No Longer a Gentleman

There was also the stark fact that the longer she stayed with Grey, the harder it would be to leave. She’d never felt such closeness with another man. He was willing to open himself to her as no one else had.

As she thought back to the night’s intense lovemaking, she realized that there had been a shift in the balance between them. At the beginning, he’d needed a woman, any woman, and she had accepted that in return for the simple delights of passion.

That had changed as they’d grown to know each other better. She’d become special to him, and he’d become special—incredibly so—to her. In the past, she’d given him healing intimacy in return for pleasure. Tonight, he’d returned healing and wholeness to her. It was time to leave. While she still could.

Much as Grey would have liked to sleep until noon with Cassie, he’d regained enough gentlemanly discretion that when he woke and saw the first faint light of dawn, he groaned and swung himself out of the bed. “Time to leave.”

He leaned over and kissed Cassie’s bare shoulder. He noted with amusement that she was now so relaxed that she only made a sleepy sound of acknowledgment rather than leaping from the bed with a knife in her hand.

He pulled the covers over her bare shoulder, then dragged on enough clothing to be decent. Carrying his shoes in one hand, he slipped out into the corridor. It was still very dark inside the house, but it wouldn’t be long before busy maids were stirring.

Now that he was back at Summerhill, his profound reluctance to return had almost vanished. Before, facing the demands and commotion that would be aroused by his return from the dead had seemed an insurmountable barrier.

He’d been right about the commotion. His return would have been easier if his mother had opened Kirkland’s message and been prepared for him. But now that was over, and he was feeling … like himself.

That self wasn’t the callow Lord Wyndham who had flitted off to Paris for amusement, but an older, knocked-about, and hopefully wiser man. A man who belonged here at Summerhill. This house, this land, these people were his. He felt like a flower that had been jerked from its native soil and withered away in the rubbish for years. Now he’d finally been replanted where he belonged.

He felt strong enough that for the first time, he dared wonder if there was any chance of persuading Cassie to stay. He’d wait a few days until she’d had time to experience the beauty and peace of Summerhill.

And then, they’d talk. He was no longer willing to let her go without at least trying to change her mind.

Chapter 35

Grey’s rooms were at the opposite end of the sprawling house, but he was able to reach them unseen. Feeling happy over his decision about Cassie, he opened his door, then halted at the sight of his brother sitting in front of the fire.

Fully dressed except for his coat, which he’d replaced with a casual banyan, Peter was sprawled in a wing chair and holding a drink as he stared into the flames. He looked like the careless, drunken Grey of a dozen years before.

“Peter?” Grey asked, surprised. As he glanced about, he saw that some of the furnishings and decorations had been changed.

“Ah, the young lord and master has arrived to claim his property!” Peter rose and made an exaggerated bow, sloshing his drink and almost falling over. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw me out of here earlier, but I suppose you were too busy rogering your doxy.”

Fury blazed through Grey. “Don’t you dare talk about Cassie that way!”

“Why not?” Peter opened a cabinet that contained glasses and bottles. “Damned bad form to bring your mistress to your family home, but you never did care for anyone but yourself.” He pulled out a brandy bottle and tilted it back to drink directly. “How much does she charge? She looks expensive, but during my years as heir apparent, my allowance was substantial. I should be able to afford a night or two.”

Grey launched himself at Peter, so enraged he was barely aware of how he punched and threw his brother, then pinned him to the ground. Nothing mattered but destroying the man who’d said such vile words.

He was dragged back to awareness by a hoarse whisper, “Grey! Grey, in the name of God, stop!”

Yanked from his killing rage, Grey realized that he had pinned Peter to the floor and was choking him. His brother’s face was darkening and he could barely gasp out his plea.

Grey wrenched himself away and buried his face in his hands as he gulped for breath. He thought he’d mastered his furies. Instead he’d almost murdered his brother. An unspeakable crime that he’d rather die himself than commit.

A few feet away, Peter lay on the floor retching out his guts on the priceless Chinese carpet. The effects of too much brandy and being strangled, no doubt.

As Peter pulled himself to a sitting position and leaned against a wing chair, Grey rose and dipped a towel in the water pitcher, then handed it to his brother. Wordlessly Peter wiped his mouth and face, then drank the glass of water Grey had poured.

“Dear God, Peter, I’m so sorry,” Grey said, sickened by himself. “You shouldn’t have spoken so about Cassie, but nothing can justify almost killing you.”

“I shouldn’t have said such vile things about your guest,” Peter replied, sounding more sober. He folded the wet towel and pressed it against a rapidly developing black eye. “Where the devil did you learn to fight like that?”

“The Westerfield Academy.” Still shaken, Grey poured himself two fingers of brandy, then sank down on the carpet a yard from his brother and leaned back against the sofa. “Ashton is half Hindu, and he taught his classmates a fighting technique he’d learned in India. It’s become a school tradition.”

“I should have gone there instead of bloody Eton,” Peter muttered.

“You were less worrisome so it wasn’t considered necessary.” Grey exhaled roughly. “Say anything you like about me, but I won’t hear a word against Cassie. She’s the finest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Then it’s a pity she looks like the very best grade of Bond Street ware.” Seeing Grey’s thunderous expression, Peter said hastily, “I believe you that she’s no whore, but she is … not what one would expect of your bride. Why did you bring her to Summerhill when Father is dying and you’re returning from the dead? Not exactly ideal circumstances for introducing a new member of the family.”

Grey said, “The good news is that Father isn’t dying. He woke up and spoke to me. Mother is with him now.”

Peter’s face brightened. “Wonderful!”

Grey took a sip of his brandy. It was tempting to get drunk, but he and Peter wouldn’t have fought if his brother hadn’t been drunk enough to ruin his judgment. Or perhaps his temper. Peter was obviously not happy about losing his expectations.

“Cassie is here to keep me sane.” Grey’s laughter was bitter. “I thought I was making progress on that front, but apparently not. If she’d been here, I wouldn’t have come so close to fratricide.”

“She can stop you when you run mad like that?” Peter asked skeptically.

Grey smiled fondly. “She certainly can.”

“You seem sane enough now,” Peter said hesitantly.

Grey realized he needed to explain more. “Cassie went alone into the castle where I was imprisoned and freed me and the priest in the next cell, who had become my only tie to reality. She got us to sanctuary and guided me out of the country, lending me her strength and sanity when I had none. Believe me, I am much improved. I owe her more than I can ever possibly repay.”

Peter frowned. “She sounds admirable, but is it reason enough to marry her?”

