No Longer a Gentleman

“No wonder it’s so bloody cold,” he muttered, remembering now how they’d found the lean-to after a couple of hours of wet, miserable walking. They’d led the horses because it was too dark to ride.

The sky was lightening, so dawn must be near. He rested his cheek against her hair. Régine, he realized, was the warm weight curled up against his opposite side. “How long until we reach the coast?”

“We can make it in four days if we push hard. Which we should,” she said soberly. “Durand must have sent out flyers describing us as dangerous spies, likely with a reward. Anyone with even a vague resemblance to his fugitives is going to be noticed and perhaps detained.”

“Should I take off my beard?” He rubbed his chin, wondering what lay beneath the whiskers. “That would change my appearance.”

“They don’t really know your appearance.” A smile came into her voice. “I suspect that if you’re clean shaven, every woman we pass will remember you, and that’s the opposite of what we want.”

He felt himself coloring in the darkness. When he was younger, women of all ages noticed him. He’d taken the attention for granted, vain young fool that he was. Now the thought made him vaguely uncomfortable. “Any description of you would be as an old woman, wouldn’t it? That’s how you looked at the castle. Can you cover up the gray in your hair? Then we could travel as husband and wife.”

“Changing our appearances is a good idea for both of us,” she agreed. “I have some temporary brown coloring in my saddlebags.”

“Nothing you pull out of those saddlebags surprises me anymore.” He rubbed the lithe length of her back, wanting to touch as much of her as he could. “I half expected you to produce a four-poster bed when we stopped here.”

“Nonsense. This lean-to isn’t large enough for my four-poster.”

He smiled and the last of his nightmare tension faded away. “I’ll be glad to have you playing the role of my wife. It felt rather perverted to have you as my mother.”

“That didn’t stop you from behaving in a perverted way,” she pointed out as she slid a hand under his coat.

He stiffened, and so did the part of his body where her hand came to rest. “I’m shameless, remember?” he said a little breathlessly. “I think we should now celebrate our new status as husband and wife.”

“Well, it’s a way to warm up,” she said thoughtfully. “For a couple of minutes.”

Joy and desire began bubbling through him despite their precarious circumstances. “Another challenge, my lady fox?” He cupped the delicious softness of her breast. “I promise I shall warm you until the sun comes up.”

And he did.

Chapter 20

Reports flooded into Durand as a result of the flyers. There were no sightings for the priest. Either Laurent Saville had gone to ground very successfully, or he was so frail that he’d died from the rigors of escape. If so, good riddance, though Durand continued searching. The old man could be useful.

But there were many possible sightings of Wyndham and an old woman. Sorting through them was the sort of work at which Durand excelled. He had an instinct for what rang true, and that instinct was triggered by the story of a minor altercation in a market town. An old woman and a man who behaved badly because of a worthless mongrel. That sounded English.

He wondered if the old woman really was female. Given the examples he’d been given of her strength and cunning, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Wyndham’s rescuer was a short man disguised as a woman. Though maybe the strength and cunning came from the men who traveled with her. There were too many possibilities. The only thing Durand had to go on was the likelihood that Wyndham was traveling north.

The pair from the market incident were heading in the right direction, but there were no convincing sightings farther along the road they’d been traveling. Durand studied alternative routes on a map. A minor road to the east looked plausible, and it ran toward Boulogne, right on the English Channel.

There were plenty of fishermen who doubled as smugglers along the coast. Which group was most likely? The Ministry of Police had files on many of them.

Map case in hand, Durand ordered up a carriage and headed north.

The next four days were plagued by the constant itchy fear of pursuit. They were also the hardest riding Grey had ever done. If he hadn’t been hardened by several days of slower travel first, Cassie would have had to tie him to his mount.

Achille and Thistle were gone, traded for fresher, stronger horses. He thought he saw regret in Cassie’s eyes when she sold the pony, but she was too pragmatic to complain. She was a tireless taskmistress, pushing them both with steely determination.

Some nights they were even too tired to make love. But he was never too tired to want to hold her as they fell asleep. Having her close staved off the nightmares.

Grey had enough male pride not to complain about the pace she set, though by the time they reached the seaside tavern northeast of Boulogne, he felt as if he’d been pummeled by professional boxers. It was late afternoon when the tavern came into view.

“Our destination,” Cassie said. “They know me here. We’re almost home.”

He looked across the channel, barely breathing. “England is just across the water. It’s hard to believe.” Someday he’d look on this journey as a brief, improbable interlude on the way back to his real life, but for now, it was his world. The road, the travel, and Cassie. He wouldn’t miss the endless fear or hours on horseback, and a return to civilized living with regular hot water and clean clothes would be welcome.

But he couldn’t imagine life without Cassie.

When they reached the tavern, Cassie dismounted. “Take the horses to the stables,” she said. “I’ll talk to my friend Marie. She’s another of France’s countless war widows. With luck, we’ll be able to sail tonight. The weather looks right.”

“You’ll miss giving me orders,” Grey said as he accepted the reins of her mount.

“Very true. I adore telling big, strong men what to do,” she agreed. “I’ll just have to come back to France and rescue some other poor fellow to order about.”

Her words were teasing, but they sliced into him like knives as he headed to the stables. This journey with Cassie had been the happiest time of his life. It was jarring to be reminded that to her, he was just another job.

“I’ve lain with men for worse reasons.” Did she lie with all the men she rescued? He hated the thought, yet he had no right to ask about her past or other men she’d known.

He bit his lip as he dismounted. Régine sensed his agitation and pressed against his leg. At least one female on this journey thought the sun rose and set on him.

As he bedded down the horses, he told himself that he should be adult enough to accept that Cassie was special to him even though he’d never be as special to her. But he wasn’t sure he was that mature.

Cassie entered the tavern’s taproom. The cozy room had tables and a simply built bar at the far end. A young boy sat at a table studying while a middle-aged woman with a comfortably rounded figure and a lapful of knitting sat behind the bar.

“Bonsoir, Marie,” Cassie greeted her. “I’m glad to see you looking so peaceful.”

“Cassandra! You’re a welcome sight.” Marie set aside her knitting. “Do you remember my nephew Antoine?”

“Indeed I do. Don’t let me interfere with your lessons, Antoine.”

He stood and offered a gap-toothed smile, then returned to his textbook. Marie continued, “Are you just passing through?”

“Yes, and the shorter the visit the better.” Cassie pulled out a small jingling pouch from the pocket hidden under her skirt.

“You’re in luck. There’s a fishing trip scheduled for tonight.”

That was good news; the sooner they left France, the better. “Is there space for two passengers?” When Marie nodded, Cassie handed over the pouch. “Here’s the fare.”

Marie made the money disappear. “Always such a pleasure doing business with you, Cassie. Where is your companion?”

“Bedding down our horses. Two decent hacks, nothing special. I’m not sure when I’ll be back this way, so use them as you need.”

Marie glanced out a window. The day had been overcast, and night was falling quickly. “There’s just enough time for you and your companion to have a bite before you go down to the cove. I’ll send Antoine to the boat to tell them passengers are coming.”

As Antoine closed his book, several horsemen arrived outside. Cassie said in a low voice, “It’s possible my companion and I are being pursued.”

“Or it may be customs officers arriving as they do all too often.” Frowning, Marie said, “Antoine, go to the cove and tell the men there may be trouble here.”

“Oui, tante.” Moving quickly, he went back through the kitchen and outside.

“Time for us to become two boring women having a bit of a chat.” Marie poured white wine into two heavy glass tumblers and slid one across the bar to Cassie. “Will your companion know to keep out of sight?”

A good question. Grey was hard to predict. “I hope so.” Cassie took the wine and settled onto a stool across the bar from Marie.

The front door was thrown open and five gendarmes swaggered in. All were armed and they had the truculent expressions of men looking for trouble.

As an experienced tavern owner, Marie recognized the look as readily as Cassie did. Her eyes were wary, but her voice relaxed as she said, “What can I do for you, Citoyens? I’ve some good fish stew and fresh bread in the kitchen.”

“We’ll be having some of that and a bottle of the best cognac in the house,” the sergeant in charge said. “But what we really want is escaping spies.”

He pulled a folded flyer from his coat. “An old man, an old woman, a younger English man with light hair, maybe traveling with others. Anyone like that been by here? They’re running like rats for England.”

Marie set five tumblers along the bar. “Can’t say they sound familiar. The only old women who come by here are local.” She reached under the bar for a bottle of cognac. “I’ve not seen any English spies that I know of.”

“Bet you’ve seen plenty of smugglers, though,” one of the men sneered. He grabbed the bottle of cognac from Marie’s hand and took a swig. “How much will you give us to ride on to the next coastal tavern without searching this place?”

“Isn’t it against the law to try to bribe a gendarme?” Marie asked coolly. “I’ve naught to fear from a search. There are no smugglers here. Only food and drink.”

“And women.” A tall, heavyset man who looked like a bear pointed toward Cassie. “The flyer said the old woman had no distinctive identifying marks. Neither does this one.” As he gazed at her with hot eyes, the atmosphere thickened with menace.

“That’s not a kind thing to say, Citoyen,” Cassie said mildly, shifting on her stool so she could reach the knife sheathed on her thigh. But she hoped it didn’t come to a fight. Two women had little chance against five brutal armed men. “I may be heading toward old, but I’m not there yet.”

“Old enough that you should be grateful a real man is willing to roger you,” the bear man said with a snort. “Not that I’d touch either of you ordinarily, but for lack of anything better, you’ll do.”

As he moved closer, Cassie reached for her knife. Before she could grasp it, he lunged unexpectedly, crushing her in his beefy arms exactly like a bear. His breath reeked of cheap brandy.

“Let me go!” she snapped as she struggled furiously, but he had the advantages of size and strength. He shoved her down to the floor and straddled her.

The leader of the group leaned over the bar for Marie. She bashed him across the face with a bottle. Swearing, he staggered back, but a third man circled the bar to grab her and pull her into the center of the room. Her scream cut off abruptly.

If Cassie weren’t pinned down, she could have immobilized her attacker, but with his weight on top of her, she was almost helpless. She hoped to God Grey didn’t hear the disturbance and charge in. Though he was a fighter, the gendarmes were armed and far more likely to shoot a man than a woman.

Praying that Antoine would bring the sailors from the cove quickly, she sank her teeth into her attacker’s earlobe, tasting metallic blood. He bellowed with rage and reared up to clout her on the side of the head.

She turned her head to avoid the worst of the blow, at the same time fighting to free one arm. If she could jab his eyes …

A blood-chilling shout reverberated through the taproom as Grey charged through the door, eyes wild with berserker fury. In two steps he was beside Cassie and hauling her attacker off her. There was a hideous crack as he broke the bear man’s neck.

Behind him, another gendarme swiftly primed and aimed his pistol. “Look out, Grey!” Cassie cried as she scrambled to her feet.

Grey whirled and dived at the man. The gun fired deafeningly but Grey didn’t even flinch. He wrenched the empty pistol away from the gendarme and used the wooden hilt to club him into unconsciousness.

Since he could handle himself, Cassie turned to Marie. Her friend was pinned to the floor by a man who had one hand clamped over her mouth while the other clawed at her clothing. Cassie moved behind him and savagely jabbed her thumbs into the pressure points that would knock him unconscious in the space of a few heartbeats.

He collapsed forward with a strangled gasp. After dragging his limp body off Marie, who was shaken but seemed unhurt, Cassie turned to Grey.

He fought like a dancer, his movements swift and grimly efficient as he smashed and kicked at his opponents. But dear God, blood was pouring down the left side of his head! He must have been grazed by the pistol ball. Surely it wasn’t serious or he couldn’t fight so furiously? But so much blood!

Her heart constricted as she saw the last two gendarmes retreat and aim their pistols at Grey. She swore the filthiest curse she knew and hurled her knife at the closer man. It caught him dead center in the throat with a gush of blood.

As the man collapsed with a bubbling scream, his companion swung his pistol toward Cassie. “You bitch!”

She dived to her left, wishing for a barrier to protect her. Then Grey’s broad shoulders blocked her view of the last gendarme. Growling like a wolf, he leaped at the same instant the gendarme’s pistol boomed.

Undeterred, Grey clamped his powerful hands around the man’s neck. The two of them went down together.

Dear God, more blood, this time streaming from Grey’s right side! Yet his viselike grip didn’t loosen. By the time Cassie reached them, the gendarme was dead. Grey’s expression was savage, and he didn’t seem to hear when she spoke his name.

Cassie caught his shoulder, her nails biting into his shoulder. “Grey, it’s all right, we’re safe. Let him go so I can look at your wounds.”

He still didn’t react, so she said more sharply, “Grey, let go!”

Long seconds passed before he released his grip and sat back on his heels. The red rage fading from his eyes, he turned toward her. “Cassie? Are you hurt?”

“You’re the one bleeding all over the floor,” she said wryly. “I need to examine your wounds.”

“Thank God you’re safe!” Then he slowly keeled over.

Chapter 21

Biting her lip to keep from having strong hysterics, Cassie knelt beside Grey and did a swift examination. The head wound was bleeding ferociously into his hair and beard but didn’t look deep.

The second pistol ball had raked his side. Though the ribs didn’t appear to be broken, still more blood was pouring out of him. How much blood could a man lose before he died?

“Take these.” Marie pressed several folded towels into Cassie’s hand. “This wild man of yours is magnificent,” she added admiringly. “Without fear. I could not believe how he kept fighting even when shot twice.”

“Fearless or mad,” Cassie said grimly. “I need brandy to clean the wounds.”

Marie quickly produced a bottle of spirits. Cassie applied pressure to the head injury until the bleeding slowed, then poured a trickle of brandy over the open wound.

Grey gasped and tried to pull away. “Hold still,” she ordered, thinking it was a good sign that he wasn’t unconscious. “I’m almost done.”

He was trembling, but he held still as she tied a crude bandage around his head. She was working on his wounded ribs when half a dozen local sailors burst into the room, the leader calling, “Marie!”

Cassie recognized him as Pierre Blanchard, Marie’s brother and captain of the smugglers. He’d carried Cassie across the channel several times. He skidded to a halt and surveyed the fallen bodies. “Seems we weren’t needed.”

“Madame Renard’s friend fought like a man possessed to save us from being raped and worse.” Marie frowned at the carnage. “A great deal of cleaning will be required.”

“We’ll take care of the bodies and the horses,” Pierre promised. “These cochons will simply disappear. Madame Renard, is your friend well enough to sail tonight?”

“Better that than to risk staying here,” Cassie said as she bandaged Grey’s ribs. He needed a real surgeon, but that could wait for England. Durand’s noose was tightening, she could feel it. “Grey, do you think you can walk to the boat?”

“Yes.” He drew a shuddering breath. His face was white against the bloodstains. “Will … need help.” He pushed himself up with his right arm, giving a hiss of pain. Silently Pierre helped him to his feet.

With so many bloodstains drenching hair and clothing, Grey looked more dead than alive. Cassie moved under his arm to help support him.

“We have saddlebags in the stables,” Cassie said to Pierre, not wanting to leave Grey.

As the captain sent a man to collect their possessions, Grey whispered, “Régine. Don’t forget Régine!”

“A third person is in your party?” Pierre asked.

“Régine is a dog he adopted,” Cassie explained.

Pierre said with amusement, “I didn’t know English spies collected mongrels.”

“Monsieur Sommers is not a spy,” Cassie said wearily. “He was a young Englishman who bedded the wrong woman, and spent ten years in solitary confinement.”

The captain’s brows arched. “I hope she was worth it.”

“She wasn’t,” Grey muttered.

Pierre gave a very French shrug. “One never knows until it’s too late. But now we need to make haste or we will miss the tide.”

Cassie could barely support Grey as they moved toward the door, so Pierre moved in to take her place. As soon as they stepped outside, Régine galloped up and began twisting around her master’s legs, very nearly tripping Grey.

“Are you sure you can make it down to the pier?” Cassie asked worriedly. “You can be carried if necessary.”

“Would … walk … on water …” he panted, “… to get back to England.”

Cassie drew Régine away from Grey so they could proceed down the rocky path to the cove. At least Grey now had one possession to bring home from France.

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made …

Shakespeare’s words floated through Grey’s misery. Drowning and suffering the ultimate sea change sounded rather good about now. He wasn’t usually seasick, but he’d never crossed the channel in a small boat with two bullet holes in him, either. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the pain, the nausea, or the fact that the boat was saturated with the stench of fish.

His stomach had been fairly empty to begin with, but that didn’t stop the violent nausea and dry retching. He slid in and out of consciousness. Awareness was bad because he’d never felt so ghastly in his life.

Grey, Cassie, and Régine were huddled in the bow of the vessel under an oilcloth sheet, which helped keep off splashes of water, but wasn’t much help against the biting cold. Sometime during the endless night, he rasped, “Toss me overboard, Cassie. I think I’d rather be dead.”

“Nonsense.” Her voice was brisk but her touch gentle as she wiped his damp face with a cloth. “You have to stay alive until I turn you over to Kirkland. After that, you may drown yourself if you like.”

It hurt to laugh, but he did anyhow. “My ever practical vixen. No need to worry. I haven’t the strength to cast myself into the sea without help, and once I’m on dry land, the impulse will surely fade.”

“Not long now,” Cassie said quietly. She pulled him closer so that the unwounded side of his head rested on her soft breasts. “You’re warm. Feverish, I think, but it makes you useful on a cold, wet night.”

“Don’t worry about fever,” he mumbled. “I heal very well, or I wouldn’t have lasted this long.” His mind veering in another direction, he asked, “What’s your real name? Before you became Cassie the Fox?”

After a long silence, she replied, “Once I was Catherine.”

Catherine. It suited her, but in a very different way from how Cassie suited her. Catherine was a gentle lady. Cassie the Fox was quick, clever, and dangerous. Perhaps Catherine was who Cassie would have been if war and catastrophe hadn’t intervened.

He sought her hand and held it, thinking how lucky he was to have this extraordinary woman, even if only for a while.

But God in heaven, how would he ever be able to let her go?

It was not the most comfortable channel crossing Cassie had ever made, but it was one of the fastest, with a hard wind pushing the fishing boat north. Pierre and his crew would have a much slower journey home against the wind. They were inured to the sea and its vagaries, though. Grey and Cassie were creatures of the land, and the sooner they returned to solid ground, the better.

After endless miserable hours, she saw a faint white line gradually forming on the horizon. She waited until she was sure before saying softly, “The white cliffs of Dover, Grey. Home.”

He jerked out of his doze and pushed himself up to stare over the gunwale. “Home,” he said in a husky voice. “I never thought I’d see England again.”

His eyes glinted with unshed tears. She blinked back some of her own. Even after all these years, the sight always moved her.

Together they watched the approaching shore, the white cliffs a beckoning ribbon of hope. Dawn was breaking when Pierre brought them into a sheltered cove with a weathered pier. The cove belonged to an English seafaring family named Nash, and there was a long and profitable relationship between them and Pierre’s family. Cassie knew both families well.

Pierre sent a man to the nearby Nash house to gather help in unloading the illicit cargo. He personally helped Cassie get Grey out of the boat and onto land.

Grey was weaving but grimly determined. Once they were ashore, he shook off his helpers, then alarmed Cassie by falling to the ground.

Her heart clenched until she saw what he was doing. Incredulous, she asked, “Lord Wyndham, are you kissing the ground?”

“Damned right I am.” Grey struggled to rise again. “Both because it’s solid land, and because it’s England.”

The French captain asked with interest, “What does English sand taste like?”

“Much like French sand, I suspect.” He turned to Cassie, his face ablaze with joy under his bloodstained bandage. “I’m never leaving England again!”

“Won’t you want to travel to Rome or Greece or some such place when the wars are over?” she asked.

