, don't blame me for whatever you think my sister has done."
Lucien hesitated. Damnation, but the girl was convincing. He studied her earnest face. Every feature, line, and hollow was exactly as he remembered. The soft brown hair that glinted with gold and the slim, graceful figure were equally familiar. There was no sign of the bawdy vitality of Sally or Cassie James, but her demeanor was similar to that of "Jane" when she had claimed to be a young lady trying to help her brother.
Based on her record, Lady Nemesis was quite capable of acting the role of shy Lady Kathryn Travers, poor relation. She had also, briefly, responded to his embrace as naturally as if it was familiar. Yet there was something in her voice that caused him to wonder if she might possibly be telling the truth.
There was one way to find out, even a consummate actress would have trouble concealing her identity in a kiss. He drew her close and bent his head.
Before their lips could touch, she jerked back and hit him with a ringing slap across the cheek. "How dare you, sir!"
Yes, she was strong. Yet what caused him to release her was not force, but the note of outraged virtue in her voice. It was hard to believe that even the most gifted of actresses could sound so much like an offended virgin.
Cheek stinging, he scrutinized Kathryn's face once more. Yet even though he used all his trained powers of observation, she still looked exactly like the duplicitous minx who had brought chaos to his orderly life. Except, perhaps, there might be more vulnerability in the depths of those clear gray eyes than he had seen before. "No twins are truly identical," he said slowly. "There are always subtle differences, yet I see none in this case. And believe me, I speak as one who has studied you with great concentration."
She blushed and ducked her head as if embarrassed by the warmth in his eyes. "All of our lives, people have said that Kristine and I are the most identical twins they've ever seen," she said haltingly. "But believe me, if Kristine was here, you could tell us apart instantly. You'd never notice I was in the room, because she has the kind of vitality that draws every eye."