Choosing his words carefully, Grey said, “I want to marry Cassie, but she hasn’t said yes yet. She wants to wait and see how things develop.” He drew an uneven breath. “She’ll leave soon. I may never see her again.” Saying that aloud was agonizing.

Hearing the pain in his brother’s voice, Peter said awkwardly, “I’m sorry. Can you … manage without her?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Grey said brusquely. “What about you, Peter? I thought you were happy I’m alive, but when I came in, you acted as if I was your worst enemy.”

“I am happy you’re back. Truly. And I rather like Cassie, from what I’ve seen of her. But”—his brother ran stiff fingers through his tangled blond hair—“I looked up to you so much. When you disappeared, it was … it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I spent years waiting and hoping. We all did.”

Grey winced. “If only I’d had the sense to return to England when I was warned to do so!”

“That would have made all our lives easier, but you couldn’t know the consequences. If you’d been interned, we’d have learned of it and could have settled down and waited for you to come home. As it was …” Peter shrugged. “Of course we assumed the worst.”

“From what Cassie tells me, being interned isn’t bad. Boring, but living a fairly normal life.” And not being driven mad by isolation. “Of course, if I’d been interned, I’d still be in France, waiting and wondering if this bloody war would ever end.”

“But we would have known you were alive.” Peter sighed roughly. “Instead, without anyone quite admitting you must be dead, people started treating me as the heir. Seven years after your presumed death, the earl said it was time I styled myself as Lord Wyndham. Mother moved my things in here when I was at university. I began to think of myself as the next Earl of Costain. I learned how to run the estate, started paying attention to Parliament. And now”—he spread his hand in a hopeless gesture—“you come back and it’s all snatched away. All that effort and planning for nothing.”

Grey glanced around the sitting room, which was easily ten times the size of his cell in France. And the suite had a bedroom and dressing area as well. “You can have these rooms. I don’t need them and it hardly seems fair to drive you out. But I can’t let you have the title and the entailed property. The law doesn’t work that way. As long as I’m alive, I’m the heir.”

“I know.” Peter struggled to his feet and poured more water before sinking wearily back onto the carpet. “I’ve spent the night drinking and wondering what to do with my life. I’ve no taste for becoming an idle wastrel.”

“The traditional occupations for a younger son are the church, politics, or the military. None of them interest you?” When Peter made a face, Grey asked, “Is there something less traditional you’d really like to do?”

Peter hesitated, his expression torn. “The theater. I want to be an actor.”

“An actor?” Grey asked incredulously.

His brother’s expression closed. “You see why I don’t talk about it. Not that I ever thought the theater was possible. Until you returned, Summerhill was my fate.”

Grey studied Peter’s handsome, youthful face. His first reaction on meeting his grown brother the day before had been how much they resembled each other. It was true that they had similar height, build, and coloring, and anyone seeing them together would immediately know they were related.

But they’d always had very different temperaments. Grey was outgoing, interested in people and in solving problems. Peter had been more of a dreamer, enjoying art and music and, yes, the plays that were occasionally staged during house parties. He said slowly, “I remember that even as a little boy, you enjoyed taking part in plays. The adults always found your earnestness rather charming. But your interest was serious even at that age, wasn’t it?”

Peter nodded. “I fell in love with acting the first time I stepped onto an improvised stage. I love the language, the drama, the larger-than-life characters. It’s …” The flow of words cut off and he sank against the chair behind him. “It’s impossible.”

“Have you had the opportunity to act in recent years?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” his brother admitted. “But last summer I stayed with a friend up in Yorkshire. There’s a good-sized theater there, and the company manager did a special production of As You Like It with local people acting in many of the roles. That’s the play with the “All the world’s a stage” speech. The idea was to get friends and neighbors buying tickets to see the show. I auditioned and was cast as Orlando.”

Orlando was the romantic lead, if Grey remembered his Shakespeare. With Peter’s looks, he was a natural for such roles. “Did the play do well?”

“Most of the acting was dreadful, but the manager, Burke, made pots of money.” Peter paused, then said shyly, “After the last show, Burke took me aside and said that if I ever wanted to act professionally, there would be a place for me in his company. He knew I was a gentleman, but I auditioned as Peter Sommers so he didn’t realize that I was heir to an earldom.” His mouth twisted. “At least, I was then.”

“Which would you pick if you had a choice?” Grey asked. “The earldom or being a successful actor?”

“Acting,” Peter said instantly. “I wouldn’t even have to be well known. A journeyman’s career with steady work would be beyond my maddest dreams.”

“Then do it,” Grey said flatly. “The parents won’t be best pleased, but I will support you in this. And if they cut off your allowance, I’ll see you don’t starve.”

His brother’s jaw dropped. “You’d do that? You wouldn’t be ashamed to have your brother become a common player?”

“I think you’d be an uncommon player.” Grey smiled ruefully. “Ten years in a dungeon strip away a lot of ideas about what is proper. You were willing to do your duty as heir to Costain when that seemed necessary. Now that it isn’t, I think you should do what you love. Even if you fail, better to try and fail than to spend your life wishing you’d tried.”

“I won’t fail,” Peter said intensely. “I’m good, Grey. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to succeed.”

Grey grinned. “Am I forgiven for surviving?”

“Now I have even more reason to be grateful you’re alive!” Peter was bubbling with delight. “I’ll write Mr. Burke and tell him I’m taking him up on his offer. It will be small roles, I’m sure, but a start.”

“I’m glad. Today Yorkshire, tomorrow London!” Grey set aside the rest of his drink since it was now daylight, and brandy was a damned odd breakfast. “I suggest you wait a few days till Father is stronger before announcing your plans.”

“I’ll wait until I hear from Mr. Burke before I speak up. And if he’s changed his mind, well, I’ll find another theater manager to approach.” Peter cocked his head to one side. “What about you, Grey? Have you ever had secret dreams of what you want?”

Grey had never thought about it, but his answer was immediate. “This.” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Summerhill. For as long as I can remember, I’ve known that I am Summerhill, and it is me. The land, the people, the responsibilities of the earldom. I’m even looking forward to sitting in Parliament and helping to steer the ship of state. There’s nothing else I’ve ever wanted.” Except Cassie.

“Then it’s a damned good thing you’ve returned from the dead,” Peter said with a grin. “Because you’ll make a much better earl than I would.”

Perhaps, perhaps not. But like Peter, Grey was determined to do what was necessary to succeed.

Chapter 36

Cassie was awakened by a maid with a small pitcher of hot chocolate and a note from Grey. “Would you like to go for a ride after breakfast? It’s a perfect day to see Summerhill .”