“I reserve the right to be inconsistent.” Grey wrapped an arm around Cassie’s shoulders, sagging against her. “What next, milady vixen?”

Several Nashes were heading down to the cove to help with the contraband. Cassie said, “We go to the house and ask Mrs. Nash if she has any broth to feed you. Then we hire one of their sons to drive us to Dover, where we’ll find an inn and call a surgeon for you.”

“Please,” he said in a rough whisper. “Take me home.” She frowned. “Your family seat is in Dorsetshire, isn’t it? That’s too far. You need treatment before then.”

“Not Summerhill,” he said with effort. “The Westerfield Academy. It’s not far, just off the London road.”

She hesitated, thinking it would still be several hours of travel, and the sooner she got him into a clean bed and called a surgeon, the better.

“Please!” he said, his voice raw.

The school had been his home for years, she realized. A place where he’d made lasting friendships, and where Lady Agnes welcomed all her wandering boys, no matter what sort of trouble they’d been in.

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll go to Westerfield.”

The coach Cassie had hired in Dover rumbled to a wet stop in front of Westerfield Manor. Grey had been silent on the ride, suffering stoically. As the coach driver opened the door and let down the steps, Cassie said quietly, “We’re here. Are you awake?”

As he ground out an affirmative, Régine leaped out, ready for a new adventure. She’d put on weight even better than Grey had.

Cassie descended and helped Grey out of the coach into a rainy and very English night. “Can you manage him, ma’am?” the driver asked.

“We’re fine,” Grey mumbled. As Cassie paid the coachman with the last of her money, Grey headed unerringly toward Lady Agnes’s door. He’d told Cassie that Lady Agnes used one wing of the sprawling manor-turned-school as her private quarters, so there should be room for unexpected visitors.

Saddlebags over one arm, Cassie caught up with him as he wielded the large brass knocker. Grey swayed while they waited for the door to open, so she moved beside him, an arm around his waist. The end of this mad adventure had arrived.

The door was opened by Lady Agnes herself. She wore a practical but elegant gown that was perfectly suited to a headmistress of noble blood.

Her brows arched when she saw the ragamuffins on her steps. “If you go around to the kitchen door in the back of the house, someone will give you food.”

“What, no fatted calf?” Grey said unevenly. When Lady Agnes gasped, he said with a crooked smile, “The prodigal has returned.”

Durand reached Boulogne to find the district commandant wondering what had happened to a squad of his gendarmes. Five experienced men, all former soldiers, had been patrolling the coast looking for smugglers as well as Durand’s runaway spies.

The patrol had vanished without a trace. It was hard to know how far they’d traveled on their route since the folk who lived along the coast were a closemouthed lot whether they were farmers, fishermen, or smugglers.

Perhaps the gendarmes had run afoul of smugglers and their bodies were now feeding fishes in the channel. But Durand’s intuition said that that devil Wyndham had had something to do with the disappearance. By now, he was probably back in England, beyond Durand’s reach.

If ever Wyndham returned to France, he was a dead man. And Durand had come up with a plan to lure the bastard back to France.

Chapter 22

“Dear God in heaven,” Lady Agnes whispered. “Grey, it really is you!” Ignoring his wet, filthy, and bloodstained garments, she gave him a bone-bruising embrace.

Régine waited politely on the doorstep and Cassie stayed in the background, the unremitting tension and wariness of the last weeks dissolving in a rush of relief. Grey was home, back in the arms of those who loved him. Cassie would spend a fortnight or so in London recovering, then be off to France again.

She hoped her next mission wasn’t a rescue. The strain was much greater when she was responsible for people beyond herself.

Tears running unabashedly down her cheeks, Lady Agnes stepped back and waved them inside. Surveying her prodigal, she said, “It looks like you’ve had a rough passage, my lad, but you can tell me about it later. For now, you need a bath and a bed.”

“Not necessarily in that order,” Grey said. Now that he’d reached his destination, he looked ready to collapse. Even with Cassie’s help, he stumbled crossing the threshold.

“That is one of the less impressive dogs I’ve met,” Lady Agnes said as Régine trotted by her.

“But she has a sterling heart,” Cassie said. “Grey rescued her in France.”

“Don’t worry, I’d never dream of separating a boy and his dog.” Lady Agnes’s brow furrowed as she studied Cassie. “We’ve met, but I’m having trouble placing you.”

“We were introduced briefly at the wedding of Lady Kiri Lawford and Damian Mackenzie,” Cassie said. “No reason you’d remember me.”

“Miss Cassie Fox,” Lady Agnes said as she pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. “One of Kirkland’s dubious associates.”

“Very dubious indeed,” Cassie agreed as she steered Grey to a chair set in a corner of the small vestibule. Wearily she deposited their saddlebags on the floor.

“Sorry, I meant no insult,” the headmistress said, her gaze sharpening. “Kirkland’s associates tend to have exceptional abilities, which is surely why Wyndham is here. Thank you, Miss Fox, from the bottom of my heart.”

“He was imprisoned in a private dungeon in France,” Cassie said succinctly, thinking that was sufficient explanation for now. “I’ll be out of your way soon, but for now, add a surgeon to the list of Lord Wyndham’s needs. He was grazed by two bullets and needs treatment before the wounds turn septic. And send a message to Lord Kirkland. He’s been waiting for this news for a very long time.”

Lady Agnes nodded. “I’ll notify Wyndham’s family as well. They’ll be overjoyed.”

“Not … my family.” Grey’s head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed. “They would come thundering down here and be horrified by my present condition. The news of my miraculous survival can wait until I’m more restored.”

“As you wish,” Lady Agnes said with reluctance. “Can you manage the steps up to a guest room?”

He thought a moment. “With a strong railing and Cassie’s help, yes.”

A capable-looking housekeeper arrived in the vestibule. By the time Lady Agnes gave orders for food, drink, and hot water to be sent to the blue bedroom, Grey was halfway up the stairs, doggedly hauling himself up by the railing one step at a time.

Cassie shadowed him in case he stumbled, but he made it to the top without help. Lady Agnes followed two steps behind, a lamp in her hand.

“To the left,” the headmistress said, moving ahead to light their way to a room down the corridor. She opened the door. “Note the richly patterned coverlet on the bed, designed not to show blood or mud stains.”

If Cassie had been less exhausted, she would have laughed. “Obviously Lord Wyndham is not the first wounded prodigal to arrive on your doorstep. But even so, you might want to put a dark blanket over the coverlet.”

“I’ve had other students return from the dead, but miracles never grow old.” Lady Agnes pulled a navy blue blanket from a chest and spread it over the bed. “But you’re right that Wyndham is quite exceptionally filthy. He never did things by halves.”

Grey was the next thing to unconscious when Cassie guided him onto the bed. As Régine jumped up beside him, Cassie squeezed his hand. “You’re safe now, my lord. It’s been quite an adventure, hasn’t it?”

He tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. “You aren’t leaving now, Cassie. You can’t.”

“Of course she isn’t leaving now,” Lady Agnes said briskly. “She looks almost as close to collapse as you, so she’ll be staying here also. There will be plenty of time for a proper good-bye when you’ve both recovered from your journey.”

Several servants bustled into the room with steaming canisters and trays. Leading them was an older man of military bearing and a woman about Lady Agnes’s age, but shorter and softer in appearance. Cassie guessed that these were General Rawlings and Miss Emily Cantwell, Lady Agnes’s colleagues in running the school.

Face working, the general clasped Grey’s other hand. “By God, boy, you’ve taken your time getting out of whatever trouble you found!”

Grey gave a breath of laughter. “I should have listened better to your lectures, sir. I had to be rescued by this lady here, Cassie Fox.”

The general turned to Cassie, his eyes gimlet gray. “Rather more than a lady, I think. You’re one of Kirkland’s lot, aren’t you? I look forward to hearing the tale.”

“Later,” Miss Emily said firmly. “These young people need rest and a good wash first. I also want to see what’s under those bandages.” She made a shooing motion at Lady Agnes. “Show Miss Fox to her room. We’ll take care of Lord Wyndham.”

Cassie was happy to transfer responsibility to these capable hands, but she felt oddly empty as she followed Lady Agnes into the room across the corridor. Two of the servants followed with hot water and a tray of food and drink.

Lady Agnes said, “I could order a tub, but my guess is that you prefer a quick wash, an even quicker bite to eat, and a very long rest. You’ll find a nightgown in that wardrobe. If you leave what you’re wearing outside the door, I’ll have the garments cleaned and pressed.”

“Most excellent.” Cassie buried her face in her hands for a few moments as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. “The dye on Lord Wyndham’s hair will wash out with vinegar. The injuries are less than a day old. He says he heals well, but he was a little feverish on the channel crossing. The wounds need cleaning.”

“Anything else can wait till tomorrow. Rest now, child,” Lady Agnes said softly. “Your job is done.” Briefly she rested a hand on Cassie’s shoulder before leaving.

As Cassie stripped off her filthy clothing, she understood better why Lady Agnes’s lost lords loved her so much. No doubt Wyndham’s family loved him deeply, but that kind of love came with hopes, fears, and expectations. Lady Agnes offered love, warmth, and acceptance. And it even extended to dogs.

Limbs leaden and mind numb, Cassie folded her bedraggled clothing and set it outside the door, did a quick but much appreciated wash at the basin, then pulled on a soft cotton nightgown. After eating a piece of cheese on bread, followed by a few sips of wine, she crawled under the covers.

The mattress was soft and comfortable, but the bed was far too empty. She thought, with a sharp pang, that holding Grey in the fishing boat as they crossed the channel would be her last night with him. Viscount Wyndham, heir to the Earl of Costain, had been returned to his rightful rank. There was no place in his life for a spy with no name or reputation.

She must be grateful for what they’d shared. For Cassie the Fox, there was more work to be done.

Suffocating, falling into endless night …

Grey jerked awake, heart pounding. “Cassie, Cassie? Where are you?”

A wet tongue slurped his face. Shaking, he reminded himself that he was safely back at Westerfield. He’d been well taken care of and left to sleep, but now he wanted Cassie. She wasn’t far away, but he wasn’t sure where, and he was too exhausted to wander till he found her.

Besides, she deserved her rest, too. She’d practically carried him most of the last stretch of their journey. He must settle for Régine, who was burrowed under his right arm.

He forced himself to relax, not easy when he was craving Cassie. He’d known she was his shield and defender as he adapted to the world outside of prison, but he hadn’t realized just how much he needed her strength and calm intelligence.

He was weak and wrong to need her so much. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

Chapter 23

Grey was jarred awake by screaming. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, and to recognize the cries as boys shouting while playing some game outside.

He relaxed, remembering when he’d shouted on those same playing fields. Lady Agnes and General Rawlings were firm believers in young males burning off their energy in sports. There was a place for everyone on the teams, even the least athletic, and no bullying was allowed, ever, which made it better than any other school in Britain. Those had been good days.

He ached all over and the bullet wounds in his head and side throbbed painfully, but that was mitigated by the comfort of a soft bed and safety. He allowed himself to luxuriate even though the warm weight against his side was Régine, not Cassie. Ideally, they’d both be here; the bed was large enough.

He’d missed animals for so long that he’d almost forgotten the pleasure of their company. Perhaps he’d buy a small cottage like the one Cassie wanted and live there with numerous animals. And her.

He sighed, knowing the dream was impossible. Eventually he’d have heavy responsibilities that couldn’t be ignored. Worse, someday all too soon she’d vanish back into her mysterious, dangerous world. But not quite yet.

Régine made a small canine noise that made it clear that she needed to go outside and then eat and no shilly-shallying. “Soon, my furry little queen,” he said as he ruffled her ears. He was so tired that he could barely move. Partly relief at the end of his long journey, he supposed. Not to mention the amount of blood he’d lost. It would take time to recover from that. He’d have to eat plenty of beef.

Like Régine, he required both bodily relief and food, so he swung out of the bed. The long mirror on the wardrobe reflected a complete savage.

He vaguely remembered arriving at the manor, struggling to this room, then sliding into unconsciousness. Efficient hands had cleaned him up and dressed his wounds, and damned painful it had been, too. After the superficial blood and dirt were gone, they’d managed to get clean drawers on him.

He was otherwise naked except for neat bandages around his head and ribs. His hair and beard were matted disasters, and far too many bones were visible under his pale English skin.

Giving thanks that a razor and hot water were only a bell pull away, he lurched to the washstand, which was to the left of the door. He was pouring water into the basin when the door opened and a deep male voice said, “Breakfast, Lord Wyndham.”

The unexpected, startlingly familiar voice was such a shock that Grey dropped the pitcher. As the china shattered, he instinctively jerked away from the opening door. He banged into the solid wing chair behind him and lost his balance. As he pitched to the floor, he swore, “Merde!”

The elegant, dark-haired man who entered with a large tray of covered dishes and a steaming teapot breathed an oath of his own as he set the tray on a small table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Wyndham. Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m not all right!” Grey pushed himself up on all fours, shaking. He’d thought he was becoming used to the normal world, but apparently not. Humiliating. “I have two bullet holes in my hide and I’m near as dammit to feral.” Trying for lightness, he added, “You’ve come down in the world if you’ve hired on as a footman, Kirkland.”

“I thought I might be more welcome if I arrived bearing food.” Kirkland offered a hand. “Shall we start over again?”

Grey pulled away from the proffered help until his back was against the wing chair. “I’m not ready for this,” he blurted out, heart pounding. Kirkland was getting a damned poor return on the time and effort he’d put into Grey’s rescue.

Kirkland dropped his hand, his face ashen. He looked much older than his years. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He reached for the doorknob. “I should have known you wouldn’t want to see me. I swear that you won’t have to again.”

Grey frowned, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you in particular? It’s the whole world I’m having trouble with.”

“Because of me, you spent ten years in hell,” Kirkland said, his eyes bleak. “You’d be entitled to call me out.”

Grey blinked. “That is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” He’d forgotten how bloody conscientious Kirkland was. Too much Presbyterian responsibility and guilt. “The ten years of hell were because of my own stupidity. I never blamed you.”

He’d have been happy to stay on the floor because he felt weak as a kitten, but speaking to Kirkland’s kneecaps was a further embarrassment. He grasped the arm of the wing chair behind him, hissing at the pain that blazed through his injured side.

Seeing him struggling, Kirkland again offered a hesitant hand. This time Grey took it, shaken by nerves, emotion, and physical weakness.

As Kirkland lifted Grey to his feet, he said in a low voice, “Dear God, I’m glad to see you alive again!”

Swaying, Grey steadied himself with his other hand on Kirkland’s shoulder, and suddenly they were hugging each other. Very unlike an English gentleman, Grey thought, but he was no longer a gentleman, so he appreciated the warmth and strength Kirkland was wordlessly offering. Kirkland had always been ironic, cerebral, and frighteningly intelligent, but one couldn’t have asked for a better or more loyal friend.

“Forgive my strange behavior,” Grey said as he ended the hug. A warm banyan had been draped over the chair, so he put it on before sagging wearily into the chair. “It doesn’t take much to set me off these days.”

Kirkland efficiently moved table and tray in front of Grey’s chair, then brought the wooden chair from the desk and set it on the opposite side of the table. As he took silver covers from the dishes, he said, “I wouldn’t have recognized you under that facial thicket. Do you intend to keep it?”

“Lord, no. I would have cut it off by now, but Cassie thought it a useful disguise.” Grey discouraged Régine from putting her paws on the table. Not that he blamed her. The English bacon smelled like heaven. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“I left London as soon as I received Lady Agnes’s message,” Kirkland said simply. He set a couple of pieces of ham on a bread plate and placed it on the floor for Régine. “Help yourself. There’s enough food for both of us and a hungry dog as well.”

If Kirkland had spent half the night traveling, it was no wonder he looked tired. Grey served himself bacon, ham, fried potatoes, and eggs scrambled with cheese.

Eating was easy, but being with an old friend was unnervingly awkward. Before becoming imprisoned, he’d never been ill at ease with other people, but he wasn’t that relaxed, confident young man anymore. He’d desperately wanted to return to Westerfield because Lady Agnes was like a beloved, tolerant aunt. She was sanctuary.

Old friends with ten years of complicated living behind them were different. He settled for, “After ten years, you could have slept another few hours before charging down here.”

“Seeing is believing.” Kirkland looked down at the toast he was buttering. “I needed to see that you were really alive.”

Grey guessed that he’d also needed to learn if Grey hated him. “Why did you think you might be an unwelcome sight?”

“Because I asked you to keep an eye out for information in France, and it cost you ten years of your life.” Kirkland’s expression was bleak. “Bad years, judging by all the bones and bandages. As you said, you look feral.”

“Only half feral, thanks to Cassie. She’s been slowly reintroducing me to the world.” Wanting to know more about her, Grey continued, “She’s an amazing woman. Where did you find her?”

“Cassie found me. She’s one of my most valuable agents.” Kirkland poured two steaming cups of tea. “Do you still take milk and sugar?”

What a memory the man had. “Just milk now. I lost the habit of sugar.”

Kirkland poured in milk and handed over the cup. “Can you tell me what happened? Or would you rather not?”

Grey stared into his milky tea. “I don’t even know where to start. Ten dreadful years of nothingness. I don’t recommend it. And I don’t know where to go from here.”

“You take it one step at a time,” Kirkland said. “I’ve brought my valet, who can give you a clean shave and a haircut. Since we used to be about the same size, I brought some of my clothes. They’ll be loose on you but at least you’ll look like an English gentleman again.”

“Is that what I want?”

Kirkland hesitated. “I have no idea. Do you know what you want?”

Cassie. But he couldn’t say that. Not only were their paths about to diverge, but why on earth would a strong, independent woman like her want a man who was as needy and confused as Grey?

“I wanted freedom. I never looked beyond that.” He gave a twisted smile. “I don’t really have much choice, do I? My path was laid out the day I was born heir to Costain. I inherited wealth and privilege and great responsibilities. I can use those things well or badly, but I can’t really walk away from them. They’re another sort of prison.”

“Though a much more comfortable one than the dungeons under Castle Durand,” his friend observed.

“More comfortable, but much more demanding. In prison, the only requirement was to survive.”

Grey had attempted lightness again, but Kirkland was not fooled. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he said quietly. “Though I hope that you’ll let me tell your family soon.”

“I will,” Grey promised. “Soon. After I’ve recovered some from the blood loss. I feel as weak as a day-old kitten.”

“I almost bled out once,” Kirkland said. “In a fortnight or so, you should be in much better strength. In the meantime, I’ll send up a bath, my valet, and the clothing I brought for you. After you’re clean and shaved and dressed like a gentleman, you’ll feel more the thing.”

Grey hoped so. It would take all his strength to face his family’s loving excitement. And once they knew he was alive, the whole world would know. Life would become enormously complicated and stressful.

A year from now, he’d probably be so settled back into his existence as Viscount Wyndham that he’d hardly be able to remember the vapors he was experiencing now. But just now, the vapors were winning.

Chapter 24

The sun was high when Cassie finally woke. Lady Agnes’s guest beds were very comfortable, though she’d have slept well on broken rocks. She stretched luxuriously and wished Grey was beside her. But he was no longer her lover Grey; he was Lord Wyndham, restored to his proper station and the people who loved him.

Usually when a mission ended successfully, she felt satisfaction. Triumph, even, for she’d struck another small blow against Napoleon’s tyranny.

This time, she felt … empty. She made a brief, doomed effort to convince herself that she was only regretting the loss of a superb bedmate.

Scowling, she swung from the bed. Bedamned to her rationalizations. She wouldn’t have survived so many years as a spy if she’d been prone to self-delusion. With Grey’s combination of wry charm, vulnerability, and desperate strength, he had touched her as no other man had. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or irritated.