She glanced out the window and saw the pale, clear sunshine of early spring. He’d promised her fine horses. She scribbled, “Yes, please!” on the note and directed the maid to take it to Lord Wyndham. A good thing Kiri had found a riding habit, golden with dark brown trim, for Cassie’s hastily assembled wardrobe.

After donning the dashing habit, Cassie headed downstairs for a proper breakfast. News of the earl’s recovery had lightened the atmosphere. Lady Elizabeth had been staying at Summerhill since her father’s injury, but now she looked forward to going home. Peter positively beamed at Cassie, and Grey greeted her with proper formality while his eyes made wicked suggestions.

Lady Costain had been with her husband, but she came down to the breakfast parlor to say, “Costain wants to meet you, Miss St. Ives.”

“Is he strong enough for visitors outside the family?” Cassie asked, hoping she didn’t have to meet him.

“He is much stronger, and quite firm about meeting you,” the countess replied.

No escape there. “Then it will be my pleasure,” Cassie murmured.

As she rose, Grey said, “I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen him yet this morning.”

Cassie headed for the steps, grateful for Grey’s company. As they climbed the wide steps side by side, he said, “You look very lovely in this gold habit.”

“Lady Kiri’s sister has enough red in her hair that we can wear similar colors,” Cassie explained. Dropping her voice, she asked, “How should I act with your father?”

He gave her a warm smile. “Just be your lovely self, Catherine.”

She supposed calling her Catherine was a strong hint. They entered the master’s bedroom. For a man who had been tossing the dice with St. Peter the day before, the Earl of Costain was looking very well. He was propped up in bed by pillows and dictating instructions to his secretary.

He was also a remarkably fine-looking man, with the family good looks molded by years of authority. There was humor and intelligence in his eyes as he dismissed the secretary to concentrate on his visitors. Grey would look very like his father someday.

“Come closer to the bed,” Lord Costain ordered. “So it really is you, boy. I wondered if I was hallucinating last night.”

“Not at all, sir.” Grey took his father’s hand with heartfelt, wordless emotion. “I surprised myself with my tenacity.”

“I can’t recall all you told me last night, so I’ll hear more about what happened later.” There was a glint of moisture in the earl’s eyes as he held his son’s hand. His gaze moved to Cassie. “But now I wish to meet your future countess. You’re right, she’s pretty despite the red hair, but you didn’t tell me her name. Introduce us.”

“Sir, allow me to present Miss Catherine St. Ives.” Grey smiled at Cassie. “I’m sure you’ve deduced that this is Lord Costain, Cassie.”

Before she could respond, Costain exclaimed, “Good God, surely you must be Tom St. Ives’s daughter?”

She inhaled sharply. “You knew my father?”

“Indeed I did. We became friends at Eton, and remained so until his untimely death.” The earl shook his head. “I was there the night he met your mother. What a stunner she was. We were all madly in love with her.” He looked nostalgic for a moment before adding, “Of course, that was before I met my wife, who drove all other women from my mind.”

Cassie pressed her hand to her chest as her breathing constricted. She hadn’t expected her distant, half-forgotten past to come to shocking life. “Did you hear what happened to my parents and the rest of my family?”

The earl nodded sadly. “A great tragedy. Damn the French revolutionaries! I knew some of your Montclair relations, too. Fine people even though they were French. By what miracle did you survive?”

“I was out with a nurse when the house was burned down,” she explained. “But I could be an imposter, you know.”

Costain laughed. “Nonsense. You’ve got the St. Ives red hair, and you have a great look of your mother, too.” He offered her his hand. “Well done, Grey. I’m honored to see the St. Ives blood joined with the Sommers family. I’m even reconciled to redheaded grandchildren.”

Cassie took his hand as she fought back tears. She barely managed to say, “Thank you, my lord.”

“There now, I’ve made you cry.” Costain released her hand and settled back in his pillows, looking tired. “Grey, take her off and make her smile again. And send your mother in. I miss her.”

Eyes concerned, Grey offered Cassie his arm and led her away. Outside the room, he ordered the secretary to send for his mother. Then he led Cassie downstairs and into the empty salon. As soon as the door closed, he wrapped his arms around her. “Damn, Cassie! I’m sorry you were upset like that. I had no idea my father had known your parents.”

“It was … a shock,” she said unsteadily as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I feel like …” she searched for words. “Like my arm was amputated and now it’s been reattached. Only this is my life, not my arm.”

“Like a foot that’s gone to sleep and is beginning to wake up,” he murmured as he stroked her back. “Alive but very uncomfortable.”

“Exactly.” She closed her eyes as she struggled for composure. “My family has been dead to me for so long that it never occurred to me that there were other people who remembered them.”

“Maybe it’s not a bad thing to be reminded that this is the world you were born to,” he said softly. “Your father went to Eton, your mother was an enchanting woman who captured the hearts of young Englishmen. You belong to the ton every bit as much as I do, even though we’ve both spent years in exile.”

“The reminder isn’t bad, but it is very uncomfortable.” She sighed. “I felt like such a fraud when your father talked about redheaded grandchildren.”

“We could make it a reality,” Grey said hesitantly. “Or at least try.”

She jerked away from him, even more shocked than by his father’s reminiscences. “What on earth does that mean?”

He was watching her with enigmatic gray eyes. “You’re here as my fiancée, so we could go ahead and get married. We get on well and it would save me having to brave the Marriage Mart.”

She rolled her eyes, needing to turn the issue into a joke. “That is the laziest reason for marrying that I can imagine. Let’s go for that ride. It’s a lovely day and I could use some fresh air.”

He smiled, unperturbed by her rejection of his proposal. “And I’m anxious to see Summerhill. I can’t tell you the number of hours I spent visiting the estate in my mind.”

“And I’m anxious to ride one of those good horses you promised me.” She caught up the skirts of her long riding habit and led the way to the door. Life was complicated. Riding was simple.

She wanted simple.

“Race you to the top of the hill!” Grey called.

Cassie and her mount took off like lightning, her laughter floating behind her. Grey was hard pressed to keep up. She rode as well sidesaddle as astride, and in her flowing golden riding habit, she was far more alluring than as a peddler on a pony.

They reached the hilltop in a dead heat, both of them laughing, and pulled in their horses. “I’ve saved the best for last,” Grey said. “This is the dower house. Sea Grange.” He gestured at the hollow below, where a sprawling stone house overlooked the sea.

Cassie caught her breath. “Look at that river of daffodils pouring down the hill! They’re just starting to bloom everywhere else.”

“Flowers always bloom here first because the house faces south and it’s protected on three sides.” He nudged his horse down the hill. “Other flowers come later, but there’s nothing to match the daffodil glory of spring.”

Cassie started down after Grey. “The house looks older than Summerhill.”

“It is by a couple of centuries. It was a farmhouse originally.” He feasted his eyes on the familiar weathered walls. “I don’t think anyone has lived here since my grandmother, the dowager countess, died three years ago. I wish I’d seen her again.”

“What a waste of a beautiful house.”

“I’ve always thought that when I marry, I’d live here until I inherit,” Grey said. “It’s only a few minutes from the main house, but it has more privacy. And the view!”

“Wise to put a bit of space between a lord and his heir,” she agreed. “The estate seems as well run as it is beautiful. No wonder you love it so much.”

“Though I thought of Summerhill every day of my captivity, I’d still half forgotten just how … connected I feel to this land.” Grey struggled to find the words to explain. “Being here repairs some of the holes in my raveled psyche.”

Cassie gave him a warm, intimate smile. “I can see the difference. You’re acquiring more confidence by the hour.”

“As long as I also acquire more sanity,” he said wryly. “I almost killed Peter this morning. It was horrifying for us both.”

Cassie gasped. “What happened?”

“I’ll explain over lunch. I had the kitchen pack food and drink. I don’t have a key to the dower house, but there’s a porch at the far end where we can eat.”

She nodded agreement and didn’t ask questions until they’d tethered the horses and he brought their picnic to the side porch. A massive stone table and benches sat there, sunshine pouring over them, and there was a splendid view of the sea.

Cassie sighed with pleasure as she brushed dust and a few leaves from the bench, then sat in a cloud of golden skirts. “I love that the sea is so close. Did you sail as a boy? Dream of being a ship’s captain and seeing the world?”

He laughed and handed her a cup of wine. “My dreams were land bound.”

“Tell me what happened with Peter.”

The memory was painful so he kept his explanation terse. Cassie listened while she ate a ham, cheese, and chutney sandwich. When he finished, she said thoughtfully, “So he’s going to try for a career in the theater. Your parents won’t disown him, I hope?”

“No, though they won’t be pleased. But they have me back as heir, and they want their children to be happy. Elizabeth could have had a far grander marriage than Johnny Langtry, but he’s the one she wanted. If Peter prospers as an actor, they’ll probably buy him his own theater.”

She laughed. “I can imagine someone making a cutting remark about Peter’s acting and your father staring him down with an ‘I am Costain’ expression on his face.”

Grey grinned. “You took his measure well. We Sommerses have our share of pride. The House of Hanover is a collection of upstarts by comparison.”

“Pride, yes, but not arrogance,” she said. “You’ll make a very fine earl, Grey.”

“I hope so. It’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” Except Cassie, and he knew better than to say that out loud. Not after she’d recoiled at the suggestion that they could make their betrothal a real one.

He watched the play of light on her richly colored hair, aching to keep her close always. He needed to change her mind. But time was running out.

After a lazy meal in the sunshine, they headed back to the main house. Cassie had loved the ride, the horse, and the beautiful spring day. Most of all, she loved the feeling of wholeness she sensed in Grey.

Though his captivity had been beastly, she suspected that some of the ways it had reshaped his life were good. Certainly any tendency he might have had toward arrogance had been knocked out of him.

The emotional damage would take more time to heal. She guessed that large groups of people would continue to distress him for some time to come, and the incident with Peter proved that his temper was still dangerously close to the surface.

But the foundation of his character was being rebuilt into a structure that was so solid that she need no longer worry about him. Not much, anyhow.

They emerged from the woods and saw a crowd of people gathered in the courtyard outside the entrance to the house. “Those are tenants and neighbors,” Grey exclaimed. “Good God, my father!”

Chapter 37

Grey kicked his horse into a blazing gallop toward the house. Cassie followed only a couple of strides behind, knowing he was right to be afraid. Head injuries were unpredictable, and even though the earl had seemed to be recovering, he might have taken a lethal turn for the worse. This sort of gathering is exactly what might happen when word went out through the neighborhood that a great and beloved man had died.

Thirty or forty people had gathered, but as Cassie drew nearer, she saw that the mood was festive rather than solemn. Yes, it was an impromptu party, with tables holding refreshments set up below the portico. Two men, one of them Peter, were dispensing tankards of drink from casks.

“Here he is!” A cry went up as Grey was spotted racing toward them. “Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hooray!”

Cassie and Grey realized at the same moment that it was a welcome home party for the long-lost heir to Costain. Waving, Grey slowed his mount to a walk. When Cassie drew up beside him, he said quietly, “News of my miraculous return obviously spread fast. Most of the tenants and local villagers are here.”

His jaw was tight and she guessed that he was feeling crowd panic. “You could ride around the back and go into the house that way,” she suggested. “Then you could call out a greeting from one of the front windows.”

He shook his head. “Sommerses don’t do things like that. If they came here to show that they’re glad I’m alive, I can’t hide away. But please … stay close, Cassie.”

“Are you going to introduce me as your fiancée?” she asked warily. “This lie is spreading faster and faster.”

“I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t, but I’d be amazed if everyone here hasn’t already heard that my beautiful redheaded companion is the next Countess of Costain.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “For someone who has survived on quick wits and guile, you’re remarkably attached to the truth.”

She had to laugh. “Living a life of deception is the reason why I draw a very clear line between truth and lies whenever possible.”

People were pressing forward toward the riders, calling greetings to Grey. Cassie said under her breath, “You’ll feel less overwhelmed if you remain on horseback.”

“True,” he agreed, “but I can’t.”

He dismounted and took the hand of a broad, grizzled farmer who had tears in his eyes. This wasn’t a lord greeting a peasant. This was living proof of a community where the Sommerses of Summerhill were part of a greater fabric. The community had mourned Grey’s apparent death, and now the people celebrated his miraculous return.

The farmer said, “I knew those damned frogs couldn’t kill you!”

“They came very close, Mr. Jackson!” Grey called back.

A heavyset older woman enveloped him in a fierce hug. “Don’t you ever frighten me like that again! You’re not too old to be spanked, young man!”

“And you’re just the woman to do it,” he said with a grin as he hugged her back.

Despite Grey’s warm responses, Cassie saw that he was strung as tight as a harp string. She slid from her mount and moved to stand at his left shoulder. Two young boys emerged from the crowd and took the reins to the horses and led them away.