She tugged on the bell pull. Her suspicion that Lady Agnes’s household was exceedingly well run was confirmed by the rapid appearance of a maid. Fifteen minutes later, Cassie was drinking delicious hot chocolate while immersed in a perfumed hot bath. (“Her ladyship told us to have lots of hot water ready, miss.”) She didn’t emerge until the water cooled and the chocolate was long gone.

A lavish breakfast was delivered on a tray, along with her shabby but now clean gown. After she’d eaten, dressed, and pulled her hair back into its usual unflattering style, she went exploring.

Grey wasn’t in his room, so she headed downstairs. Since Lady Agnes was busy running her school, Cassie waylaid a passing maid. “Do you know where Lord Wyndham might be found?”

“He might be in the conservatory, ma’am,” the maid replied. “I saw him heading in that direction.”

“I didn’t know Lady Agnes had a conservatory,” Cassie remarked.

“It’s rather new,” the maid explained. “A gift from the Duke of Ashton to remind her ladyship of India. Shall I take you there? It’s built off the sitting room in the back of the house.”

“Thank you, I’ll find it on my own.” Cassie set off in the direction indicated. Lady Agnes’s private quarters were only one wing of the sprawling manor, but even so this was a gracious and sizable home.

She reached the drawing room and saw that the conservatory had been cleverly designed to open off the farthest right French door so it didn’t obscure the sitting room’s view of the well-tended grounds. This side of the house faced south, so the conservatory would get the maximum possible sunshine and warmth.

She opened the door, then stepped into a tropical paradise. She stopped short, delighted by the warm, humid air and the lush fragrances of flowers and plants. The perfect antidote to an English winter.

The structure was so crowded with flowers and trees— and was that a pair of brilliantly colored birds flashing by?—that it was impossible to judge its size or see if anyone else was inside. She set off on a flagstone path that wound between palm trees and flowering bushes. It passed a clearing with small tables, a loveseat, and several chairs. A perfect place for tea or a meal.

A twist in the path led her by a small shrine containing a stone statue of an elephant-headed being. A Hindu god, perhaps? She continued, making a mental note to ask for a guided tour of the conservatory.

Another turn of the path, and she discovered the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. With shining golden hair, sculpted features, and an impeccably tailored navy blue coat, he was the model of an English gentleman. He stood by a bush covered with scarlet blossoms, his eyes closed as he raptly inhaled the spicy scent of one that he’d picked.

Cassie held her breath as if he were a wild creature who might take wing if disturbed. One of the school’s old boys, or perhaps the father of a prospective student.

The man turned and she saw a neat white head bandage on the left side of his head, almost hidden under the golden hair. Grey.

She froze as visceral shock blazed through her. She’d known all along that their affair would be brief, that they could have no possible future. But seeing him now, indisputably Viscount Wyndham, the golden heir to the Earl of Costain, underlined their differences with vicious clarity.

She had just an instant to bring her shock under control. As soon as he saw her, his pensive face lit up. “Cassie! I was tempted to wake you, but managed to control the impulse. Yesterday was far too exciting for both of us.”

He moved forward with swift strides and enveloped her in a hug. Desire flared as soon as he touched her. Whatever else he might be, Cassie thought wryly, Greydon Sommers was no snob. He didn’t seem to have noticed that he’d transformed into a glittering aristocrat while she was still a drab, aging spy.

As she slid her arms around him, he gasped, “Oww!”

“Sorry!” She stepped out of his embrace. “I forgot your wounded ribs.”

“So did I.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m healing well enough that mostly I don’t feel either of the bullet wounds. Except when they’re touched.” He felt gingerly around the head wound. “Another few days and I’ll be fine.”

“A good thing you kept the beard till now, my lord. If you’d shaved in France, every female we passed would have remembered you.”

He made a face. “It’s strange to look into the mirror and see a man who looks so much like the young idiot I used to be.” He delicately tucked his scarlet blossom behind her left ear, then cupped her face between his lean, strong hands. “Now to see what I can do that won’t hurt my ribs.”

He leaned into a kiss, his lips moving tenderly over hers. His face might not be familiar, but his mouth was. As exotic floral fragrance wafted around her, she closed her eyes and reveled in how he gave so much of himself. Perhaps prison had stripped away the armor most Englishmen used to bury their emotions.

She stroked his lips with her tongue. Such sweetness in the moment. So few moments left.

Remembering she shouldn’t carry on with him under Lady Agnes’s roof, she broke the kiss. “You smell of vinegar,” she said teasingly. “Like a particularly handsome pickled onion.”

He laughed, so lighthearted that she could imagine how he’d been as a youth. “The consequences might be onion-ish, but vinegar did a good job of washing out that brown hair coloring. Kirkland’s valet found me an interesting challenge.”

Her brows rose. “Kirkland is here already?”

“Apparently he set off for Kent in the middle of the night as soon as he received Lady Agnes’s message. He provided the clothing as well as the valet,” Grey explained. “Now where was I?”

He resumed kissing her, and this time sweetness deepened into fire. Her resolve to behave dissolved. She wanted to pull him down into the tropical flowers and rip off those well-tailored garments so they could take advantage of what little time they had left.

“Excuse me if I’m interrupting,” Kirkland’s dry voice said. “I’m glad to see you’re undamaged, Cassandra.”

Cassie jumped as if she’d been caught in adultery rather than sharing a private, if indiscreet, kiss with her lover, while Grey turned rigid. “Did my faithful hound track me down?” He bent to ruffle Régine’s ears as she bounded from Kirkland’s side and began twining between Grey and Cassie.

“She did, though I wouldn’t want to wager what percentage of her is hound.” Kirkland’s cool gaze met Cassie’s. “Shall we adjourn to the sitting area near the entrance so we can relax and discuss what comes next?”

“There’s a way to ruin a previously good day,” Grey said with brittle humor. He rested his hand on the back of Cassie’s waist and ushered her toward the sitting area. “But the sitting part sounds good since I’m fatigued again.”

“You were shot twice yesterday,” Cassie pointed out. “You are entitled to take things slowly for a while. If Lady Agnes summoned a surgeon, he probably told you to spend several days in bed.”

“Indeed he did, the tiresome fellow. I ignored him, of course. How can one rebuild one’s strength without exercise?”

“I see your natural disdain for authority hasn’t changed,” Kirkland observed.

“Disdain for authority is the bedrock of my character.” They reached the sitting area set among the palms and cascading blossoms. Grey folded into the loveseat, tugging Cassie down beside him.

When she was settled, he took firm hold of her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or irritated at his blatant proclamation that they were lovers. Not that it mattered, since Kirkland had already figured it out.

Grey’s tenseness made Cassie uneasy. He’d been fine until Kirkland appeared. Was he angry with his old friend? Or uncomfortable with everyone but her?

Willing to delay the discussion about his future, Cassie said, “This conservatory was a magnificent gift. Ashton must have enjoyed his years here.”

“He did. We all did. Lady Agnes does more than teach Latin, rhetoric, and mathematics,” Kirkland said. “She helps boys fit into their lives.”

That was a gift far beyond the ability to conjugate Latin verbs. Cassie wondered how Kirkland had ended up at Westerfield. She didn’t know the reason even though she’d worked closely with him for years. Kirkland’s reserve didn’t encourage questions.

The other man continued, “Wyndham, have you changed your mind and decided to go to Summerhill right away?”

“I have not,” Grey snapped. “I have no idea how long it will take to screw my courage up. At the least, weeks. Perhaps months.”

Cassie stared at him. “You want to delay seeing your family for that long?” She’d give anything to be with her family again for a single hour. “I thought you got on well with them.”

“I do,” he said starkly. “But I don’t want to return to Summerhill until I’m more like the Greydon Sommers they remember.”

She understood his reluctance, though she suspected his mother would want him back right now no matter what condition he was in. Seeing his agitation, she kept her voice neutral as she asked, “Have you any plans for how to make that happen?”

“None at all.” His hand tightened on Cassie’s. “But I will manage. In time.”

“Do you want to stay in a quiet country cottage somewhere until you get used to England again?” Kirkland frowned as he sought a solution.

Grey gave a twisted smile. “Sounds delightful, but I’d probably never leave. Maybe I should stay here at Westerfield? I don’t think Lady Agnes would mind.”

“She would love it,” Kirkland said, “but you’d run the risk of being seen and identified before you’re ready. Do you think you could stand London? My house is comfortable and you’d be more than welcome.”

Grey shook his head. “Kirkland House is in a fashionable neighborhood. Every time I went outside, I’d run the risk of being identified by my mother’s second cousin or my godfather or someone else who has known me since I was in the cradle.”

“That would be true anywhere in Mayfair,” the other man agreed. “I imagine you don’t want to be cooped up in a house.”

“Or anywhere ever again,” Grey said, his voice edged.

His words gave Cassie an insight as to why he was so skittish about returning to his own world. As heir to an earldom, he’d have wealth and a great deal of freedom, but he’d also be trapped in a gilded cage of responsibilities and expectations. When he was younger, he hadn’t recognized the bars.

If he couldn’t face an immediate return to his family, what would be a good alternative? “You might be better off in London, but living anonymously. You can become accustomed to people while having a safe retreat whenever you need quiet. No one will flutter anxiously outside your door if you go to ground. When you’re ready, old friends can come by one at a time.”

“Exeter Street,” Kirkland said instantly. “That’s brilliant, Cassie. The house was designed to be a sanctuary, and that’s exactly what is needed.”

“What is Exeter Street?” Grey asked warily.

“The location of a house Kirkland owns near Covent Garden. It’s a boardinghouse for his agents when they’re in London,” Cassie explained. “It’s the closest I have to a home. The neighborhood is busy but not fashionable, so you’re unlikely to meet anyone from your former social circles.”

Grey exhaled with relief. “Perfect, if you’ll be there.”

She bit her lip, thinking it would be wiser to disappear now that Grey had been delivered to Kirkland. He needed to manage without her—and she needed to consign him to the past so she could continue her work without distracted thoughts about passionate nights. It was most unfair that he was so meltingly attractive!

But apparently it wasn’t yet time for her to move on. And she wouldn’t mind a little more time with him. Not at all. “I’ll be at Exeter Street for a fortnight or so.”

Grey relaxed. “Good. I’m used to having you around.” Releasing her hand, he got to his feet. “I’m tiring far too fast today, but tomorrow I should be fit for the trip up to London. Are you going upstairs now, Cassie?”

Before she could respond, Kirkland said, “If you have a few minutes, Cassie, I have some questions about what you learned in Paris before going to Castle Durand.”

Such sessions were normal after a mission, though this time the questions would be more complicated. “Of course. I have a message from one of your agents in Paris.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Grey said with a touch of acid. “Feel free to talk about me. I know you will as soon as I’m out of earshot.”

Kirkland looked uncomfortable, but Cassie said tartly, “Of course we’ll talk about you. You’re so utterly fascinating.”

“More of a nuisance than fascinating.” His smile was twisted. “You would have been wiser to have left me to rot in France.”

Chapter 25

Grey stalked off, Régine on his heels, leaving Cassie shaken. Kirkland looked equally uncomfortable.

When Grey was safely out of earshot, she said in her driest voice, “Leaving him in France wouldn’t have been wiser, but he’s right that we’re going to talk about him.”

“Of course we are. He’s the reason we’re both here.” Kirkland leaned forward, his expression worried. “Can you tell me more about his … his mental state?”

Hearing what wasn’t being said, Cassie said reassuringly, “Wyndham’s not mad, though he worries that he might be. His moods can be volatile, his temper can be dangerous, and groups of people upset him badly. But he isn’t broken beyond repair. He just needs time.” Surrendering to curiosity, she added, “What do you think? Is he so different from the way he was?”

“No. Yes.” Kirkland ran stiff fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve been trying to imagine what it would be like to spend ten years locked in a cold stone cell, and—it’s beyond my imagination. I want to help, and I don’t know how.”

“He just needs time,” Cassie repeated. “He’s strong, Kirkland. Much stronger than you or he or anyone else expected.”

“He must be, or he really would have run mad.” Kirkland frowned. “I’m grateful for all you’re doing for him, Cassie. But I’m concerned as well.”

“Because of my services above and beyond the call of duty?” she said, her voice edged. “You’ve always known I’m a slut.”

Kirkland’s eyes flared with rare temper. “You know damned well I’ve never given you reason to think such an appalling thing. I’ve never known a woman I’ve respected more.”

“Perhaps for my spying skills,” she retorted. “You’re good at concealing your true thoughts, but I know that I don’t conform to your priggish Scottish morality.”

His expression turned to ice. “Remind me never to be feverish and hallucinating around you again.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have referred to that. But I’m in no mood for a lecture on how inappropriate it is for me to be lying with Wyndham. You have no need to worry. Once he’s ready for normal society, I shall quietly disappear, the way a woman of no reputation is supposed to. I won’t be an embarrassment to the golden boy.”

She rose and turned to leave, but Kirkland caught her wrist. “I’m not worried about you being an embarrassment, Cassie! Wyndham obviously needs you. You freed him, you know what his prison was like, and he trusts you. You can help him heal from the damage he suffered in prison as no one else can.”

She jerked her wrist free. “Then what are you concerned about? Most men are happy when they have warm and undemanding women in their beds, and I’m fulfilling that role competently.”

“I’m worried about you being hurt. Worse than hurt. Devastated, because you’ve already lost more than anyone should lose in a lifetime.” He stood, looming over her. She tended to forget how tall he was. “People have been falling in love with Wyndham since he was in the cradle. Even now, when he’s angry and suffering from the effects of imprisonment, he has that magnetic charm. But there can be no future for you with him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped, glaring up at him. “Don’t worry, James. I’ve survived worse.” She stalked away, fuming at his words even though they were true. She had indeed survived worse than losing a lover.

But she’d never had a loss like this one.

Temper simmering, Cassie swept out of the conservatory and headed up to her room. She and Kirkland had never quarreled before. And all because the damned man was right. Even damaged and struggling to recover from ten years of hell, Greydon Sommers was far too easy to love—and she could have no real place in his life.

If only her father had listened when she’d begged him to take the family back to England! But she’d been only a child so he’d laughed off her frantic warnings of imminent disaster. At the time she’d not understood why she was so convinced of approaching doom. She’d just known that they should leave France immediately.

In the years since, she’d realized that she had a powerful instinct for danger. That had kept her alive, against all the odds, for a dozen years of perilous work. In the process, she’d been transformed from Catherine, a well-behaved and well-brought-up girl, to Cassandra, a haunted and ignored prophetess and instrument of revenge against the revolution that had destroyed her family.

Her life would have been unimaginably different if they had left France in time. She might have met Grey when they were both young and whole. They might …

She halted at the top of the stairs, startled by the recognition that if they’d met then, he’d never have noticed her. There was nothing special about young Catherine that would have caught the notice of the golden heir to an earldom who was happily sowing wild oats in all directions. She was no more than passably pretty, and as a girl she’d possessed no special charms or talents. The only thing out of the ordinary about her now was her fierce, charmless ability to gather information and survive.

Oddly, that recognition calmed her. She’d have been no use to Grey when she was seventeen, but the woman she was now had been able to free him and get him safely out of France.

She was also in the best position to help him recover from his harrowing experiences. So much more useful than if she were just another girl hopelessly besotted with young Lord Wyndham.

Instead of going to her own room, she tapped on his door. No response. She tried the knob and found the door unlocked. He probably didn’t like being behind locked doors. Or perhaps he wasn’t here at all and had gone for an angry walk across the estate.

She entered the room quietly and saw his long form sprawled across the bed, all angles and gaunt strength. He lay on his side and hadn’t even removed his shoes.

Régine lay beside him, but her head popped up when the door opened. The dog was looking round and well fed.

She jumped down, trotted to Cassie for a head scratch, then left the room. She was probably heading for the kitchen to beg for a handout, or anxious to go outside. She’d taken easily to housebreaking after Grey had adopted her in France.

Cassie moved closer to the bed. Grey looked like a ravaged angel, his face lined with exhaustion. Not just physical fatigue and the aftereffects of being wounded, but the drain on mind and spirit of being back in a world where people had expectations of Greydon Sommers, heir to the Earl of Costain. He’d tried his best to conceal that strain, even from her, but now it was carved into those sculpted features.

She locked the door so no one could enter, then lit the fire laid in the fireplace because the room was chilly. As in her room, the wardrobe held a folded quilt, worn but clean and scented with lavender. She shook it over him, then crawled underneath and lay behind him, molding her body to his and wrapping an arm around his lean waist.

Grey didn’t wake, but he exhaled softly. His hand moved to cover hers where it rested on his chest.

Tension from the difficult scene in the conservatory began to fade as the world narrowed down to this man and this bed and this moment. She was tired, too.

And nothing would soothe her more than sleeping with Grey.

Chapter 26

Grey woke slowly, tired and not happy about the scene with Kirkland. But he was relaxed now. He was safe in England and Cassie was cuddled around him. Peace.

Limited peace. From the angle of the sun, he judged it was late afternoon. Soon he’d have to rise and prepare to dine with Lady Agnes and her friends, and tomorrow he would travel to London. An intimidating thought.

He rolled onto his back, pulling Cassie close against his side. Her eyes blinked sleepily, then opened, blue and hazy and deep with acceptance. She smiled up at him. “Régine was here, so I changed places with her.”

“A good trade.” He tightened his arm around her, grateful that she’d joined him. “It appears that you’re the only person I’m really comfortable with. You, and Régine, and perhaps Lady Agnes. In that order.”

“An interesting list. The only thing we have in common is being female.”

“There’s a reason for that. Females tend to be more forgiving.”

“They certainly are forgiving of handsome men.” She slid her fingers into his hair. “But don’t forget Père Laurent.”

Grey thought of his friend’s infinite acceptance, which was very like Cassie’s, now that he thought about it. Grey needed a lot of acceptance. “It’s a good thing you’re forgiving, my lady fox. I’m asking you to do far too much for me.”

“Never too much,” she said quietly. “London and your old life might seem overwhelming at the moment, but it won’t be long before your wings are fledged and you take flight again.”

He wished he had her confidence. Best to take this reemergence into the world one step at a time. And the present step was to appreciate the woman in his arms.

“I’ve wanted to see you naked in daylight,” he said thoughtfully. “And here we are, nicely private and with late afternoon sunshine pouring in the window. I must take advantage of this situation.” He untied the drawstring at the throat of her ghastly shapeless gown. Opening in front, the garment was intended for a peasant woman who had to be able to dress herself without assistance.

“It isn’t the situation you’re taking advantage of,” she said tartly as she batted away his hand. “It’s me. I rather like being safely blanketed by darkness. Night covers my deficiencies.”

He pulled pins from her hair and combed the thick waves around her shoulders with his fingers. What color was it under the dull gray and brown? A nice glossy brown, he guessed, with a shine reflecting her age and good health. She’d washed the lines of age from her face, revealing a complexion with the transparent purity of porcelain. “You underrate your charms, Cassandra. I may not have been able to see you, but I’ve touched as much of your delicious body as I could, and all of it has been first rate.”

He started on the buttons that closed the front of her bodice. “Your bare skin will certainly be lovelier than this appalling gray gown. An uglier garment I’ve never seen.”

She laughed. “That’s rather the point. No man would look at me twice. Not even once if he could help it.”

“Yet you look astonishingly attractive even so,” he mused. “It’s a great mystery.”

She made a face. “Very well, but you must bare yourself as well.” She tugged at his crumpled cravat. “The only time I’ve seen you with your clothes off was when you were shivering in an icy pond at midnight. I was too afraid you’d freeze to death to admire your manly charms.”

“You don’t really want to see me unclad,” he assured her. “Despite your best efforts to feed me up, I’m still more scarecrow than not.”