As Grey had requested, Cassie stayed close, but people were closing in around them, pressing closer and closer. Though the mood was happy, even Cassie grew nervous at the crowding. Concerned for Grey, she grabbed Peter’s arm when he joined them. Under her breath, she said, “Crowds upset him. Take his other side and keep people from getting too close.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Grey seems fine.”

“He isn’t!” she retorted. “Please, help him get more space.”

Accepting her word, Peter moved to Grey’s other side to form another barrier to the jostling crowd. Cassie took Grey’s arm. She whispered in his ear, “You need to help your frail fiancée into the house!”

“You, frail?” he said incredulously, but relieved. “A good excuse, though.”

He began to walk through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting hugs with his free arm as he continued to exchange greetings. On his other side, Peter intercepted well-wishers and deflected some of the excitement.

They reached the steps and climbed up to the portico. At the top, Grey turned and raised both hands for silence.

When the hubbub died down, he said in a voice that filled the courtyard, “I can’t describe how much it means to be welcomed home like this. For ten long years, I’ve dreamed of Summerhill. Of my family”—he clapped Peter on the shoulder—“and of my friends. Like you, Mrs. Henry, who made me work in your garden if I was to earn your wonderful gingerbread.”

The crowd laughed while a large woman called back, “Just this once I’ll send a batch to the big house to celebrate your homecoming!”

“If you forget, you’ll find me on your doorstep, hungry,” he promised. His gaze moved across the upturned faces. “I’d think about all the pretty Lloyd daughters. I see that there are two more now than when I left.” More laughter. He added, “Before I forget, I want to say that my father is recovering well from his accident, so you won’t have to deal with me for some time.”

More cheers and laughter. Cassie watched admiringly as Grey continued talking to his friends and neighbors with wit and charm. He truly was born to Summerhill. These people were proof of how generations of Sommerses had cared for their land and their tenants. How they loved, and were loved in return.

Her eyes stung from a mixture of emotions. Pride in Grey. Envy of his powerful sense of belonging. And regret that she would never see this connection between Grey and his community again, because it really was time for her to leave. Grey had everything he needed right here.

A voice called out, “Tell us what happened, Lord Wyndham, or we’ll make up stories that will curdle milk!”

“Can’t have that.” Grey hesitated. “The story is simple, really, and I have every intention of forgetting the details, so don’t ask me more. Ten years ago I was in Paris and I offended a high government official just as the Truce of Amiens ended. It was a chaotic time, so the official threw me into his own private dungeon out in the country. Ten years of one boring day after another, so there isn’t much to tell. When I finally escaped, I headed north and found a smuggler to bring me home. And here I am.”

“Who’s the lady?” a woman called. “Is she the next countess?”

Grey took Cassie’s hand and drew her forward with a whispered, “Sorry.” Turning to the crowd, he said, “This is Miss Catherine St. Ives of Norfolk, who helped me escape. I hope to persuade her to stay. Will you give her a Dorsetshire welcome?”

The crowd burst into roars and applause while Cassie blushed bright red. Damn her pale redhead’s complexion!

Grey waved a farewell. “Miss St. Ives is tired so I’ll say good-bye and thank you. I shall never forget this day.”

As soon as they were inside and the door closed behind them, he crushed her in his arms and shook. She felt his hammering heart against her breasts. “Thank you for rescuing me once again,” he said roughly. “The welcome was wonderful in theory, but I wouldn’t have lasted much longer without behaving badly.”

“I think you would have lasted as long as necessary.” She stroked a calming hand down his back. “But you’ve been tested enough for one day.”

Peter followed them in, closing the door behind him. “People obviously prefer you to inherit rather than me,” he said cheerfully. He sobered when he saw his brother’s strained face. “That really was hard on you! I thought Cassie was exaggerating.”

“She’s very good at keeping me from falling apart,” Grey said wryly, not letting Cassie go. “All those people just showed up? I was afraid it meant that Father had died.”

Peter winced. “That would look similar, wouldn’t it? When Mother saw tenants arriving, she sent me out to play host while she arranged for refreshments. I think half the reason people came was because this is the first real spring day we’ve had, and everyone wanted an excuse to celebrate.”

“So my return was the excuse.” Grey relaxed enough to end the embrace, though he kept an arm around Cassie. “And by coming here, they had a good shot at Summerhill cider and ale and probably Summerhill hams and cheeses as well.”

“An opportunity they took full advantage of,” Lady Costain said from above. She glided down the stairs, one hand on the railing and looking every inch a countess. “I was about to send out grooms to find you, Grey. But when you did return, you handled it all well. Your father was watching from his room.”

“He must be much stronger,” Grey said. “Which probably means he’ll be down for dinner tonight.”

His mother laughed. “Indeed he will. Since we have so much reason to be grateful, I decided that tonight we’ll have a special celebration feast just for the family. Elizabeth and her husband will join us. Catherine, do you have a favorite dish I should ask the cook to prepare?”

Cassie blinked. Apparently she was no longer a fortune-hunting slut. After a moment’s thought, she said, “There’s a sweet I loved when I was a child, an apple tart made with a handful of currants that have been soaked in brandy. It was served warm with custard or cream on special occasions.”

“Apple with currants soaked in brandy?” The countess looked intrigued. “That sounds excellent, and well within my kitchen’s capacity. Grey, I imagine you would still enjoy Mrs. Bradford’s special roast lamb?”

“Oh, yes,” he said fervently. “With mint sauce.”

“I shall see you at dinner then.” With a gracious nod to her sons and Cassie, Lady Costain sailed off for the kitchen.

“My mother now thinks of you as part of the family,” Grey observed.

“She could hardly forbid me the table when I’m your guest,” Cassie pointed out. “I need to examine my wardrobe to see what will suit a family celebration in the country when half the guests have titles.”

“You could wear that habit and look beautiful,” Grey assured her.

“But not appropriate! I’ll see you later.” She caught up her skirts and climbed the stairs. When she reached her room, she rang for Hazel, who appeared promptly. “You’re the perfect maid,” Cassie observed. “Good at all the maidly skills, but since you’re one of Kirkland’s people, we can gossip as equals.”

Hazel bobbed a very proper curtsy. “I’ve much experience as a maid. It’s a good way to gather information without being noticed.”

Cassie nodded. Maids, like old peddlers, were usually invisible. “I need something very nice but not too flamboyant to wear for dinner tonight. The earl will come down for the first time since his accident, and they want to celebrate Lord Wyndham’s return as well. Two escapes from death.” Cassie grinned. “Lady Kiri threw this wardrobe together for me so quickly I’m not sure what I have.”