She grinned wickedly. “Now you know how I feel about my imperfections. Are you willing to forgo mutual nakedness?”

“I am not,” he said firmly. “It’s worth revealing my bony carcass to see your much more pleasing form.”

“Ah, well,” she said philosophically. “If only beautiful people mated, the human race would have died out long since. We must accept each other’s deficiencies.”

She was opening his shirt when he parted her bodice and chemise, laying bare her lovely breasts. Feeling stronger by the moment, he lapped her nipple with his tongue.

She sucked in her breath, eyes widening. “You intend more than looking?”

“I’m not sure how much more,” he admitted. “I may not have recovered enough for what I would dearly like to do.” He rolled her other nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Shall we see how far I can go? I promise you won’t be left unsatisfied.”

“By all means continue,” she breathed. “But undressing will be easier if we stand.”

“You are a natural leader who always has excellent ideas.” He slid from the bed and took the opportunity to toss more fuel on the fire and kick off his shoes. Then he offered his hand with a courtly gesture. “Join me, my lady, in the prelude to seduction?”

She grasped his hand and alighted from the bed with a smile that made her seem decades younger than her appearance, even younger than he knew her to be. “I look forward to removing your garments one by one, my Lord Wyndham.”

She started with his coat, then attacked his shirt. He knew he was showing too many bones, but there was admiration in her eyes and sensuality in her touch as she skimmed her palm over his bare chest.

“My turn now,” he said with a catch in his breath as she pressed her lips to the hollow at the base of his throat. “That gray gown must go.”

“Resist the temptation to burn it,” she warned. “It’s all I have till I return to London.”

He tugged the coarse garment over her head, making a silent vow to buy her silk in the city. She emerged from the gray folds laughing and luscious in her stays and chemise. The more she removed, the lovelier she became.

Garment by garment, they peeled off each other’s clothing with kisses and laughter. When he removed the worn white chemise, leaving her bare and golden in the late afternoon light, he said huskily, “You are even more beautiful than I realized.”

She tugged his drawers down from his hips with a passing caress that temporarily paralyzed his simple male brain. “Lust is warping your judgment.” Wistfully she added, “Though it’s a lovely lie to hear.”

“I can’t deny the lust, but it’s not warping my judgment.” He removed his drawers entirely. “At least, not about how desirable you are.”

“I’m boringly average,” she protested.

“Not average. Quintessential.” He cupped her breasts in his hands, caressing the warm weight. He moved his hands in a slow circle, feeling her nipples harden against his palms. “Every part of you is exactly right. Your breasts are neither too large nor too small, but a perfect handful.”

He kissed the shadowed cleft between them. “Your skin is remarkable. Smooth and almost luminescent, like a sun-touched marble statue by Michelangelo.”

“You … look … better than you claimed, also. Too thin, but such splendid shoulders!” She ran her hands across them to demonstrate.

She was being kind. He knew his ribs were showing and he’d picked up some ugly scars after his capture in Paris. He wished they’d met when he was young and at his best, but as she said, one didn’t have to be perfect to mate. Fortunately.

“You really are perfect,” he said as he skimmed his palms over her hips and thighs. “Like Botticelli’s Venus born of the sea, your proportions are exactly right. Slim but round in all the right places. Beautifully fit and strong.” He kissed his way down the gentle curve of her belly, becoming more aroused than he would have thought possible. She was deliciously feminine and edible.

She gasped as he swirled his tongue around her navel. “Time to go from vertical to horizontal,” he said in a thick voice. Catching her up in his arms, he laid her onto the bed and came down beside her, resuming his kisses down toward the tantalizing mysteries between her thighs.

She cried out and her fingernails bit into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood when his lips and tongue reached her most sensitive, secret places. Her responsiveness was intoxicating, sending fire through his blood.

She shattered around him, her ecstasy driving him to urgent need. He moved between her legs and joined their bodies, merging them so they were as close as man and woman could be. She gasped. “I see you’ve recovered fully, my lord.”

“You are better than any surgeon for healing, my sweet vixen,” he said breathlessly as he rocked into her.

Laughing, she drew him down as they moved together into bliss. This was even better than his first fierce coupling when he was mad for the solace of her female flesh. This was a joining of spirit as well as bodies beyond anything he’d ever known. “Cassandra,” he gasped. “Catherine …”

Perfection.

Even though that evening’s dinner was in the small family dining room, it was the most watchful meal Cassie had ever consumed. Lady Agnes, General Rawlings, and Miss Emily watched Wyndham, the two women also watched Cassie, and Kirkland watched everyone. Grey was worth watching. Golden haired and with the ability to make his borrowed clothing look custom tailored, he was the model of an English gentleman. He spoke little but was effortlessly magnetic.

No one watched Régine, who’d slipped into the dining room and was resting under the table with her muzzle on Grey’s foot. As long as no one took official notice of the dog, she didn’t have to be ejected. She’d fattened up noticeably since they found her.

The tightness around Grey’s eyes made it clear that he wasn’t comfortable with all the attention, but he bore up under it well. Cassie thought she deserved some credit for having relaxed him so thoroughly that afternoon. Her gaze dropped to the braised beef at the thought. If she’d relaxed him, he’d made her feel desirable.

At the end of the meal, Lady Agnes rose. “Miss Fox, Emily, let us withdraw to the morning room and leave the gentlemen to their port.”

Seeing Cassie’s expression, Lady Agnes said, “You’re surprised that I’m so conventional?”

“Yes,” Cassie admitted as she got to her feet. “I thought you only conform to customs when they suit you.”

Lady Agnes grinned. “You’re very perceptive. Sometimes it suits me to withdraw, and when I do, I have a decanter of the same excellent Ballard port in the morning room.”

Cassie glanced at Grey. He looked wary but resigned to being left with the general and Kirkland. After he gave her a small nod of reassurance, she left with the two older women. Closing the morning room door behind her, she said, “I’d like some of that port to support me in the upcoming interrogation, please.”

Lady Agnes poured three glasses of tawny port and distributed them. “I want to know more about Wyndham’s captivity and rescue. If I ask him directly, he’ll get all stiff and stoic and claim that all is well.”

“Perhaps,” Emily Cantwell said thoughtfully. “But he was always better at speaking his mind than most of our boys.”

“Then, yes,” Lady Agnes agreed. “But he was in reserved English gentleman mode this evening.” She fixed Cassie with a gimlet gaze. “I won’t ask you to violate his privacy, but”—her face tightened—“will he ever … be himself again?”

“He is himself, though it’s a self formed by traveling an unexpected path,” Cassie said gently. “He will become more relaxed in society, I’m sure. But he will never be that uncomplicated golden boy again.”

Lady Agnes exhaled. “I knew that, of course, but it helps to hear it from the woman who knows him best. Of course he’s been changed by his experiences. But I pray that in time he’ll be whole and happy.”

“I always thought he’d be a wonderful father,” Miss Emily said. “He was so patient with the younger boys.” Both women turned assessing gazes on Cassie.

“Are you planning on giving me the lecture about not developing expectations of Wyndham?” she asked with acid sweetness. “No need, Kirkland has already done so.”

Lady Agnes winced. “I didn’t intend a lecture. You’re a woman of the world and you understand the situation. But I do want to thank you for all you’ve done. For rescuing him, for being there as he recovers from all he’s endured. I suspect the price for you will be high.”

“As you say, I am a woman of the world. I have no illusions.” Cassie sipped the excellent port, thinking that Lady Agnes’s comment was another oblique reference to Grey’s general lovability. “Since we are hinting around the subject of Wyndham’s future, I will give you my private opinion. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never marries. Or if he does, it would be far in the future.”

Miss Emily’s brows arched. “You can’t convince me that he has lost his appreciation of women!”

No one knew better than Cassie how much Grey liked women, but this conversation had crystallized an insight. “He likes women very well, but after ten years behind bars, he hates being trapped by society, by responsibility, by other people’s expectations. He will not shirk those responsibilities, but I think that he will see marriage as one set of bars that he can avoid.”

After a long silence, Lady Agnes said, “You’re remarkably clear-sighted, Miss Fox. As a woman who has avoided the bars myself, I can understand that.”

“But it will be a waste of a good father,” Miss Emily said with a sigh.

Grey and Cassie had agreed that afternoon that for discretion’s sake, they should sleep in their separate rooms. But in the dark hours after midnight, Grey’s resolve snapped when a nightmare of darkness and desolation yanked him awake.

Shaking, he crossed the corridor to Cassie’s room. She woke instantly, as a good spy needed to do, and equally swiftly recognized her visitor. Silently she extended a hand. He took it gratefully and slid into the bed next to her.

In her arms, he slept.

Chapter 27

With a groan, Grey sat up in bed. “It’s almost dawn. I’d better slink back to my own room.”

Cassie wrapped an arm around his waist. “This doesn’t seem like the sort of household where anyone is easily shocked.”

“Perhaps not, but I don’t want to put Lady Agnes in an awkward situation.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t complain. You get to stay in this nicely warmed bed.”

“It just got a great deal colder,” she sighed as he stood up.

“We have a cozy journey to London ahead of us. By the time we reach there, you’ll be bored with me.” He opened her door, checked that no one was in sight, and slipped back to his own room, thinking there was a reason people got married. Sharing a bed legally would be much more pleasant than tiptoeing through icy corridors.

He wasn’t going to sleep again, so he dressed and headed downstairs in hopes of acquiring a cup of tea since the kitchen staff started early. He found not only a friendly cook and tea, but toasted bread with honey. He was happily consuming a second slice when Lady Agnes appeared fully dressed and with amusement in her eyes. “Good morning, all.”

As Grey murmured a response, the cook poured a cup of tea, added honey and milk, and handed it to the headmistress. After a deep swallow, Lady Agnes said, “Complications have arisen, Wyndham. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It was easy to fall back into schoolboy mode. Though Lady Agnes didn’t seem upset, he was curious, so he swallowed the last of his toast and honey and followed her upstairs. To his surprise, she led him to her private rooms and threw open the door to her dressing room.

“Behold the complications,” she said with a laugh.

Curled up on an expensive velvet cloak were Régine and three fat little puppies who were blindly nursing. “Good heavens!” Grey knelt to examine the new arrivals, keeping a careful distance away. “Aren’t you looking proud of yourself, Régine. Apart from eating enough for three horses, you kept your secret well. I wonder what the father looked like? The puppies look even more mixed than their mother.”

“They’re adorable,” Lady Agnes said firmly. “Lineage doesn’t matter.”

Grey grinned. “There speaks a woman with some of the bluest bloodlines in Britain.”

“I didn’t choose my ancestors any more than these puppies chose their father.” Lady Agnes swallowed more tea. “I rather like mixed breeds. More surprises.”

Régine briefly looked up from licking the pups, then returned to her washing. Grey got to his feet. “I have no idea how she got in here, Lady Agnes. I will replace the cloak when I have money again.”

Lady Agnes made a dismissive gesture. “No need to worry about that, but you can’t take a new mother and her puppies in a carriage to London.”

He laughed at her expression. “You aren’t the least bit sorry, are you?”

She grinned. “I’ve a weakness for all young creatures, whether children, kittens, or puppies. I’d love to keep one of these. My old dog died a few weeks ago, and I’ve been thinking it’s time I looked for a new pup. There are boys here who would like puppies, too.” She looked thoughtful. “There is one lad in particular who really needs a pup of his own.”

“You can give away the puppies, but I’ll be back for Régine when her offspring are old enough to do without her.” He extended one hand, and when Régine didn’t seem inclined to bite, he scratched her head. “I’ll miss her, though.”

“You’ll just have to keep your Miss Fox close then,” Lady Agnes said blandly.

Grey certainly intended to try.

After a fast trip up to London, the luxurious coach rumbled to a halt in front of Kirkland House. As the footman lowered the steps, Kirkland offered his hand to Grey. “I’ll call in Exeter Street tomorrow. If you need anything, just send word.”

“I’ll be fine.” Grey shook his friend’s hand. “When I feel ready to return to the bosom of my loving family, you’ll be the first to know.”

“More likely the second to know.” Kirkland inclined his head to Cassie, then climbed out of the carriage.

After the door was closed and the carriage resumed its progress across the city, Grey settled back in the seat and took Cassie’s hand. “Was London always this crowded, smelly, and noisy?”

“Yes, which is probably why you’ve buried those memories.” She laced her fingers through his. “Does London make you want to run screaming?”

“Somewhat.” His smile was twisted. “I’m doing better than I would have even a week ago. But I’m glad to be heading to a cave where I can hide for the rest of the day to recover from the journey.”

“For the rest of today, you can relax. But I warn you that as of tomorrow I’ll be marching you out to sample the delights of London,” she said. “Starting with the Covent Garden market. It’s so close to the house that if you run screaming, you won’t even be out of breath by the time you return to your cave.”

“Very thoughtful of you. But I think that if you’re with me, I should be able to control myself under most conditions.” He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know why I find your presence so easy, but I’m grateful for it.”

“I may be easier because I didn’t know you before Castle Durand,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t expect you to be the same as you were at twenty. And because I know you’re not broken beyond repair, I’m not hovering and worrying and missing the glittering Lord Wyndham of fond memory. I’ll settle for seeing you happy as the man you’ve become now.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “The fact that I’m an amazing lover isn’t part of your calculations?”

She laughed. “That belongs on a different set of scales, my lord.”

“Scales of solid gold, I’m sure.” His smile faded as he gazed out the window. “My parents might be in London waiting for Parliament.”

“Perhaps. Even if they’re here, you needn’t see them until you want to.”

“I do want to see them. Just … not yet.” He made an effort to lighten his tone. “I’d rather visit Astley’s Circus or some other entertainment. I assume the Theatre Royal is still in Covent Garden?”

“Yes, though the theater you knew burned down several years ago. A new one was built in the same place, so the shows carry on,” she replied. “Perhaps tomorrow we can go by the theater and look at the playbills to see what’s being performed.”

He hesitated. “I like the theater, but I’m not ready to be part of a rowdy theater crowd, and I can’t sit in a box without the risk of being recognized.”

“Maybe in a week or two,” she said peaceably.

They fell silent, but their hands remained locked together. Grey’s gaze was riveted on the city that was the beating heart of Britain. Cassie thought he was handling the crowds and confusion well. Every day, he became stronger. Better able to manage.

Dusk was approaching when they arrived at 11 Exeter Street. “It’s bigger than I expected,” Grey said as he helped Cassie from the carriage.

“This area was once fashionable and the large houses remain.” She produced her key and led the way up the front steps. “There are enough boardinghouses in the neighborhood that our comings and goings aren’t noticed.”

She opened the door to the small foyer and she and Grey entered, his arm slung affectionately around her shoulders. Inside was a tall, lean man on the point of departure. Cassie stiffened as she recognized the whipcord strength and brown hair.

As he saw her, his serious face lit with a smile. “Cassie! Since I’m leaving for Scotland tomorrow, I stopped by on the off chance you might have just returned.”

Rob Carmichael. Cassie froze as he moved toward her. Then Rob stopped dead, his gaze moving from Cassie to Grey.

“My God, Wyndham, you’re back from the grave!” Rob said with amazed pleasure. His expression changed as he saw and correctly interpreted the casual intimacy between Grey and Cassie. His voice hardened. “You seem to have come out of France smelling of roses, Wyndham.”

“Hardly,” Grey said, frowning as he looked from Rob to Cassie and back.

“I thought you had better judgment than to fall for cheap charm,” Rob said to Cassie, his voice brittle. “Or is it for his money? Wyndham certainly has more than I do, and he had a reputation for being generous to his mistresses.”

“Watch your tongue, Carmichael!” Grey removed his arm from Cassie’s shoulders and stepped forward, his hands tightening into fists. “Apologize to her!”

“For speaking the truth? Not bloody likely!” Rob also moved into a fighter’s stance, his jaw set with fury.

“Stop it, both of you!” Cassie snapped in a voice that could have cut glass. “You’re behaving like children!”

Mrs. Powell, who ran the house with her husband, had been drawn to the foyer by the sound of voices, so Cassie continued, “Mrs. Powell, this is Mr. Sommers and he’ll be staying here for a while. Please take him up to a room.”

When Grey opened his mouth to protest, Cassie gave him a glance that said Go! He didn’t look happy about that, but he followed Mrs. Powell up the stairs.

“No need to send him off,” Rob said, his voice harsh. “I’m leaving. I doubt our paths will cross much in the future, Cassandra.”

“You are not leaving until we talk, Robert,” Cassie said firmly. “In the drawing room.” She grabbed his arm so he couldn’t escape without shaking her off.

After a moment of boulder-like resistance, he accompanied her into the adjoining room. In the better light, Cassie saw pain in Rob’s eyes. Her annoyance evaporated. “I’m sorry, Rob. I didn’t intend that you find out in such a difficult way.”

“I don’t think there is any good way to dismiss a lover,” he bit out.

“You and I weren’t lovers, Rob. We were friends and occasional bedmates when it suited us. We swore no vows of love or constancy.”

“Did you intend to tell me that you were with Wyndham? Or did you hope I wouldn’t find out?”

She sighed. “You and I have never talked about other lovers, though since I’m in France so much, I’ve assumed you don’t always sleep alone when I’m not here.”

“Oddly enough, I have.” His mouth twisted. “I thought we were more than merely convenient bedmates.”

“Yes, but the true bond has always been friendship, not romantic love.” She caught his gaze with her own, wanting him to believe her words. “The friendship and caring and trust have been real, Rob. I would hate to lose that.”

A muscle in his jaw jerked. “Why Wyndham, Cassie? His legendary charm? It was hard to hate him even when I wanted to.”

She frowned. “Why did you want to hate him?”

He shrugged. “Merely because I was jealous that everything came so easily to him.”

And nothing had come easily to Rob. “Perhaps it will make you feel better to know that Grey spent ten years in solitary confinement in a castle dungeon,” she said tartly. “I assure you that surviving that did not come easily.”

“Ten years of solitary confinement?” Rob exclaimed, looking appalled. “Poor devil. You helped him escape?”

She nodded. “We’ve only just returned to England.” Wearily she unfastened her cloak. “I was looking forward to a quiet evening.”

“With Wyndham.” Rob shook his head. “I have trouble imagining you with him. Is it because he needs you for now and you feel bound to help him?”

Why Wyndham indeed? “Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “You never let yourself need anyone or anything, Rob. I’m the same. Both of us are experts at asking for nothing. So self-sufficient that we can’t connect deeply with another human being. With Grey, I … I become someone else.”

Rob’s gaze was searching. “Are you in love with him?”

“A little, I suppose.” She hesitated, not sure how honest she could let herself be. But Rob deserved honesty. “With him, I feel again. It hurts, but it’s … rewarding.”

“Ah, Cassie, I didn’t know you had a shred of romance in your soul.” Rob pulled her into a swift, hard hug. “If you want more than you had with me, I hope you find it. But it won’t be with Wyndham. He’ll never marry you.”

Recognizing that this was an embrace of friends, she relaxed against his hard, familiar body, tears stinging her eyes. Though they might save their friendship, any chance of becoming more was gone. “If I ever had such illusions, I’ve been sufficiently warned by any number of people eager to explain how that will never happen. When Wyndham and I go our separate ways, I won’t be surprised or devastated.”

She was very good at moving on alone.

Rob’s anger was gone, but he sounded wistful when he said, “I thought that someday the two of us might retire to a quiet village where we could bore each other with our old war stories. But that isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“Highly unlikely,” she agreed. “But … Rob, can we be friends again? Please?”

“We can.” He ended the embrace. “But I’m glad I’m off to Scotland. I should be sufficiently busy that I won’t pine.”

“You won’t pine,” she said with a touch of amusement. “I was just a habit.”

“Perhaps, but a good one,” he said quietly. “Take care, my dear girl.”

She watched him leave the room, taut and always ready for trouble, and wished they’d been able to love each other.

Girding herself for another difficult discussion, Cassie headed upstairs. She met Mrs. Powell at the top of the steps.

“I put Mr. Sommers in the room at the back of the house where it’s nice and quiet,” the older woman said. Though she was middle-aged and known for steady good sense and discretion, she gave a girlish giggle. “He’s quite the handsome fellow, he is! How long will he be staying?”

Grey’s charm was obviously recovering along with the rest of him, Cassie thought acerbically. “Several weeks, perhaps. He’s an old friend of Lord Kirkland’s.”

“A lord himself, I’ll be bound,” Mrs. Powell said as she turned to descend the stairs. “I’ll make sure he’s comfortable.”

Cassie headed down the long corridor to the Blue Room. After knocking on the door as warning, she entered before Grey had time to tell her to go away.

He stood at the window watching night fall on London, the dome of St. Peter’s silhouetted against the skyline. He was cool and remote and very much Lord Wyndham.

“I’m sorry for that scene,” she said without preamble. “It was the purest bad luck that Rob Carmichael happened to stop by as we were arriving.”

“Bad luck indeed,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“You knew I was no innocent virgin,” she said with exasperation.

“Neither was I, but my dalliances are all ten years in the past.” After a long silence, he said haltingly, “And … there’s a difference between abstract knowledge and knowing that you’ve been with a man I know and always found rather intimidating.” In a softer voice, he added, “A man who seems very much your sort.”

“Intimidating is a useful trait for a Bow Street Runner,” she agreed, interested in how the two men saw each other. “Will you please stop staring out the window?”

Grey turned, though it was hard to read his expression in the fading light. “I owe you an apology for damaging your affair with Carmichael. While I knew you were a woman of the world, I didn’t realize you had a lover waiting in London.”

“I just had this conversation with Rob,” she said dryly. “He and I have been friends and partners and have shared danger. But though we sometimes shared a bed, that was never the most important part of our friendship.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is the bed the main point of our friendship? Or just part of the nanny service you offer when you rescue fools from captivity?”

She resisted the urge to throw something at him. “I should have let you and Rob break each other’s necks!” She spun on her heel and headed for the door, thinking that Grey was becoming a detached, ironic gentleman all too quickly.

He swore and caught up with her before she reached the door, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her tight against his chest. “I’m sorry, Cassie,” he said intensely. “I didn’t know I had a possessive streak, but with you, I’m different.”

“Circumstances are different,” she said, trying not to melt back into him. “Don’t worry, you’ll recover soon from any mild possessiveness and return to casual affairs where it doesn’t matter who else the lady may be keeping company with.”

His arms tightened around her waist. “A casual affair is not what I want, Cassie.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to be special to you, Cassandra,” he said starkly. “At the beginning I didn’t care if you lay with me from pity or duty, but now I do care. I … I want to be more than just another assignment.”

She swallowed hard. “You are, Grey. Despite what you might think, I’ve never lain with men casually. Certainly not with men I’m escorting to safety.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He kissed the top of her ear. “But … the first time we came together, you said you’d lain with men for worse reasons than comfort and friendship. I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

He didn’t say the words as a question, but she knew it was one. “I’ve told no one my past,” she said in a low voice. “Not the whole sordid story.”

“Perhaps if you do tell someone, the burden will lessen.” His warmth was taking the chill off the evening. “Cassie, you know everything of importance about me, and I know so little about you.” He stroked his hand down her right arm. “Only that you are kind, sensual, dangerous, and fearsomely competent.”

She almost laughed at his list, but her smile faded. She’d locked the past away for so long that it was hard to imagine speaking. Yet he was right. He knew little about her while she’d seen vulnerabilities of his that no one else ever would.

She’d spoken truly when she told Rob that he and she were both too self-sufficient, too unwilling to need or be needed. Her relationship with Grey was different, and much of the reason for that was because he’d been willing to let her see his pain and fears and weaknesses. She owed him the same.

“Very well,” she said wearily as she moved out of his embrace. “But this will take time. If you open the door on the left side of the wardrobe, you should find various drinks to soothe the savage agent.”

Grey whistled when he opened the door and saw shelves of bottles and glasses. “Kirkland knows how to make guests feel welcome. What would you like?”

If she drank brandy, she’d pass out before she got through her story. “Port.”

“Then port you shall have.” As he pulled out the bottle, she folded into a chair and wondered bleakly if she was capable of unveiling the shadows of her past.

But if she could tell anyone, it was Grey. He’d also lived seasons in hell.

Chapter 28

When Grey handed Cassie the glass of wine, she asked, “Where should I start?”

“At the beginning, of course.” He knelt to start the fire laid on the hearth, then settled in the chair opposite her, close enough to touch. The firelight burnished his bright hair and sculpted the strong planes of his grave, patient face.

Cassie stared down into her wine, turning the glass around and around. “My father was English, my mother French. We made long visits to France to stay with her family. My nurse was a Frenchwoman because my mother wanted her children to speak French as well as we spoke English.”

When the silence became too long, he asked, “Children?”

“An older brother and sister. I was the pampered youngest.” She closed her eyes, remembering her father’s warm hug, her mother’s firm but gentle discipline. Her teasing big brother, her beautiful older sister, who had been excitedly planning for her debut.

“We were visiting France when the Reign of Terror began. The adults were concerned and the French relatives were debating whether they should leave the country. But most of the turmoil was in Paris and the Montclair estate was outside Reims, a safe distance away. There was time to decide the best course.”

“But you knew better, young prophetess,” he said when she fell silent again.

“I felt a terrible sense of approaching doom.” Cassie sipped numbly at her port, needing the sweetness and the fire. “I played with local children and overheard their parents’ talk. In the village, I saw radical speakers from Paris who ranted against the rich. I heard my mother’s family accused of vague ‘crimes against liberty.’ I tried to explain all of this to my parents, but because I was only ten, they wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t listen!” Even after so many years, fury and anguish pierced her heart.

“It’s a tragedy that they didn’t listen to you,” Grey said quietly. “But not a tragedy of your making.”

Perhaps not, but she’d never stopped wondering if she’d spoken differently, given her warnings better, she would have been heard. “My father laughed and said soothing words and told me that in a month we’d be home again. By then, it was too late. The Terror had already reached out to destroy us.”

Once more he coaxed her when she fell silent, asking, “How?”

“I didn’t learn this till later, but a band of Parisian sans-culottes was traveling through the village on their way to join the army. They had a barrel of cheap spirits and shared their drink freely. The result was a great drunken riot with the sans-culottes whipping everyone into a frenzy. When their rage became murderous, they marched out to my mother’s family home.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “And … and they surrounded the house and set it afire.”

He caught his breath. “Were you inside?”

Cassie shook her head. “Josette Maupin, a young nursery maid from the Montclair house, often took me to visit her niece, who was my age and a great friend of mine. While I played with my friend, Josette would flirt with her young man. This wasn’t in the village, but a farm in the opposite direction.”

She drank more wine, her gaze on the past. “We went to the farm that day and stayed longer than usual. Coming back, we didn’t know there was trouble until we saw smoke rising. We both began to run. When we reached the edge of the lawn, we saw the house ablaze and surrounded by howling men who shouted insults at the filthy aristos. Anyone who tried to escape the house was shot.”

She swallowed hard, barely able to keep speaking. “My uncle tried to break out. He was carrying a child, my youngest cousin, I think. They were both killed. An old Montclair aunt jumped from an upper window to escape the flames. Even if she survived the fall, she couldn’t have survived the beating after.”

His face reflected her horror. “All of your family was inside?”

“Oui,” she whispered, slipping into French like the child she’d been. “I started to run screaming toward the house, but Josette stopped me. She had friends in the house and was crying as hard as I was. We stayed there in the ornamental shrubbery clutching each other as the house burned. She said we should leave, but neither of us could move. We stayed and watched as the house burned and burned and burned. It lit up the night sky for hours.”

“A funeral pyre,” Grey said softly. “With luck, many of the people inside died quickly of the smoke rather than the flames.”

She hoped so. Dear God, she hoped so. “Finally the burning house collapsed into embers and we crept away. Josette took me to her family, promising that I’d be safe. My expensive garments were burned and I was given a plain gown that belonged to one of her nieces. Her family was … so kind.”

That was Cassie’s first experience of disguise, for not only was she given a peasant girl’s gown, but Josette had used a color rinse to dull her distinctive hair.

“Josette married her sweetheart and moved to his family’s farm, which was still farther away. I went with her under the name Caroline Maupin and was described as an orphaned cousin. Catherine St. Ives was dead.”

“How long did you live as Caroline?”

“Almost six years. I never forgot that I was English and I planned to go back to England when the fighting finally ended, but most of the time I was just a girl busy with day-to-day life on a farm very like that of the Boyers. They treated me as a member of the family, for there was always work for a pair of strong hands.” She finished her port and set the glass aside so she could rub her cold hands together.

Quietly Grey leaned forward and took her hands in his warm clasp. “What happened then?”

She drew a ragged breath. “There were people in the area who knew I was Catherine St. Ives, but they didn’t report me because I was only a child. That protection disappeared when I grew up. I don’t know what happened. Perhaps there was a promised reward for information about enemies of France. Perhaps I slighted a potential suitor.

“For whatever reason, I was reported to the local gendarmerie as an English spy.” She gave a burst of near hysterical laughter. “I was fifteen! I lived on a farm and milked cows and made cheese. What did I know of spying?”

“Facts don’t matter where there is fear and hatred,” he said, his hands tightening over hers. “You were arrested?”

“In the village square on market day. I was selling cheese and eggs.” She drew a shuddering breath, barely able to speak, then spat out the words in a torrent. “I was taken to Reims, judged and condemned, raped by two guards, and thrown in a cell to rot.”

“Dear God in heaven.” Swearing in two languages, Grey scooped her from her chair and cradled her shaking body on his lap, his body the only warmth in a world of cold, bleak memory. “How did you escape?”

She buried her face against his shoulder, struggling not to dissolve into tears. If she started to cry, she feared she’d never stop.

“After a year or so, a new guard arrived who rather fancied me. He’d talk through the grill in the door. When he was sober, he’d promise me special treatment if I was kind to him. When he was drunk, which was more common, he threatened to take what I wouldn’t give him.” His foul breath had seemed to fill the whole cell as he described all the things he wanted to do to her.

“I’d reply that I’d be sweet as marzipan if he’d let me out of the cell. He laughed at that. I knew his patience was running out, so one day I accepted his offer. He waited until it was after midnight, then came into my cell. I let him have his way with me.” She gagged at the memory before finishing in a raw whisper, “When he was done and sweaty and half asleep, I killed him with his own knife and escaped.”

Saturated by unbearable memories, she dissolved into wrenching, uncontrollable sobs. She was barely aware when Grey lifted her from his lap and transferred her to the bed. Lying alongside her, he wrapped his warm body around her cold, shaking limbs, her back tucked against his front as he murmured soothing words into her ear.

She cried until there were no more tears left and she felt as dry as dust. But as she finally fell into the sleep of utter exhaustion, she realized that in Grey’s arms she felt safe for the first time since her father died.

Grey held Cassie close as the last light faded from the sky and the fire burned down into embers. His muscles were stiff from not moving, but he didn’t want to disturb her. Didn’t ever want to let her go.

He’d taken her strength for granted, drawing on it as if she had limitless reserves. He never once thought of how that strength had to be hard won. He was a selfish fool.

Finally, she stirred in his arms. “How are you?” he asked softly.

“Water?” she asked for in an almost inaudible whisper.

He rose and fumbled his way across the room. After lighting a lamp, he filled a glass with water from the pitcher and carried it to the bed, then raised her to a sitting position so she could drink. When she’d emptied the glass, she lay back on the pillows again, dark shadows under her bleak eyes.

Since the room was cold, he rebuilt the fire. Then he found a folded blanket in the wardrobe and spread it over her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stroked her back. She looked like a crumpled child, not a supremely capable woman. “I’m sorry I pressed you to talk about your past.”

“I’m not sorry,” she said unexpectedly. “Speaking of what happened released some of the pain. Put more distance between then and now.”

“Then I’m glad you told me.” Though her memories would give him nightmares. “Sometimes I’m ashamed of my sex. You’ve been treated abominably by men.”

“Yes, but I’ve also been treated very well by other men. Kirkland has been a combination of friend and brother, almost a father sometimes. There have been others.” She sighed. “Women can also behave very badly.”

“I’m amazed you will allow any man to touch you.” His hand came to rest on the curve of her hip. “Grateful, but amazed.”

“I had a craving for touch just as you did.” She laid her hand on his. “It took a long time, but I found that with a man I trusted, I could tolerate the intimacy because I needed the warmth. With time and kindness, I came to enjoy the intimacy as well.”

He looked at her tired eyes, realizing that there were mysteries in her past that he’d never know. That he had no need, or right, to know. Softly he said, “You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known.”

“Merely good at surviving.” Her lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile. “I was once told that I didn’t have a shred of feminine delicacy.”

Grey was surprised into a laugh. “I hope you took it as a compliment. How did you find Kirkland?”

“I wanted to return to England, and since there was no legal way to cross the channel, I looked for a cooperative smuggler,” she explained. “It took time. I worked at different jobs along the coast, usually as a barmaid, until eventually I found Marie.

“When we came to trust each other, I told her I wanted to go to England and learn to become a spy against Napoleon. After she discussed me with her brother, Pierre delivered me to the Nashes in England on his next crossing. They sent me on to Kirkland, and three days later I was in London telling him he needed me as an agent.”

“And he was wise enough to take you on.” Grey studied her weary face. He’d thought her plain when he first saw her, but he had long since stopped judging her appearance. She was simply Cassie, unique and unforgettable. A woman who made him feel both desire and tenderness. “Are you hungry?”

She frowned. “I do believe I am.”

He rose from the bed. “I’ll find my way down to the kitchen and steal some food.”

“No need to steal. There will be soup on the hob and cold meats and cheeses and bread in the pantry. If Mrs. Powell is there, she’ll flirt with you.”

“I should hope so.” He ventured a smile. “I shouldn’t like to think I’ve lost my touch. I’ll bring up a tray, we’ll eat, we’ll sleep properly, by which I mean not fully dressed, and tomorrow we’ll decide how to amuse ourselves in London.”

“I shall like that.” She caught his hand, her gaze intense. “But before we sleep, I want you to help me forget, if only for a little while.”

He never received a greater honor in his life. He suspected he never would. “It shall be as you wish, my lady vixen. Tonight we give each other the gift of forgetting.” He kissed her hand before reluctantly releasing it. “And tomorrow, we will each be another day further from our demons.”

Chapter 29

Cassie woke with a smile the next morning, Grey’s golden head on her breast, and his arm around her waist. He’d done his generous, passionate best to separate her from her tormented memories, and he’d succeeded. She felt lighter and freer than she had since her childhood. The past couldn’t be altered, but now it felt more like … the past.

Their night hadn’t involved large amounts of sleep, but Cassie and Grey were both in a good mood for carefree roaming across London. The sun had even come out for them, which Cassie privately thought a good omen.

They set off early to nearby Covent Garden market. There they drank steaming hot tea and ate sweet buns from a stall while they watched carts of fresh foods rattle by to feed the city. The bustle was cheerful, the scents of vegetables and early flowers a pleasant contrast to the usual city smells. Spring was arriving, and the market grew steadily busier and brighter.

When they’d seen enough of the market, they boarded the plain carriage Kirkland had provided. The driver drove them west through the city by a twisting route that took the coach past many of London’s great landmarks, from churches and palaces to the quiet squares of wealthy residential Mayfair.

As he gazed at buildings lining the Strand, Grey said, “I’ve ridden or walked down here countless times, yet it seems new and wonderful all over again. The Strand reminds me that I’ve come home. I’ve always loved London.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Cassie said with a smile. “I know a pleasant waterside tavern down in Chelsea. I thought we might dismiss the carriage and eat very English food at the tavern, then hire a boat to take us downriver again.”

“I like that idea.” He looked thoughtful. “I think I’ll ask the driver to take us past Costain House to see if the knocker’s up and my family is in town.”

“If they’re in residence, will you want to climb the steps and rap on the door?” she asked. “Return of the prodigal?”

His face shuttered. “Not yet.”

The knocker at Costain House wasn’t up, which spared Grey any second thoughts, but Cassie thought it was progress that he was interested in his parents’ whereabouts. After traveling through Mayfair, they headed down to Chelsea, where they consumed good British ale and hot meat pies with flaky crusts.

As Grey finished his third pie, he said, “If I had any doubts, this beef and onion pie would prove I’m home.” He brushed crumbs from his lap. “I’m looking forward to seeing the city from the water.”

“If you like, tomorrow we can go east to the Tower of London and the great shipping docks.” Cassie got to her feet, feeling full and satisfied. “What do you think of that skiff down there? The one painted yellow.”

“The boatman looks sober, and I like the cheerful color,” Grey replied. “Let’s see what outrageous amount he’ll try to charge us.”

The amount quoted was indeed outrageous, but it didn’t take long to bargain down to a rate that satisfied everyone. As the boat skimmed along the river, Grey said, “Much more comfortable than the last boat ride we took.”

“So true.” Cassie shuddered at the memory of their fraught journey across the channel. “Look, here comes a chicken boat!”

They sailed by a dinghy filled with cages of screeching, indignant chickens. A small red feather blew into Cassie’s hair. Grey removed it and tucked it in his pocket, saying playfully, “A token of my lady! I shall cherish this chicken feather forever.”

The comment dimmed Cassie’s mood a little as she wondered if he actually would keep the silly feather. Probably not. She didn’t think she’d leave many traces in his life. No matter. They were enjoying a lovely day now.

After the boatman set them off, they walked the rest of the way back to Exeter Street. As Cassie pulled out her key, Grey said, “I’m tired and looking forward to dinner and a quiet evening.”

She guessed that being around so many people had caused the fatigue. “You did well,” she said as she inserted the key in the lock. “You didn’t run screaming once.”

“Male pride is returning,” he explained. “The desire to run screaming is surpassed by my desire not to look like a complete coward in front of a lovely woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your gilded tongue has certainly recovered.”

They were both chuckling as they entered the foyer. The door that led to the drawing room on the right was open, and Cassie heard a familiar female voice inside. Pleased, she called, “Kiri, is that you?”

“Cassie!” Dark haired and stunning, Lady Kiri Lawford emerged from the drawing room and enveloped Cassie in a hug. “Since we’re going to the theater and were in the neighborhood, I decided to drop by some new perfumes for when you returned, but I didn’t expect to see you. I’m so glad you are safely home again!”

Cassie laughed and hugged her friend with care, since Kiri was dressed in a dashing green evening gown. “I am a woman of mystery, my movements never to be predicted.” Then she registered the fact that Kiri had said “we.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve cheated the devil again, Cassie,” a deep voice said.

Cassie looked over Kiri’s shoulder as a tall, powerfully built man entered the foyer from the drawing room. Damian Mackenzie was smiling and more than handsome in formal evening wear.

Cassie’s first reaction was pleasure. She always enjoyed Mackenzie, and it was hardly surprising to see him with his new wife.

Her second reaction was, Damnation! But it was too late for retreat. Mac’s gaze moved behind her and he stopped dead. “Ye gods, is that you, Wyndham?” he breathed. “Or am I hallucinating?”

Even without looking, Cassie sensed Grey tensing, but his voice was steady as he stepped forward. “It’s early in the evening for hallucinations, Mac.” He offered his hand. “So I think I must be real.”

Mackenzie’s face lit up. “Kirkland would never admit you were dead, and damned if he wasn’t right again.” Exuberantly he seized Grey’s hand in both of his. “I’ve never been so glad to be wrong in my life!”