“There’s a green satin gown that will look a treat with your red hair,” Hazel said. “It’s not as full or long as a ball gown and the neckline isn’t as deep, but it’s handsome enough for a special dinner. It might need a bit of altering, so you’d best try it on after you’re out of the riding habit.”

“I’m really fortunate that Lady Kiri’s sister is so close to me in size and has such a generous nature.” Cassie turned so Hazel could unfasten the back of her habit. “Are you bored here with no spies or indiscreet government ministers to watch?”

Hazel laughed as she undid one of the ties. “It’s been very restful. This is the rarest of places, a happy household.”

“Unusual indeed. What do the servants think of Lord Wyndham’s return?”

“Everyone is delighted, particularly the older folks who knew him better. They say he’s very like his father, and that’s good for Summerhill.” Hazel tugged the gown over Cassie’s head. “The more thoughtful folk recognize that ten years in prison change a man. They hope he hasn’t changed too much.”

“He’s remarkably resilient, so I think they have no reason to worry about their future here.” Cassie raised her arms so Hazel could drop the green satin gown over her. “What do they think of Peter? For years he’s been considered the heir.”

Hazel smoothed the fabric over Cassie’s figure. “He’s well liked and people thought he’d have done a decent job if he’d inherited, but they think his elder brother will do the job best.”

“I’m sure they’re right. Grey truly loves this estate and all the responsibilities that go with it.” As Hazel pinned the gown in several places, Cassie tried not to think about the perfect lady needed to match Grey’s perfect lord.

Chapter 38

Grey’s eyes widened as Cassie descended the staircase in a shimmer of green satin. “You look splendid. The gown is perfect for tonight.”

Though she laughed, she was pleased by his warm admiration. “Since you were happy with my riding habit, I don’t know how much I should trust your judgment.”

He offered his arm. “I assure you that I’ve always had impeccable taste when it comes to dressing women.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And I’m equally good at undressing them.”

“Shhhh!” she said with a blush as they entered the small salon where the family was gathering for pre-dinner drinks. Lord Costain was seated on a sofa rather than standing, but he looked very well. His wife was beside him, and they held hands like besotted newlyweds.

Cassie made a deep curtsy in front of them. “I am glad to see you so well, my lord. I thank you both for your courtesy to an unexpected guest.”

Lord Costain smiled benevolently. “Very prettily said. My wife and I could not be happier to meet our son’s future bride, and to find her so suitable.” A glint in Lady Costain’s eyes suggested that she wasn’t entirely in agreement with her husband’s statement, but her smile was gracious.

Peter entered the salon followed by his sister and her husband. John Langtry was pleasant looking rather than strikingly handsome like the Sommers men, but he had an appealing smile and he and Elizabeth clearly doted on each other.

Cassie was pleased to see how relaxed Grey was with his family now that the initial hurdles had been cleared. He talked easily, shared reminiscences with his brother-in-law, and was attentive to Cassie so she didn’t feel like the odd woman out.

After half an hour of relaxed conversation, Lady Costain got to her feet. “Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”

“An excellent plan,” Grey said. “I hear a roast lamb calling my name.”

Cassie smiled, looking forward to Grey’s lamb and the St. Ives apple currant tart. As she stood, the butler appeared in the door. “There are two gentlemen here to see Miss St. Ives.”

Hard on his heels were two well-dressed young men around Cassie’s age. They were of similar height and build, though one was a bit taller and broader. The men were clearly related by blood—and they had auburn hair the exact shade of Cassie’s.

“Look at the hair! It has to be her!” the leaner one hissed to the other. Raising his voice, he asked eagerly, “Catherine? Are you our Cat?”

Cassie’s wineglass dropped from nerveless fingers and smashed on the floor as she stared at the newcomers. When she had known her cousins, they’d all been children with faces not yet fully formed, but in the features of these grown men she saw echoes of her dark-haired, long-dead brother, Paul.

Rushing memories tightened her throat so she could barely speak. Gazing at the leaner man, she breathed, “Richard?” Her gaze shifted to the other. “Neil?”

She swayed until Grey put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You are Cassie St. Ives’s cousins?” he asked.

“We certainly are!” Richard drew Cassie into an exuberant hug. “Cat, dear God, it’s a miracle! We thought you were dead.” He pulled back without letting go of her and asked hesitantly, “Did … did anyone else survive?”

She shook her head, tears running down her face. “Only me.”

The other young man moved his brother aside. “Being the heir doesn’t mean you get all the hugs, Richard.” His embrace was rib bruising. “You’d better remember me also, Cat, or I’m going to put frogs in your bed!”

“If you do, you’ll find one in yours, too!” she said with a catch of laughter. She leaned into her younger cousin’s embrace. He was tall and strong, a man now. The three of them had been close in age and they were a large part of the childhood she’d buried in the depths of unbearable memory. “You’ve grown, Neil. I used to be able to defeat you when we wrestled.”

“And didn’t our mothers hate when we did that!” he chuckled.

Richard turned toward the fascinated gazes of the Sommers family. Bowing to the earl and countess, he said, “Lord Costain, Lady Costain. Please accept my apologies for intruding on a family occasion. My only excuse is that once we learned that our cousin might be alive, we were desperate to learn the truth.”

“We above all can understand what it is like to experience this kind of miracle,” Lord Costain said. “Our prodigal son was missing for only ten years. Your prodigal cousin has been lost for nigh on twenty years.”

“Exactly, sir.” Richard’s smile lit up the room. “The lost has been found, and we couldn’t be happier.”

Lord Costain studied the newcomers. “I know your father, and your uncle was a good friend of mine. I’m glad to meet the next generation of St. Iveses.”

Lady Costain glanced at the butler. “Set two more places at the table and prepare rooms for our guests.”

“That isn’t necessary, Lady Costain,” Richard protested. “We’ll stay in the village inn. We should have waited until tomorrow to call, but … we couldn’t.” He swallowed hard. “Catherine’s brother and sister were dark haired like their mother and too old to be playmates for us, but Cat was our age and a true redheaded St. Ives. More like a sister than a cousin.”

“Of course you’ll stay here,” the countess said briskly. “Our families are soon to be connected, so you are very welcome under our roof. Tonight is a celebration of my husband’s recovery from a serious accident and my son’s return from France. What could be more fitting than for you to join us in celebrating your cousin’s survival?”

Neil said, “You are gracious, ma’am.”

“I am known for it,” the countess said with a sparkle of amusement. “Would you gentlemen like to have a drink before dining?”

The brothers exchanged a glance. “It appears that you were on the verge of going in to dinner,” Richard said. “Give us a moment to wash up, and we’ll be happy to dine now if you don’t mind our travel dust.”

That was agreed to. In the following flurry of activity, Grey murmured to Cassie, “You have no doubt of their identities?”

“None at all,” she replied. “Their father was vicar of the St. Ives parish church, so Richard and Neil and I grew up together.” She gazed after them as they left to wash up. “After my family was killed, I closed the door on my childhood. Now they’ve opened that door and I find so many bright, clear memories.”

“I’m glad,” he said simply.

He was, she realized, but there was another emotion in his eyes. One that she couldn’t read.

With twice as many males as females present, Cassie was able to sit next to Grey and opposite both her cousins. She asked them question after question about the family. Their parents were well, and George, the brother who’d been only a baby when Cassie last saw him, was now a student at Oxford and planning to follow his father into the church. The three of them ate and laughed and sighed happily over the apple currant tart.

When Lady Costain rose to signal the end of the meal, she said, “Rather than separating the males and females for port and tea, I suggest that perhaps Catherine and her cousins might like time together to talk since they have much to catch up on.”

Cassie, feeling awkward, glanced at Grey. After he gave her a slight nod, she said, “I’d like that very much if it’s agreeable to Richard and Neil.”

They said they’d like nothing better, so the St. Iveses were escorted to the library, where both port and tea were available. Feeling reckless, Cassie poured three glasses of port and settled down in front of the fire with hers.

Her cousins sprawled opposite, visibly fatigued from their long journey, but deeply content. Richard remarked, “I noticed Lord Wyndham called you Cassie. Do you prefer that to Cat?”

“Either will do. I haven’t been Cat in almost twenty years. I rather like hearing it again.” Cat had been a happy, mischievous child. Very different from serious, haunted Cassie, but both of them were real. “Do your parents know about me, or are they in Norfolk?”

“They’re in London, but we didn’t tell them,” Richard said. “I know Kirkland slightly and he gave me the information about you so I could choose how to handle it.”

“Kirkland,” she said wryly. “I should have known. Why didn’t he tell your father since they were both in London? I’m sure they know each other.”

Neil grimaced. “About ten years ago an imposter showed up. It was very painful for the family, especially my parents.”

“Someone was impersonating me?” she asked, startled. “Why?”

“Not you. Paul, since he was the heir to St. Ives,” Richard explained. “Like Paul, the imposter had your mother’s dark hair, and he looked quite a bit like Paul. Like a St. Ives. And he’d gathered enough information about the family to be moderately convincing, too.”

“If only it had been Paul,” Cassie said sorrowfully. “But I’m sure I was the only survivor.” Tersely she described the fire and how she’d been saved by her nurse, Josette. The story hadn’t seemed suitable to tell during a celebratory dinner.

“At least it was quick, not months of misery in a dungeon waiting for execution,” Neil said, repressed savagery in his voice. “Your family’s deaths changed everything and not just because Father inherited the title.”

“Though going from the vicarage to St. Ives Hall was a considerable change, and not always as amusing as one might think,” Richard observed.

Neil gave a nod of agreement. “If your family had died of fever or smallpox, it would have been tragic but could be considered God’s will. Being murdered because you were English in the wrong place at the wrong time was utterly, infuriatingly wrong.”

“We both wanted to go into the army and kill Frenchmen,” Richard said bluntly. “But since I’m the heir, I accepted that my responsibilities lay in England.”

“So I got to be the dashing hero,” Neil said with a grin. “I’m a captain in the Life Guards.”

“To be fair, he’s probably better at mayhem than I.”

“I look better in the uniform, too,” Neil said smugly.

Cassie laughed at the brotherly teasing. “Tell me more about the imposter. How did you find he wasn’t Paul?”

“My mother had always doted on Paul, and she embraced him wholeheartedly. She wanted him to be Paul. My father wasn’t so sure,” Richard explained. “He’d never expected to become Lord St. Ives and he was shattered when your family was killed. But he’d had ten years of being a lord by the time the imposter showed up. He found that he liked it. So when he had doubts about the imposter, he wasn’t sure if they were genuine, or if he didn’t want to believe for selfish reasons.”

“My father said his brother was the most honorable man he knew,” Cassie said softly. “No wonder he was torn. How was the imposter exposed?”

“I could see that Richard had some of the same conflicts as Father,” Neil said. “It was easier for me since I wasn’t the heir and didn’t have as much to lose. Faux Paul was fairly convincing, but I didn’t have the sense I’d ever known him before. He felt like a stranger. After I talked it over with Richard, we started setting traps. Pretending we remembered doing things with him that never happened and the like. He was good at being evasive, but eventually we had enough evidence to support our belief that he was a fraud and we presented it to our parents.”

“Mother didn’t want to believe us,” Richard said, continuing the story. “Father frowned and called Faux Paul in and demanded he take off his shirt.”

Cassie blinked. “Why?”

“Apparently when Paul was very small, before you were born, he fell against a piece of jagged wood and was badly injured. He almost died and was left with a huge scar on one shoulder. Few people knew about that, but of course my parents did.”

Fascinated by the story, Cassie asked, “Did Faux Paul try to escape?”

“Very briefly, but Richard and I were both there,” Neil said grimly. “I pinned him down and cut off his shirt. No scar. That was enough to convince even my mother.”

“What happened to him?”

“We conducted a family court right there,” Richard said. “His name was Barton Black and he’s actually a first cousin of ours. His mother was a bastard daughter of our grandfather, who seems to have been a lusty old goat. When Barton learned of the deaths in France, he began studying the family. When enough time had passed to blur memories, he showed up and claimed to be Paul.”

“I think this is one cousin I’m glad I haven’t met,” Cassie said, bemused. “What did the family court decide?”

“My father hadn’t known about Barton’s mother, and he thought she and Barton had been treated very shabbily. He made Barton sign a detailed confession with all of us as witnesses, then said he could go free.” Richard laughed. “Barton was a cheeky devil. Said he wanted to leave England for warmer climes and asked for the fare to Botany Bay because he’d heard there were great opportunities there.”

“Father agreed and we escorted him to the docks and put him on a ship. We’ll not see him again.” Neil grinned. “I rather liked him even if he wasn’t Paul. But you can see why when Kirkland said Catherine St. Ives was alive, Richard decided to look you over before we told our parents. Since I was in London, he roped me into coming.”

“You’d not have forgiven me if I hadn’t asked,” Richard pointed out.

“You had no doubts of my identity?” Cassie asked curiously. “Twenty years is a long time. Two thirds of our lives.”