Seeing Grey next to Mackenzie’s broad, athletic figure made Cassie realize how thin Grey still was. But he smiled with genuine pleasure as he shook Mac’s hand. “I’m rather pleased about it, too.” He bowed to Kiri. “And surely this magnificent creature is your wife, Ashton’s sister?”

“You’re as good at flattery as Mackenzie, Lord Wyndham.” Kiri’s shrewd gaze moved from Grey to Cassie. “You must be tired, so we won’t keep you with questions about what happened.” She glanced at her husband. “We need to be on our way to the theater. Cassie, may I call on you tomorrow to catch up on the gossip?”

“I’d love to see you, but not before midafternoon since we’ll be out earlier.” Cassie caught her friend’s gaze. “Don’t tell anyone we’re back.”

“So you’re not yet officially returned, Wyndham?” Mackenzie commented. “I imagine adjusting to London takes time after ten years abroad.”

“Especially after ten years in prison,” Grey said tersely. He and Cassie had discussed what he would say about his long absence, and he’d decided to keep the explanation as simple as possible. Kiri and Mac were in the inner circle who might be told more, but the details could wait.

“Then we’ll not speak of it until the miracle is official.” Mac hesitated. “Is there any single-sentence explanation you can give to assuage my curiosity?”

Grey’s mouth twisted. “I was a fool, and paid for it with ten years of my life.”

“Was a woman involved?” When Grey nodded, Mackenzie said, “Some night when we’re drunk enough, I’ll tell you how being foolish about a woman got me flogged, almost hanged, and tossed out of the army.”

Grey’s smile turned genuine. “Good to know I’m not alone in my foolishness.”

Kiri shot her husband a curious glance. Cassie had the sense that Kiri knew the story, but was surprised that Mac was willing to talk about it. Mackenzie must have guessed that sharing his failings would make his old friend feel better.

Mac laid his hand on the small of Kiri’s back to usher her out. “If there is anything I might do to ease your return, Wyndham, Cassie knows where to find me.”

When they were gone, Grey wrapped his arm around Cassie and drew her close. “Obviously this house is not as private as you and Kirkland thought. I wonder what old schoolmate will pop in next?”

“I didn’t give enough thought to the fact that this is a center for Kirkland’s work,” Cassie said apologetically. “I can’t think of any other old schoolmates who might appear, but that may be lack of imagination on my part.”

“Will Mackenzie or Lady Kiri tell others that I’ve returned from the dead?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. The first thing Kirkland’s agents learn is discretion.”

“That gorgeous creature Mac married is another agent?” Grey asked, surprised, as they headed up the stairs side by side. “For that matter, I didn’t know that Mackenzie dabbled in the murky undercurrents of intelligence work.”

“That wasn’t very discreet of me to reveal that,” Cassie said ruefully. “Though you would have figured it out quickly enough.”

“Lady Kiri was an unlikely visitor to a spy house,” Grey agreed. He was looking drained by the day’s activities.

“A pity so many people liked you,” she said as she opened the door. “It makes for very energetic celebrations of your return to life.”

Grey’s expression eased. “Mackenzie was always energetic. Rather like a large and likable puppy. Now that I see Mac again, I realize that there must have been more going on under his surface than I realized when I was a callow youth.”

“Isn’t that true for everyone?” She unfastened her cloak. “More under the surface than is visible?”

“Not me. I was entirely on the surface.” He hung their cloaks in his wardrobe. “No more substance than a sparrow.”

“Not a sparrow. A glittering golden finch.”

He laughed. “I am correctly classified. Thank you, Catherine.”

His brows drew together when he saw her shiver at his use of her real name. “I won’t call you Catherine if it bothers you. I’ve always thought it a lovely name, and it suits you. But if it calls up too much pain …”

“The name does call up deep feelings, but it’s not all pain.” She considered. “I wouldn’t want the whole world to call me Catherine, but I don’t mind if you do sometimes.”

“Very well, Catherine.” He brushed a kiss on her hair. “Cassandra. Cassie. The names suit different aspects of your personality.”

She narrowed her eyes and said mysteriously, “I am a spy, a woman of a thousand disguises. With whom will you sleep tonight?”

Laughing, he drew her into his arms. “All of you!”

Chapter 30

Cassie and Grey were discussing a boat ride down to Greenwich when Kirkland appeared to ruin their breakfast. “What’s wrong?” Cassie asked as soon as she saw him.

“Am I that obvious?” he said tiredly.

Cassie’s “Yes” clashed with Grey’s “No.”

“I’m glad I can still mystify some people.” Kirkland accepted the cup of steaming tea that Cassie poured for him. After a deep swallow, he said, “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news, Wyndham. I’ve just learned that your father is critically ill.”

Grey’s face paled. “At Summerhill?”

Kirkland nodded. “I don’t know any details, but … I’m told his life is despaired of. You might want to reconsider visiting your family as soon as possible.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. Can you arrange a carriage?”

“I’ll have one here first thing in the morning.”

Grey turned to Cassie, his gaze stark. “Will you come with me? I can’t manage this on my own.”

She gasped. “I can’t go with you to your family estate!”

Grey caught her hand. “Please, Cassie! I need you.”

“If you need support, take Kirkland.” Cassie shot a burning glance at the other man. Wyndham was supposed to be Kirkland’s project, not hers!

“It isn’t me he needs, Cassie. But you’ve already done more than enough.” Kirkland rose from the table. “I need to speak with the Powells, so I’ll leave the two of you to sort this out.”

“Tactful of Kirkland to let us argue in private,” Cassie said after the door closed. “But the answer is the same. Taking your mistress to your family home would be scandalous under any conditions, much less when your father may be dying.” Her mouth tightened. “Nor will anyone believe a man like you with a woman like me.”

Grey looked blank. “Why not?”

“Look at us! A gentleman and a washerwoman.” Furiously she stood and yanked on his arm, pulling him to his feet so they could see their reflections in the mirror above the sideboard. Grey was not only strikingly handsome, but in an aristocratic way. Cassie looked like an aging peasant, not fit to be even his servant. “Unattractive men with money can easily find a beautiful woman, but handsome men with money don’t choose plain, aging women.”

He studied their images in the mirror. “Strange. I see a fractured man who can barely manage day to day, and a woman with the heart of a lion and more beauty than she allows the world to see.”

She bit her lip, fighting an urge to weep. “You may believe that, but no one else will look at us as you do.”

Turning from the mirror to her, he said, “I agree that you can’t go as my mistress. That would be most improper. You must go as my fiancée.”

Cassie thought she was beyond shock, but at that, her jaw dropped. “I told Kirkland that you weren’t mad, but apparently I was wrong!”

He smiled. “When you’re better dressed, no one will question us being together.”

“But there isn’t time for new clothing!” she said with exasperation as she thought of her wardrobe. There wasn’t a single item suitable for wearing at a nobleman’s country estate. The plain dark clothing she kept here in London would have suited a middle-aged widow of modest means. Not a single garment could claim to be fashionable or flattering. “Old gowns from a rag shop will not turn me into a plausible fiancée and there’s time for nothing else.”

Ignoring her comment, he said earnestly, “You don’t have to marry me. Why on earth would you want to? Just pretend to be my intended bride for a week or two until I’ve come to terms with my family. Then you can end the engagement and return to London.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” She shook her head, her throat tight. “My family was not of your rank, but I was raised to be a lady. I was a child when that life ended. I’ve lived as a farm girl, a prisoner, a peddler, a spy, a dozen other things. I would be as out of place at your home as that washerwoman.”

“I don’t believe that,” he retorted. “You have played many roles convincingly, and this one you were born to. It will only be for a few days, a fortnight at most. I hate that you will be uncomfortable, but I know you can do this.”

Perhaps. But the idea of acting as a lady terrified her, and pretending to be Grey’s betrothed was even worse. “The risk is too great for you,” she argued. “What if I want to become a countess and claim that the betrothal is real? You’d either be stuck with me or caught in a dreadful scandal.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” His dark-edged eyes turned thoughtful. “Though I wouldn’t object if you held me to it. I just can’t imagine that you’d want to.”

Not want to marry him? Dear God, even thinking of the possibility muddled her mind. The fact that he still needed her so much that he was willing to obliquely suggest marriage was the wickedest temptation she’d ever known.

But if she took advantage of his present weakness, they’d both regret it. “It would be so much easier if you’d just trust your family, Grey,” she said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “You don’t need a stranger at Summerhill at such a difficult time.”

“I don’t need a stranger, but I do need you, Cassie,” he said quietly. “And you promised not to leave me as long as I need you. I swear I’ll never ask anything of you again, but please come with me. You were right that it will be difficult with my father’s life in doubt. If … if the worst happens, a great deal of responsibility will come crashing down on me. I’m much less likely to break under the strain if you’re with me.”

She swore to herself, knowing that it had been a mistake to make such a sweeping promise. But she’d given him her word. Even if she hadn’t, she couldn’t abandon him now. “Very well, but I’ll need to find some fashionable clothing very quickly.”

A knock sounded on the door of the dining room. “Is it safe to come in?” Kirkland asked.

“Come in. The golden boy has prevailed again,” Cassie said tartly. “I’ll go with Wyndham to Summerhill.”

“I’m glad you’re willing,” Kirkland said, relieved. “Tomorrow, not today?”

Grey nodded. “We need time to get ready. Also, the extra day allows time for a message to be sent to my mother so she’ll know I’m coming. She can decide whether or not to tell my father. I wouldn’t want to kill him from shock.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Kirkland said. “What else can I do to help?”

“I’ll need some more of your clothing.” Grey grimaced. “Black. Just in case.”

Kirkland nodded. “What do you need, Cassie?”

“Can you take me to Kiri Mackenzie’s house when you leave?” Cassie asked. “She’s the most fashionable woman I know, and I’m praying she can render me respectable by tomorrow.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

Grey shook his head. “I’m going for a long walk so I can think myself into the proper state of mind.”

Cassie’s brow furrowed. “Shall I go with you?”

His gaze was hooded. “No, you need a wardrobe and I … need to be alone.”

That made sense, given that they’d been together day and night since Castle Durand, but it felt strange not to be watching out for Grey. Kirkland, more pragmatic, pulled a sleek little pistol from under his coat and offered it to Grey. “I trust you remember how to use one of these?”

“I do.” Grey studied the weapon without enthusiasm. “I suppose I could use this if necessary, but the real purpose is that you’ll feel better knowing I’m armed.”

“Exactly right,” Kirkland said. “I’d also suggest a less expensive coat and hat.”

“Disguising myself even in my native land,” Grey murmured. He gave Cassie a swift kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

She said lightly, “Can’t I worry just a little?”

“If you find it entertaining.”

Watching him go, Cassie thought wryly that if he got himself killed in the streets, at least she wouldn’t have to go to Summerhill.

Impatiently Grey changed into a nondescript coat provided by Mr. Powell, added an equally shapeless hat, and headed east. He wanted to stretch his legs, see more of London. Pull his cracked self together so he could be the son who was needed at Summerhill.

And somewhere along the way, he wanted to find a good fight.

Cassie had never visited Mackenzie’s house, and it proved to be a handsome building right next door to his club, Damian’s. As she waited for a footman to announce her to Kiri, she studied the furnishings, seeing attractive Indian accents that must have been added by the new mistress of the house.

“Cassie, what a pleasure!” Lady Kiri swept into the entry hall and hugged her guest. “I was writing letters, very tedious. Much better to hear of your adventures!”

Cassie gave her bonnet and cloak to the footman and followed Kiri to the pleasant morning room, which included a desk with papers and pen. “Adventures can come later,” Cassie said. “First I must throw myself on your mercy, for I’m in dire need of your services.”

“Perfume? Of course.” Kiri settled gracefully into the chair by her desk and gestured for Cassie to sit opposite.

“Much more than perfume is required,” Cassie said grimly as she took the chair. “Tomorrow I must accompany Wyndham to his family seat in the guise of his betrothed, and I need to be transformed into someone whom he might plausibly wed.”

Kiri’s eyes widened. “You are to be a false fiancée? Why?”

Cassie explained tersely. When she was done, Kiri said, “This is a difficult mission for many reasons, yes? Because this time it is more than playacting.”

“You have put your finger on my uneasiness,” Cassie said slowly. “I am too involved with Wyndham for this to be easy. Also …” She looked down at her knotted fingers and realized she was feeling an anxiety very different from the straightforward fear of death or imprisonment that was a constant threat in France.

“Also … ?” Kiri prompted gently.

“For the first time, I must enter the world I was born to, but lost,” Cassie said haltingly. “I survived by accepting that that world was lost and moving forward, always forward. Now I must pretend to belong in that lost life, and the thought is … terrifying.” Her throat closed.

“I’m trying to imagine myself in your situation, and I can’t. But I see it would be deeply unnerving.” Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “Might this be easier if you look in the mirror and see a stranger instead of yourself? That would be more like playacting.”

“Perhaps.” Cassie bit her lip as she recognized another possibility. “I don’t want to lie to Grey’s family since he’ll have to live with them, so I should use my real name. That way if an old aunt asks about my family, I can give a real answer rather than make something up and possibly be caught out.”

Kiri noted her use of Grey’s personal name without comment. “I can have cards printed for you today so you’ll have them to support your role.”

“You can get cards made in a day?” Cassie asked incredulously.

“There are many advantages to being daughter and sister to a duke,” Kiri explained. “Here’s pencil and paper. Write down what the cards should say.”

Cassie wrote out her birth name for the first time in almost twenty years. “This feels strange. I am no longer Catherine St. Ives.”

“Part of you is, despite all that has happened. It may not be a bad thing to become better acquainted with Catherine.” Kiri’s brows arched when she saw what Cassie had written. “Next, appearance. Can that hair coloring you use be washed out? Not only is the color ugly, but it dulls your hair.”

“The color can be washed out with vinegar, but I don’t want to go to my natural color.” Cassie made a face. “It’s a violent red that was the bane of my childhood. I was happy to have a reason to dye it brown. I haven’t seen the original color since I was a child, and good riddance.”

The color had worn off when she was in prison. After her escape, she’d worn a head scarf and avoided mirrors until she could make and apply a batch of the coloring.

“If you wish to create a role that is not you, what better place to start than with Catherine St. Ives’s hair? It will have darkened over the years so it will be a less alarming shade of red now.” Kiri made a note on her list. “Clothing. You will need at least two good day dresses, another for evening wear, and a riding habit. Plus the undergarments and shoes and cloaks and other accessories.”

Cassie sighed. “Which will be impossible to obtain by tomorrow. At least, not clothing of the quality the role requires. Even more middling garments will be difficult on such short notice.”

“Nonsense. My sister, Lucia, is close to you in size. I shall ask her to send over several gowns she can spare that will suit your coloring. I shall also summon the splendid Madame Hélier, modiste for all the women in my family. She may have partially completed garments that would suit you, and she has seamstresses who can do quick alterations.” Kiri grinned. “This will be such fun!”

“I’ll wager you liked playing with dolls when you were a girl,” Cassie said dryly.

“Indeed I did. I turned them into beautiful warrior queens.”

Cassie had no trouble imagining that. “Like you? But I am neither beautiful nor a warrior queen.”

Kiri’s eyes gleamed. “You will be when I’m finished with you.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to think coming here was a mistake.”

“I promise you’ll thank me for it later.” Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “Might you be ready to wear the perfume I created for you?”

Cassie’s heart clutched as she thought of roses and frankincense, lost dreams and darkest night. Was she ready for that much truth? Haltingly she said, “Perhaps … I am.”

“Truly you will not regret it,” her friend said quietly. “Now let me send off these notes to summon my troops, and then we’ll go to work on that hair!”

Chapter 31

Grey headed east across London at a ground-eating pace. He needed to burn off the seething anxiety induced by his imminent return to his family home.

After years of captivity and weeks of travel by horse, boat, and carriage, it felt good to stretch his legs. He also discovered a new kind of freedom in having no one know where he was.

To his surprise, it even felt good to be alone. After ten years of solitary confinement, he’d been hungry for human contact only to find that crowds sent him into a flat panic. Only with Cassie was he truly comfortable, though he could manage a few friends like Père Laurent or Lady Agnes or Kirkland.

He hoped he’d be able to retrieve Régine soon. He’d need her company because soon he wouldn’t have Cassie. The thought of living without her was a pain so deep he didn’t have words to describe it. But even her superb kindness couldn’t hide her impatience to be free of her nursemaid duties so she could return to her real work.

He was a little ashamed of invoking her promise to stay with him as long as she was needed so that she’d come with him to Summerhill. Though not ashamed enough to wish he hadn’t done it.

With his father critically ill, of course he must return home. The prospect had been paralyzing even before he’d learned of his father’s illness. Now it was worse.

He didn’t doubt that they’d welcome him. The problem was facing them. Even more than his lifelong friends, his family had expectations and memories of him. They were the people he’d hurt the most. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting them more by being so different from what they remembered.

The situation was made much more difficult by his father’s critical illness. If Lord Costain died …

Grey shuddered, not wanting to think of it.

He suspected that once his family’s initial shock was over and all the explanations had been made, he’d be able to manage, with Cassie’s help. Then he’d prepare himself for the even more devastating challenge of saying good-bye to her.

He set aside his worries about returning home and concentrated on London. He’d reached the busy stretch of the Thames called the Pool of London, which stretched east from London Bridge. There was a forest of masts from the sailing ships moored two and three deep at the public quays. Sailors of many nations walked the streets and exotic scents and accents overlaid the usual smells of London.

He found that the crowds didn’t bother him much as long as he stayed on the edges. Apparently his fear of crowds was diminishing.

He paced along the quays, studying the ships. Once he’d dreamed of boarding such a vessel and sailing to distant lands. France had been his first venture from England’s shores. It had not turned out well.

He wondered if he’d ever regain that desire to travel. At the moment, the idea of never setting foot out of Great Britain was immensely appealing.

He walked and explored for hours. It was well into the afternoon before he realized that he really should eat. He was walking past a tavern called the Three Ships, which seemed as good a place as any. Grey entered, inhaling the tang of hops and good English ale mixed with the scent of fish and meat and baking. England. Home.

Eight or ten men were clustered in small groups in the taproom. Stevedores by the look of them. Kirkland had given Grey cash to tide him over until he had his affairs sorted out. In a mood of reckless generosity, Grey called to the landlord, “I’m just back to England after too many years abroad, so I’ll stand every man here a drink. Including one for you, sir.” He laid coins on the counter.

That raised a murmur of approval from the other patrons. A grizzled older man raised his refilled tankard. “Here’s to your health, sir, and welcome home!”

Most of the customers collected their drinks with thanks, but good will wasn’t universal. A particularly burly stevedore sneered, “What’s a flash cove like you doing in our tavern?”

So much for the disguising effects of a shapeless coat and hat. “Buying beer for my fellow Englishmen,” Grey said mildly. “Would you like one?”

The man spat. “I don’t need nuthin’ from a so-called gentleman like you.”

“What kind of fool doesn’t want free beer, Ned?” the grizzled man asked indignantly. “I’m happy to drink the gentleman’s health.”

The significant glance he cast at his tankard had Grey putting more coins on the bar. “Seconds all around for those who want them.”

This suited everyone except Ned. He swaggered up to Grey, smelling like sour gin. “Don’t need you here, puttin’ on your airs!”

Using his most supercilious voice, Grey drawled, “I do believe that you are looking for a fight. Am I correct?”

“Bloody right I am!” Ned swung a furious punch.

Fierce joy coursed through Grey’s veins. He’d been spoiling to smash his fists into someone, and finally his opportunity had arrived.

He dodged to one side so he wouldn’t be trapped against the bar. Ned was taller and three or four stones heavier, but his fighting was based on strength, not skill. Grey easily blocked or avoided his punches while landing several good hits himself.

When Ned swung a particularly wild blow and became unbalanced, Grey caught his wrist, then flipped the man onto his back. Ned landed with a mighty “Ooof !”

“Take it outside!” the landlord barked.

Grey balanced lightly on his toes, ready to move in any direction. “Had enough?”

“No, by God!” The stevedore lurched to his feet. “No skinny gent like you can lick Ned Brown!”

“Then let us move outside.” Grey made a sweeping bow that he knew would irritate the stevedore, then exited before Ned could attack again.

They resumed their fight outside on the windy street. The patrons from the Three Ships followed, beers in hand and placing bets on the outcome. Ned was apparently a well-regarded street fighter and he was favored at first over the “skinny gent.”

But Grey had been trained well at Westerfield, where sparring with other boys was the favorite sport. Later he’d had boxing lessons at Jackson’s Saloon before traveling to France. His muscles remembered the feints, strikes, and kicks.

He reminded himself that this was no fight to the death, just a tavern brawl as an outlet for his churning emotions. Though he was careful not to cause real damage, he gloried in the physical release.

Ned managed to connect with a few glancing blows that would leave bruises, including one across Grey’s cheek, but Grey was faster and more agile. When Ned started wheezing dangerously, Grey decided it was time to end the brawl.

He threw Ned onto his belly, put a knee in the stevedore’s back and twisted the man’s arm up behind his back. “Well fought, sir!” he panted. “Shall I break your arm, or buy you a drink in the Three Ships?”

After a startled pause, Ned chuckled hoarsely. “You’re the damnedest fellow, but you sure as bloody hell can fight. I’ll go for the drink.”

“You’re likely right about the damned part.” Grey released Ned. When the big man got up, the two of them led the parade back into the tavern.

The older man asked, “Where were you in foreign parts?”

“France.” Grey took a swig of ale, testing how he felt about saying more. Since these men were strangers, he decided to continue. “Ten bloody years in a French prison.”

The grizzled man gave a low whistle. “No wonder you’re so glad to get home! Here’s to a healthy future here in England!”

Even Ned drank to that. Grey bought several more rounds, downing his share. He’d always been good at talking to men from every station in life, and he found that he hadn’t lost the knack.

When his head started feeling disconnected from his body, it was time to leave. Evening was coming and he wanted to get back to Cassie. He emptied his tankard, then called out, “My thanks to you gentlemen for helping me celebrate my homecoming.”

He left the tavern followed by a chorus of invitations to return to the Three Ships any time. Maybe he’d do that, too. It had all been blessedly uncomplicated.

Summerhill would not be uncomplicated.

Grey took the direct route home, but it was nearly dark when he reached Exeter Street. Even though his feet were sore, he was whistling and pleased with life. By most standards, it had been a wasted day—but he felt better able to face Summerhill.

His step quickened as he went up the steps to the front door. Surely Cassie would be back by now. It was absurd to yearn for her company so much when it had been only a few hours, but the world felt right when she was near.

He had to fumble a bit to find the key to the house. He probably should have stopped a drink or two earlier. He finally managed to open the door and he stepped into the lamp-lit foyer.

Grey was removing his coat when he heard light steps coming down the staircase. The steps sounded like Cassie’s, so he looked up hopefully, but the woman was a stranger.

Granted, she was a stunner, with bright auburn hair and a splendid figure. Even though Grey was out of touch with current fashion, he recognized that the elegant blue-green gown had to have come from one of London’s best modistes. It took talent to make a woman look ladylike and deeply provocative at the same time.

She must be one of Kirkland’s agents. If so, that décolletage made clear how she coaxed information from the enemy. Trying not to stare too obviously at her neckline, he bowed as well as he could without falling over. “Good evening, mademoiselle.”

She stopped three steps from the bottom of the stairs and said in an icily aristocratic voice, “I beg your pardon, sir, but have we been introduced?”

That voice …

He gasped. The perfect height and proportions, the delicate, vulnerable features, the blue eyes with unknowable depths. “Cassie?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m surprised you recognized me, given where you were looking,” she said with tart amusement.

“Cassie.” He moved forward and embraced her. Since she was standing on the stairs, his arms went around her waist and he rested his head on the delicious softness of her breasts. Lilac and rose blossoms and other scents he couldn’t identify, all of them adding up to make her smell even more like Cassie. “I’ve missed you.”

Smiling, she looped her arms around his neck. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“Too many hours.” He slid one hand over her perfectly curved backside. Yes, everything was just as it ought to be.

“What do you think of my fine feathers?” she asked shyly.

He pulled back and surveyed her from bright hair to slipper-shod feet, missing nothing in between. “I have an intense desire to make mad, passionate love to you,” he said with complete sincerity.

“You do that even when I look like a washerwoman.” Her brow furrowed. “Seriously, do I look fit to be your fiancée?”

Seeing her concern, he forced himself to concentrate. Perhaps some would not call her a beauty because she didn’t have classically perfect features and that spectacular red hair looked distinctly naughty. But she was allowing her strength and warmth and intelligence to show, and to him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Beautiful, and more. “You are every inch a refined lady,” he said seriously. “You’ve always been beautiful. Letting the world see that beauty must make you feel more confident, and that makes you even more beautiful. But I am a bit jealous because now everyone will see you as I do.”

“I’m glad I look sufficiently ladylike.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, very much his Cassie despite her new appearance. “Though otherwise you’re not making a lot of sense, and you smell of beer. Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” he said meekly.

She touched his bruised cheek. “Were you in a fight?”

“Yes. But I won.”

“What did you win?”

“The right to buy the fellow a beer.”

“I suppose that makes sense to males.” Her laughter was soft. “Are you happy?”

He sighed and pulled her closer. Lovely décolletage. Lovely gown. He wanted to take it off her. “Yes. Especially now that you’re here. Would you like to go upstairs so I can make mad, passionate love to you?”

“Later, perhaps, but at the moment, I wish to feed another appetite,” she said. “The Powells serve supper to anyone in residence and Kirkland intended to stop by if he had time. Join me, for you need some food and some strong coffee.”

“I expect you’re right. I believe that I forgot to eat.”

“It’s good that you’re a happy drunk rather than a mean one.” She descended the last few steps. “My lord, will you give me your arm to take me into dinner?”

“Let me see if I remember how to be gentlemanly.” He made a sweeping bow without falling over, then straightened and offered his arm. “If you would do me the honor …”

As she stepped toward him, he stroked her hair, enjoying the silkiness and bounce. The bright auburn had to be natural, for it suited her complexion much better than the dull brown. “How did you manage to transform yourself so quickly?”

“Kiri did it all. I just obeyed orders. Kiri’s sister is near my size and she contributed several lovely gowns. Kiri’s own modiste came personally with some partially made up garments, plus seamstresses for instant alterations. Kiri even managed to get cards engraved and printed for me.” She pulled a card from her dainty little reticule and handed it to Grey. “The ink is still damp, but they look very proper.”

“I’m surprised to see you carrying a purse too small to conceal a weapon,” he remarked as he took the card.

“I’ve weapons concealed elsewhere,” she assured him, amusement in her eyes.

He glanced at the card, then read it again, startled. “The Honourable Catherine St. Ives. Your father was a peer? You’ve always implied that you’re from a lower order of society. In fact, you said your family was not the rank of mine.”

She shrugged. “My father was a mere baron, the third Lord St. Ives. We’re merchant stock, not old and prestigious and wealthy like the earldom of Costain.”

“Close enough. You come of noble blood.” It was another piece of the puzzle that was Cassie Fox. Or rather, Catherine St. Ives. Returning to her childhood station after spending a lifetime as peasant and peddler had to be … supremely disorienting.

“That meant nothing when I was cleaning out chicken coops in France,” she said dryly. “And it means even less now.”

“Your brother would have been the heir,” he said. “Who inherited instead? Or were there no heirs so the title went into abeyance?”

“My father had a younger brother, and he had three sons. The two oldest were around my age.” She made a dismissive gesture. “There was no shortage of heirs.”

“Haven’t you ever written your cousins?” he asked. “Surely they would be glad to know that you survived.”

“Catherine St. Ives died,” she said impatiently. “She would have stayed dead except that resurrecting her for the next week or two will make me a more convincing fiancée. When I leave Summerhill, she will return to her French grave, this time for good.” She turned on her heel. “Enough of this nonsense. I’m hungry.”

As she headed toward the dining room, Grey slipped the card into his pocket. She might not be interested in her family, but he was. He’d have a word with Kirkland.

He caught up with her and offered his arm again. She laid her hand lightly on his forearm and they progressed to the dining room as if they were entering a grand ball. Kirkland, Mr. and Mrs. Powell, and a nondescript young woman Grey hadn’t met were eating family style around the table.

Everyone glanced up as Grey and Cassie entered. There was a stunned silence as everyone, particularly the men, stared at Cassie.

Kirkland was first to rise to his feet. “Miss Fox.” He inclined his head and permitted himself a small smile. “I always knew you were brilliant at disguise, but I didn’t recognize that your greatest disguise was concealing your natural beauty.”

“Flatterer,” she said without heat. “The credit goes to Lady Kiri and the helpers she summoned to transform me.” As Grey pulled out a chair for her, she continued, “I am not Cassandra Fox at the moment. I decided using my birth name will best suit this particular charade.” She gave Kirkland a card.

His face became very still. “Your father was the third Lord St. Ives?”

She nodded, her expression opaque.

When she didn’t say more, Kirkland continued, “Since you’re traveling to Dorset as a lady, you need a maid, so one of my associates will take that role.” He gestured to the girl next to him. “Miss St. Ives, may I present Miss Hazel Wilson? I think you’ll find that she has the usual skills of a lady’s maid’s, and a few more as well.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Wilson,” Cassie said formally. “Thank you for taking this position on such short notice.”

“Call me Hazel, miss,” the girl said with a London accent. She stood and curtsied. She had brown hair and a pleasant if unremarkable face. Her blue eyes showed humor and intelligence. “This would be Lord Wyndham, I presume?”

Grey bowed with the respect due one of Kirkland’s agents. “Indeed I am, Hazel. Thank you for your willingness to leave London for the wilds of Dorsetshire.”

Hazel bobbed her head. “I look forward to dressing your beautiful hair, miss!”

Cassie blushed. “I hated my red hair when I was a girl. I was called the Carrot.”

“Any girls who teased you then are now envious, and the boys will be languishing for your smiles,” Grey said as he took his own seat.

“Your gilded tongue is in good working order,” she said with amusement.

“He’s right, miss!” Mr. Powell blurted out.

“I think the lass is more interested in shepherd’s pie than flattery,” Mrs. Powell said, giving her husband a stern glance. “If you pass your plates, I’ll fill ’em up.”

Grey and Cassie obeyed. As he smelled the steaming-hot pie, Grey realized he would enjoy this common fare more than the elaborate meals served in his parents’ homes.

Though his appearance was once more that of a gentleman, he was a very long way from the young Lord Wyndham who had left Summerhill ten years earlier.

Chapter 32

London was dark when they left the next morning. The journey from London to Summerhill could be made in a day if the roads were dry, but it was a long day with numerous changes of horses. Cassie and Hazel spoke occasionally, but Grey mostly gazed out the window, disinclined to talk as he watched the familiar landscape go by.

How often had he made this journey? Very often. He knew every town and village, every posting inn, and he’d known a few friendly barmaids on this route as well.

He liked seeing landmarks like the spire of Salisbury Cathedral, but his tension grew with every mile. If his father died when Grey might have been there at the end if he hadn’t taken an extra day to mentally prepare for the trip …

But he and Cassie had needed that day in different ways, and his family would benefit by the advance notice of Grey’s return from the dead. Though his mother might choose to keep the news from his father, she would tell Peter and Elizabeth. They must be grown by now, but in his mind, they were still children.

His family would welcome him even if they were also disappointed in him. Once he got beyond the first few days, it would be all right. So he told himself repeatedly. In between prayers for his father’s survival.

It was dark again by the time they finally reached the estate. As the carriage turned in at the gate, his heart was pounding and he realized he was clenching Cassie’s hand. Summerhill, Summerhill, Summerhill!

The long, tree-lined drive up to the house wordlessly declared the long history of Costain wealth and power. He took comfort in the thought that he was merely one slightly bent twig on an otherwise healthy family tree.

As the carriage halted under the porte cochere on the east side of the house, Grey said tersely, “This house is fairly new, less than a hundred years old. Far more comfortable than the rambling original building.”

“I’ll take comfort over historic drafts any day,” Cassie said lightly as he helped her from the carriage. He felt tension in her gloved hand, but she concealed it well.

Now that she wanted to look fashionable, she had the superb French sense of style. She looked every inch the sort of aristocratic beauty a man like him would be expected to marry. Yet she was so much more.

“Courage, mon enfant,” she whispered in French under her breath.

“And you also, mon petit chou,” he whispered back. “At least here our lives aren’t threatened. Only our pride and sanity.”

Her face brightened with suppressed laughter. “Since you put it like that …” She took his arm and they walked to the door, where he wielded the massive brass knocker. It was shaped like a dolphin, a sign of the sea that lay on the other side of the hill.

There was a long wait and Grey knocked again, all too aware that the death of the master of the house would cause this kind of disruption. Finally, the door was opened by a flushed young housemaid. Her gaze passed over the visitors with no recognition beyond seeing that they were obviously well born. She bobbed a somewhat ragged curtsy. “Are you expected, sir? Madame?”

“We are,” Grey replied. “Lady Costain has been notified of our visit. Please tell her we have arrived.”

“Very good, sir. If you’ll wait in the small salon just over here, I’ll inform her ladyship.” The girl bobbed another quick curtsy and darted off without asking his name.

The salon was cold and ill lit. Too restless to sit, Grey took the tinderbox from the mantel and started a fire. “Housekeeping standards have slipped,” he said. “That child has not been well trained.”

“Obviously receiving guests is not her usual job.” Reassuringly composed, Cassie settled on a brocade-covered chair.

He straightened as the fire caught and small flames appeared. “Do you think that means my father has …” His throat closed and he couldn’t continue.

“There is no reason to believe he’s gone,” she said swiftly. “And no point in worrying. We’ll find out soon enough.”

Another wait. Grey was tempted to go in search of his mother, but before the last of his patience vanished, the door swung open and he heard her voice saying, “You should have taken their names, child!”

Lady Costain swept into the room, followed by the maid. She was still tall, blond, and beautiful though she looked strained, as if she’d been carrying too many burdens.

Grey had believed he’d never see her again, and the fact that she was here, now, paralyzed him. Half afraid she was a dream and would disappear, he managed to whisper, “Mother?”

She said brusquely, “My apologies for …” Her gaze reached Grey and she stopped dead in her tracks. Color drained from her face. “No, it’s not possible!” she whispered. Then she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

“Mother!” Horrified, Grey rushed to her side and dropped to his knees, cradling her in his arms. “Mother, it really is me, not a ghost!”

“Bring smelling salts quickly,” Cassie ordered the housemaid. “Are there any other members of the family available?”

“Lord Wyndham is here,” the girl replied.

Lord Wyndham? Peter must have assumed the title when Grey had been given up for dead. Grey snapped, “Send him here immediately. Tell him his mother is ill.”

Tenderly he carefully lifted his mother onto the sofa, then spread a knitted knee robe over her. She looked so tired, with lines in her face that hadn’t been there ten years before. But it really was her. His wry, patient, loving mother. He blinked back tears.

Lady Costain’s eyes fluttered open to see Grey bent over. She made a choked sound and raised a shaking hand to touch his cheek. “You … you’re real?”

He caught her hand and held it. “I am.” A pulse beat hard in his throat. “Didn’t you get the message Lord Kirkland sent yesterday? I wanted to avoid shocking everyone like this.”

Her gaze searched his face, as hungry as his. “A message arrived, but I didn’t bother to open it. He writes now and then to say he has found no information about you, but continues to search. With your father ill, I couldn’t be bothered to read that.”

“So much for my good intentions,” he said ruefully as he helped her sit up. “I’m sorry, I wanted to spare you this.”

“When I saw you here, I … I had the horrible superstitious thought that you were a ghost come to guide your father to heaven.” She pulled him into a hug as tears ran down her cheeks. “Of all the times to ignore a message! Oh, Grey, Grey!”

Pounding feet could be heard and a distraught young man burst into the room. “Mother, are you all right?”

Grey straightened and saw … himself at twenty. Or close enough. Peter had reached his brother’s height and was blond and heartbreakingly handsome. His face looked designed for laughter—he’d always been a cheerful child—but he was haggard, worried now for his mother as well as his father.

Peter skidded to a halt, his astonished gaze going from his mother to his long-lost brother. “Grey?” he asked incredulously. Disbelief on his face, he stalked closer, his gaze searching. “You must be an imposter! My brother has been dead these ten years.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Peter,” Grey said with a twisted smile. “I would have written to disabuse you of the notion, but the prison where I resided was shockingly short of amenities such as paper and pen.”

“My God,” Peter breathed as he studied Grey’s face. “That scar on your left eyebrow, from that time you fell on broken stones and cut yourself. It really is you!”

Grey touched the faint mark. “The scar I acquired when you shoved me down at the pond, if I recall correctly.”

They’d been playing by the water on a hot summer day and Peter had gleefully caught his older brother off balance, only to be horrified when the cut Grey received had bled copiously. In retrospect, it was a happy, playful memory. Grey offered his hand hesitantly. “You apologized for days.”

“I’ll apologize again if you like.” Peter caught his hand with both of his and pumped enthusiastically. “Prison, you say?”

Grey started to explain, then couldn’t. His return home had released a torrent of raw emotion. If he tried to explain Castle Durand, he’d fall apart entirely. He managed, “For ten years. Later, I’ll tell you more, but not tonight. Please, tell me about Father! What happened? How ill is he?”

His mother joined her sons, composed again. “Costain fell when he was hunting and his horse balked at a high fence. He broke a bone or two, but the real danger is a head injury. He … he’s been unconscious since the accident.”

Several days then. That was bad, very bad. Grey closed his eyes for long moments as he battled despair that he might have arrived too late. “Can I see him?”

“Of course. Your sister is with him now. We’ve been taking turns sitting with him.” Lady Costain’s eyes narrowed as she registered Cassie’s presence for the first time. “Please introduce your friend to me, Grey.”

He turned to Cassie, who had stayed tactfully in the background. Taking her hand, he drew her forward. “Allow me to present my affianced wife, Miss Catherine St. Ives.” He whispered a silent “Thank you” that his family couldn’t see. “Cassie, my mother, Lady Costain, and my brother, Peter Sommers.”

His mother’s gaze intensified as she studied Cassie. “St. Ives. Are you one of the Norfolk St. Ives?”

Cassie’s fingers tensed, but she said with the confident calm of a born aristocrat, “I am, Lady Costain. But I met Lord Wyndham in France.”

“Where she saved my life.” As Grey spoke, he saw a shadow flicker across Peter’s face. He’d been happy to find that his brother was alive, but now he was recognizing that the title and inheritance he’d come to regard as his own had been snatched away. It was a complication Grey hadn’t considered, but should have. Peter was no longer a child, but a man. He’d not welcome being superseded.

Grey buried the thought for later since he could handle no more anxiety. Not tonight. Taking Cassie’s arm, he said, “I assume Lord Costain is in his usual rooms?”

When his mother nodded, he set off, grateful to have Cassie at his side to keep his nerves steady. Bad enough that his family was staring at him, but servants were peering from behind doors and around corners. The attention made him twitch, but he couldn’t let that show. This was home. He must appear sane, no matter how difficult it was.

There was something deeply unreal about striding the familiar corridors, climbing the marble steps with one hand on the polished railing he used to slide down. Yet at the same time, Summerhill seemed eternal, the ten years in France scarcely more than a bad dream. This disorientation must be one of the reasons he’d been reluctant to return. If not for Cassie, it would be easy to drown in the depths of his own mind.

His parents had a massive suite of rooms in the center of the house. Grey entered his father’s bedroom with Cassie beside him. Lamps cast soft light on his father’s still form. The earl looked lost in the large bed, his powerful figure diminished.

His father’s longtime valet, Baker, sat on the near side of the bed. He glanced up, barely noticing Grey as his admiring gaze went to Cassie. Then he saw Peter enter and his jaw dropped as he looked from Peter to Grey and back again.

Grey nodded to him and circled to where a lovely young blond woman was sitting, head bent and golden hair tied back. Lady Elizabeth Sommers. His little Beth.

He rounded the bed, then halted in his tracks. Elizabeth was nursing a baby.

It was Grey’s turn to be shocked. His little sister, a mother? Yet she was twenty-three now. Certainly old enough to have a husband and child. He fought for composure, for nothing else had made him as aware of how much time had passed.

His sister looked up from her baby and her gaze made the same journey from Grey to Peter and back again. In the dimly lit bedroom, it would have been possible to assume that Grey was Peter returning to the sickroom, but since they were together, the conclusion was obvious.

Elizabeth’s mouth formed an O of surprise. She breathed, “Grey?”

“None other. Like a bad penny, I have returned.” He was proud of himself for keeping a light tone as he brushed a kiss on her forehead.

The baby was blond and cherubic. Grey was no expert on babies, but he was pretty sure that compliments pleased doting parents. “Who is this lovely creature?”

“My daughter. Your niece.” Elizabeth’s expression blazed with excitement. “I named her for you. Grace.”

He was touched and rather awed by this tiny perfect being. “A better name for a daughter than Greydon. Who is your husband? Someone worthy of my sister?”

She smiled. “Johnny Langtry.”

The Langtry family’s estate marched with Summerhill. As the two highest-ranking families in this part of the shire, there had always been easy communication between the households.

John Langtry was a couple of years younger than Grey, and his father’s heir. Solidly built and with an infectious smile, he was a thoroughly good fellow. Far more reliable than Grey. “Minx! You had your eye on him since you were in the nursery.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Johnny never had a chance. Not that he’s complaining!”

Grey studied his sister and her daughter, the images of a blond northern Madonna and child. “He’s a very lucky man.”

“He is indeed,” his mother said as she joined them, putting her hand on Grey’s arm as if fearing he’d vanish. “You must be tired if you came from London today, Grey. Let’s adjourn to the morning room for refreshments. Baker can stay with your father. We all want to know what happened to you for all these years.” Her gaze went to Cassie. “And I wish to become acquainted with my future daughter-in-law.”

Grey guessed Cassie cringed inside to hear that, but her face remained calm. Of course his family was wild with curiosity, but he couldn’t answer their questions. Not tonight. Some questions he’d never answer.

His gaze went to the earl’s still face. “I want to sit with Father. There are things I need to say to him.” He gave a humorless smile. “Even if he can’t hear me.”

“Maybe it’s better if he can’t talk back,” Peter said with a note in his voice that made it not quite a joke.

Cassie asked quietly, “Do you want me to stay?”

“Thank you, but no.” Grey drew a deep breath. “Some things must be done alone.”

Chapter 33

“Please ring if there is anything lacking in your room, Miss St. Ives,” Lady Costain said as she ushered Cassie into a guest room. “I’m sorry I didn’t read Kirkland’s message yesterday. I would have had time to prepare for you properly.”

“No need to worry, Lady Costain.” Cassie had excused herself from the family supper as quickly as possible to avoid more questions. It had been a tiring day, and facing the Sommers family without Grey beside her had been a strain.

She stepped into her room, which was immaculately clean and warmed by a quietly crackling fire. The rose floral draperies and bed hangings glowed in the lamplight and a vase of out-of-season flowers sat on the desk. “This is lovely. I’ve stayed in much humbler accommodations.” An understatement of massive proportions. “Does Grey know where his room is, or are his old rooms available?”

The countess frowned. “I’d forgotten about that. Peter moved into those rooms when … when we gave up hope that Grey would ever return. I’ll have another room prepared for Grey to stay in tonight. It’s too late to move Peter’s things.”

“Is it necessary for Peter to move?” Cassie asked, surprised.

The older woman looked puzzled. “Peter has been living in the heir’s suite. Now that Grey is back, it belongs to him.”

Cassie hesitated before saying, “Surely in a house this splendid, there are other suitable quarters. Even happy news can be disruptive. Since Peter will have other major changes to adjust to, perhaps moving isn’t essential?”

The countess frowned. “I take your point. I shall discuss this with Grey before any plans are finalized. He has the right to request his old room back.” Lady Costain’s scrutiny turned to Cassie. “I didn’t wish to have this discussion in front of Peter and Elizabeth, but I do wonder about your background. The St. Ives family doesn’t mingle much in the beau monde, but I had the impression that there are only sons.”

Her tone equally cool, Cassie said, “Your real question is whether I’m a fortune hunter taking advantage of Lord Wyndham’s vulnerable state.” Her head was aching, so she began pulling pins from her hair. “I am who I claim to be. I’m not a scheming slut sinking my greedy claws into your son.”

Lady Costain drew a sharp breath. “You believe in directness.”

“When appropriate.” Cassie’s lips twisted. “But I lie well when that’s required.”

“And I have no way of knowing which you are doing now.” Lady Costain sighed. “I’m sorry for my bluntness, but surely you can understand that I’m concerned for my son’s welfare. I never thought …” She bit her lip. “You aren’t making this easy for me. You were remarkably evasive when we talked over supper. Is there anything you’re willing to tell me that might soothe my maternal concerns?”

Cassie moved to the dressing table. The image in the mirror was of a red-haired temptress. A sophisticated and ruthless woman of the world. No wonder Lady Costain was worried. If Cassie had a son, she’d want to keep him out of such a woman’s clutches.

“Grey’s story is his to tell, and I will let him decide how much he wishes to say.” She picked up the silver-backed brush and began brushing out her hair. “The current Lord Ives is my father’s younger brother, and indeed he has only sons. My mother was French. All of my family except me died in a massacre during the Reign of Terror. It was many years ago, so it’s not surprising you were unaware of what happened to them.”

The countess gasped. “Your whole family was killed? How horrible! How did you survive?”

Cassie continued brushing. Her natural hair color might be outrageous, but it was rich and beautiful in its way. “My nurse had taken me out for the afternoon. Of course, I could be lying and the real Catherine St. Ives died with the rest of her family. As it happens, I’m telling the truth.” Wanting to ease the countess’s concerns, she added, “The betrothal will be a long one. I will not hold Grey to his word if he changes his mind.”

After a long silence, the other woman said quietly, “I believe you. What have you been doing these many years?”

“Surviving.” Cassie gazed at her reflection, seeing circles under her eyes. She’d known that coming to Summerhill would be difficult, but she’d only be here for a few days. Telling Grey’s family some truth about herself meant they’d be happy to say good-bye when the time came.

“Are you Grey’s mistress?” Lady Costain asked.

Mistress. Such a simple word for such a complex relationship. “Yes.” Cassie removed her small gold earrings.

“It didn’t take him long to find one,” his mother said disapprovingly. “I hoped he’d outgrow his womanizing by this age.”

Suddenly furious, Cassie spun away from the mirror. “Imagine ten years in solitary confinement, Lady Costain. Ten years of never seeing or touching another living being. No hugs, no kisses from your children or granddaughter, no husbandly pat on your derriere when no one is looking. No scent of another human, no sight of a human face. Imagine all that—and don’t you dare criticize your son!”

For a moment the countess looked ready to explode. Then her expression changed. “You’re in love with Grey.”

Throat tight, Cassie turned and pulled the bell to summon Hazel, which would end this painful conversation. “That is between Grey and me. But I assure you that I’m not here to cause trouble for the Sommers family.”

“I shall take you at your word.” The countess turned to leave. “And … thank you for bringing my son back to me.”

Cassie closed her eyes in exhaustion. She didn’t need Lady Costain’s thanks. Everything she’d done had been for Grey.

After the family and his father’s valet left, Grey settled down in the chair his sister had occupied. His father’s still face showed more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and there were silver strands visible in the Sommers blond hair. But the strong features hadn’t changed. Lord Costain looked ready to wake at any moment.

Grey took his father’s hand. It was limp, neither warm nor cold. “I’ve come home, Father,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for all the worry I caused you. You did your best to train me to be a strong, compassionate earl who knew about farming and law and everything else a peer of the realm should know. You were a good teacher so I couldn’t help learning, but I know I’m responsible for a good number of those white hairs.”

He thought he felt the barest squeeze of his father’s hand, though it was probably his imagination. “Let me tell you about how I came to be imprisoned in France. If I’d had a whit of sense, I would have come home before the Truce of Amiens ended, but no, I was the golden boy to whom nothing bad could happen.”

He continued talking, his words sometimes halting and painful as he described the imprisonment, the near madness, the blessed company of Père Laurent. Everything he’d been unable to say to the rest of his family. “Père Laurent was my second father. You would like each other if you ever met.”

Grey smiled as he tried to imagine such a meeting. “Though he’s a Catholic, he didn’t seem at all disposed to invade England and convert all us heretics by the sword.” That ambition belonged to Napoleon, and there was nothing religious about it.

Several times he halted until he regained his composure, but he needed to say all this to his father even if he was too late for a real conversation. When he finally ran out of words, he said softly, “I really wish you wouldn’t die, Father. I’m nowhere near ready to become the next Lord Costain. I need you. We all need you.”

His words choked off. Trying for a lighter note, he said, “But I’ve done one thing right. You wanted me to marry and secure the succession, so I’ve brought my fiancée to Summerhill.”

“Is she pretty?”

The whisper was so thin that Grey was sure he’d imagined it. Bending over his father, he asked in a hushed voice, “Did you say something?”

The pale eyelids fluttered open. “Is she pretty?”

Stunned, Grey choked out, “She’s beautiful. A redhead.”

“Redheaded grandchildren?” The earl sounded disapproving. “Tell … more.”

“Her father was Lord St. Ives. She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and she saved my life several times.”

His father blinked. “Sounds … too good for you.”

“She is.” Grey wanted to stand up and shout his exhilaration at his father’s improvement, but that seemed disrespectful for a sickroom. “You’ll get to meet Cassie, but now you should rest.”

“Tired of resting.” The earl’s eyes closed. “Could hear people talk, but couldn’t answer. Till you came. Had to tell you you’re a damned young fool.”

“Yes, Father. I have been. I’ll try to do better.” Silent tears were sliding down Grey’s cheeks. “I’ll get Mother. She’ll want to talk to you.”

A faint smile softened the earl’s face. “Need my Janey.”

Jubilant, Grey squeezed his father’s hand. “She’ll be here soon.”

Outside the room, he was unsurprised to find Baker quietly waiting to return to his master’s bedside. “Good news! He woke up and was talking to me. Entirely coherent, too.” Grey grinned. “Called me a damned young fool.”

“Sounds like he’s in his right mind,” the valet said with a glimmer of humor. “Shall I go in?”

Grey nodded. “He wants to see her ladyship. I’ll tell her.”

Despite the late hour, he found his mother in the morning room. She was sitting by the fire, neglected needlework in her lap as she gazed into the flames. Looking up at Grey’s entrance, she asked, “Did you make your peace with your father?”

“I hope so, but if not, I’ll have other chances later. Mother, he woke up! He’s weak, but he spoke clearly. He wants to see you. I think he’s going to be all right.”

The countess stood, her face luminous as her embroidery fell to the floor. “Thank God!” She hugged Grey, clinging to him as she struggled to control herself. “What a day of miracles this has been!”

“It has indeed.” He held her a moment longer, remembering how she held him and sang lullabies when he was very small. He’d given up hope that he’d hold her again like this. “I’m sorry for all the trouble and grief I caused you.”

“Children exist to cause their parents trouble and grief,” she said wryly. Releasing him, she added, “But they also give life’s greatest joys. You were sometimes too heedless, but there was no malice in you. Being caught in France when the truce ended …” She shrugged. “It was abominable luck, but not a sin on your part.”

He didn’t agree, but he was too tired to discuss that. “What did Cassie tell you about my time in France?”

“Very little. She said the story was yours to tell.”

That was his Cassie. Discreet to the bone. He wasn’t sure himself how much he wanted to say, but knew he’d avoid details. He hoped his father didn’t remember them.

His mother said, “Why do you call her Cassie? Is it a nickname for Catherine?”

He nodded, since the real reason was too private to reveal. “I think it suits her.”

“What an extraordinary young woman she is.” His mother’s voice was neutral. “Formidable, even.”

Formidable. A perfect description. “She is, isn’t she?” Grey agreed. “Now go to Father. He’ll be looking for you, if he hasn’t drifted off again.”

“He was in his right wits?” she asked, looking younger than when he’d arrived.

“Yes. I think he was on the verge of waking up on his own, and hearing my voice made him curious.”

“I prefer to call it a miracle.” She gave him a radiant smile. “I half expect to wake up in the morning and find you’re a dream.”

“If I were to appear in your dreams, I probably wouldn’t be as thin and eccentric,” he said wryly.

She studied him more critically. “Definitely thin, but your usual elegant self.”

“Thanks for the elegance are owed to Kirkland, who lent me decent clothing.”

“I hope you start patronizing his tailor!” Her face sobered. “Have you become eccentric, Grey?”

“That might not be the right word.” He studied her beloved face and knew that she could never really understand. “I just … I’ll need time to become used to normal life. I require more peace and quiet than when I was younger.”

She laughed and patted his arm. “We all do when we grow up. Good night, my darling. Sleep as late as you like in the morning.”

“I intend to.” He watched her leave, wondering what room Cassie was in. He could have asked his mother, but it seemed a rather indelicate question.

He considered. As Grey’s fiancée, she would have been put in one of the best guest rooms. Probably the Rose Room, which was discreetly distant from Grey’s suite.

He set off for the Rose Room, desperate to find his thorn among the roses.

Chapter 34

The hour was very late, after midnight, so Grey saw no one as he climbed the stairs in search of Cassie. There was light visible under his father’s door, and the soft murmur of his mother’s voice. He passed by and headed down the corridor. Summerhill was shaped like a shallow U, with wings coming off each end of the main block. He turned right into the short passage at the east end.

Yes, a faint line of light under the Rose Room’s door. Probably a low-burning night lamp. He turned the knob, glad the room wasn’t locked, and stepped silently inside. The dim lamplight revealed Cassie’s sleeping form. She lay on her side, a thick braid of hair falling over her shoulder in a rope of dark molten copper.

She was so beautiful his heart hurt. He quietly closed the door behind him.

Before he could announce himself, Cassie woke and hurled herself off the far side of the mattress with amazing speed. A knife appeared in her hand as she took cover behind the massive four-poster bed and evaluated the threat.

He held absolutely still. “Sorry. I should have known better than to startle you.” After she relaxed and the knife disappeared, he said, “From your reaction, I’m guessing that Summerhill feels dangerous to you.”

“Apparently so,” she said ruefully as she circled the bed. The nightgown she wore was thick and warm, but it couldn’t conceal the lithe grace of her movements. “I was feeling rather … alone and vulnerable.”

He winced. “I’m sorry, I should have stayed with you rather than leave you to carry the full weight of my excited relatives.”

She shook her head. “It would have been nice to face their curiosity together, but you needed to talk to your father while he’s still breathing.”

Reminded of the miracle, Grey exclaimed, “He woke up! He spoke to me quite coherently. I think he’ll be all right. My mother is with him now.”

“That’s wonderful news!” She caught his hands in delight. “And not only because it means you don’t succeed to Costain for a while.”

“I’m hoping my father is good for at least another twenty years,” he said fervently as he wrapped his arms around Cassie.

She melted into him with a welcoming sigh. “I’m so glad you came. I’ll sleep better for seeing you and getting a good hug.”

“I need a good deal more than a hug.” Hungrily he bent to her mouth, wanting to draw her essence into himself. “Cassie, Cassie …” He peeled off her nightgown, then walked her back to the bed.

“Should we be doing this under your mother’s roof?” she asked uncertainly, but her hands were pulling at his coat.

“It’s my roof, too.” He swept her onto the bed, then tore at his garments with no thought for Kirkland’s expensive tailor. “I need you far more than I need propriety.”

Cassie lay on her side watching him strip, a cream and copper goddess in the dim light, her haunted blue eyes as hungry as his own. When he was down to skin and too many bones, she pulled him onto the bed, saying huskily, “You’re as powerful a drug as opium, my lord.” Then they spoke no more.

His demands were met by her strength, but also a vulnerability he’d never felt in her before. He poured everything he had into her, wanting to return the priceless gifts she’d given him. And together, they found fulfillment.

After the shattering culmination, they lay limp in each other’s arms. Her braid had come undone and her hair lay in a shimmering veil over his chest. “Catherine,” he murmured, as he twined a strand around his fingers. “You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Coloring it might have been essential for your work, but it’s a crime to deprive the world of such splendor.”

“No carroty little girl would ever believe that. And for a full-grown woman, the color is considered vulgar. Sluttish, even.” Her voice turned wry. “Not that that doesn’t fit me, since I am a slu—”

“Don’t!” he said sharply. “Don’t ever say anything like that about yourself! You are the finest woman I’ve ever known, true and generous and strong. Don’t look at yourself as narrow minds would.”

“It’s hard not to, especially here,” she pointed out. “Your mother and sister are good women in every sense of the word. I … am not.”

“Have they been rude to you?” he demanded. “I will not allow that!”

“You’re fitting back into your lordly role very quickly,” she said with amusement. “Your sister was charming and happy to meet me because she assumes we’ll be neighbors and she wants to be friends. Your mother …” Cassie hesitated. “She wasn’t rude, but she is naturally concerned for you and wanted to assure herself that you hadn’t fallen into the talons of a fortune-hunting harpy.”

“How dare she!” he said angrily. “I shall speak with her.”

“No,” Cassie said firmly. “Your mother’s concerns are legitimate. I’m no one’s idea of an innocent virgin bride.”

“Why the devil would I want one of those?” he retorted. “Sounds deucedly dull.”

“Many men worship the purity of innocence. I’m glad you’re not one of them,” Cassie said with a laugh. “But any mother would worry when her long-lost son shows up with a strange woman.”

“You’re not strange.” He cupped her breast with one hand. “You’re magnificent.”

Cassie gave him an intimate, teasing smile. “Your return has gone better than expected, hasn’t it? With your father recovering, you can take your time rather than being forced into major responsibility before you’re ready.” She brushed her lips on his cheek in a feather kiss. “I’m not needed here, so I can return to London right away.”

Her words were like a drench of ice water. “No! You can’t leave, you just got here.” He drew a deep breath as he struggled with his panicky reaction. “Of course you want to return to your real life, but no urgent mission awaits you. Stay a week or two. Relax, ride good horses, let yourself be cosseted and treated like a fragile flower. You deserve that.”

He held his breath as he waited for her response. He knew she would leave, but please God, not immediately!

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll stay a week.” Her hand began to wander down his body. “I shall certainly miss this.”

She cupped him and pure fire shot straight through his veins. “So will I,” he said raggedly. As he bent to the rich nourishment of her mouth, he wondered if he could survive without this sweetness and fire.

Despite her fatigue, Cassie lay awake for a long time after Grey fell asleep in her arms. She wanted to cherish every remaining moment with him. She’d been too weak to refuse to stay longer, but a week must be the limit. Lady Elizabeth had been so friendly and welcoming that Cassie was ashamed of being at Summerhill under false pretenses.