“You had the hair,” Neil explained. “Also, Kirkland said he’d known you for years. Since you’d never announced yourself to the family, it didn’t seem as if you were after anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Richard said, his voice low and laced with pain. “Did you think we didn’t care?”

Cassie looked down at her port and realized that she’d drunk it all. She rose and poured more, topping up her cousins’ glasses as well.

When she resumed her seat, she said, “I was an orphaned child in France, lucky to be alive. My English life seemed very distant, no more than a dream. With a war going on, it wasn’t a simple matter of writing a letter. By the time I was old enough to return, too much time had passed. I didn’t think anyone would remember or care who I was.”

“You should have known better, Cat,” Richard said. “I meant what I said to the Costains. You were like a sister. How could you imagine Neil or I would forget you?”

As she gazed into her wine, she realized there was another reason. “I needed to believe that … that your family was well and happy,” she said haltingly. “If I’d found that one of you had died, I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.”

Neil leaned over to give her shoulders a brotherly squeeze. “We were well and happy, Cat. But we would have been happier to know you were alive.”

“What have you been doing all these years?” Richard asked. “Did you marry? Have children? How have you survived?”

She hesitated, wondering how much to say. But Richard and Neil were family. They deserved some truth. “I’ve spent much of my time in France, but I return to England regularly. I do work that the British government considers useful.”

“You’re a spy,” Neil said with dawning understanding. “Damn, Cat, but you always were the gamest girl I ever knew!”

“I think I better understand why you didn’t write us,” Richard said soberly. “The work you’ve been doing must be very dangerous.”

Cassie shrugged. “There was no reason to disrupt your lives, and if something happened to me, you wouldn’t have the pain of losing me a second time.”

“Actually, you had a very good reason to let us know you were alive, Cat,” Richard said. “Didn’t you know that you’re an heiress?”

Chapter 39

“An heiress?” Cassie echoed, startled. “My parents’ marriage settlements would have specified portions for each child of the union, but surely that went back into the St. Ives estate after our deaths were reported. Why would there be any money due to me?”

Neil grinned. “You tell her, Richard. You’re the one who spends all the time with the estate lawyers and bankers.”

“For my sins.” Richard rolled his eyes. “You’re still eligible for your portion since you are alive, but that’s just the beginning. Your mother had a substantial fortune, and the settlements divided it equally among her children. Since you’re the only surviving child, her entire fortune comes to you, along with your portion from the St. Ives estate.”

Still doubting, Cassie said, “The Montclairs were well off, but I assumed all their wealth was confiscated by the French government during the revolution.”

“Perhaps. I have no information about that,” Richard replied. “But since your mother married an Englishman, her fortune was transferred to England, where it’s been growing very nicely ever since.”

“We St. Iveses are businessmen at heart, you know,” Neil said with a grin. “We’re much better at making money than the average aristocrat.”

It was more than Cassie could grasp. “So now I can afford to buy myself a cottage by the sea.”

“You can buy a castle by the sea if you like,” Richard assured her.

Cassie shook her head, having trouble grasping the magnitude of this news. “I never thought I’d live long enough for money to matter. My expenses have always been reimbursed by the people I work with, so I’ve had salary to spare.” There was no point in buying clothing or jewels when she could almost never wear them. “I’ve never worried about the future because I never expected to make old bones.”

“Enough of that nonsense, Cat,” Neil said, his voice stern. “As a soldier during war, there are any number of ways I might come to a premature end, but I jolly well intend to retire as a crusty old colonel and live till I’m ninety. There’s no point in assuming one will die young.”

Cassie had assumed that. But now she was discovering reasons for living.

“Enough talk of death,” Richard said. “Cat, come back to London with us. My parents will be overjoyed to see you.”

Leave Grey? Leave Summerhill? But she must, and soon. Stalling, she said, “I must think about it. This is all so sudden.”

“The world turned upside down,” Richard agreed. “Bring Wyndham along. He should meet your family. I’d like to get to know him better. See if he’s good enough for my almost sister.”

“He’s just returned to Summerhill and he won’t want to leave again so soon.”

Her cousins nodded with understanding, then began to fill her in on family news of the last couple of decades. She felt as if a bright, shiny new world was being created right before her very eyes.

It would replace the bright world she’d glimpsed here that could never be hers.

By the time Cassie and her cousins ran out of conversation, the rest of the household had retired. When she became too weary to continue, Cassie hugged them both good night. “I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to have a family.”

“There’s nothing more important,” Richard said as he released her so Neil would have his turn. “Now that we have you back, you’ll never lack for family again.”

“Do return to London with us, Cat,” Neil added. “I’m leaving for Spain by the end of the week, and I feel like we still have years of conversation to catch up on.”

“I’ll consider it.” With a last smile, she returned to her room, feeling lightheaded from all the port she’d drunk. She’d never forgotten Paul and Anne, her true brother and sister, but she should have remembered that she had other brothers as well.

A crack of light showed under the door of her room, so a maid must have left a lamp for her, and perhaps a fire to warm the chilly night. With a sigh, Cassie realized she must ring for Hazel to help her out of her gown.

She stepped into her room and was unsurprised to see that she was not alone. Grey was lying stretched out on the bed, his hands folded under his head and his gaze on the ceiling. He’d shed his boots and coat and was all lean, pantherish power, his hair golden and his masculine frame etched by firelight.

When she entered, he turned his startling dark-rimmed eyes to her. “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

She closed the door and leaned back against it, her decision made. “Yes.”

“I can see how much it means to you to have a family again. Your cousins seem like good fellows. Nonetheless…” In one smooth movement Grey was off the bed and across the room to stand an arm’s length from her. “Don’t go, Cassie. Please.”

She wanted to walk into his arms, hold him and never let go. She wanted to learn ever deeper mysteries of his soul, to be intertwined as closely as two humans could be.

But she couldn’t. “It’s time for me to leave, Grey,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“Why?” he asked fiercely. “Don’t you think we could have a good life together?”

“I don’t know. Neither do you.” She shook her head. “You’ve been free only a few weeks. We’ve been together constantly ever since, facing danger and sharing passion. I’ve been the one constant as you’ve reentered the world. But that’s not a good enough reason to marry.” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed her surroundings. “You don’t need me anymore, Grey. Everything you really need is right here at Summerhill.”

“I’m not asking you to stay because I need you, but because I want you,” he said gravely. “Does that make a difference?”

She shook her head again. “Desire is powerful, but it shouldn’t be allowed to overcome judgment.”

“No? You think this is so easily dismissed?” He moved forward and trapped her against the door with a searing kiss. His hands slid over her with heat and promise, bringing her body to yearning life.

Resistance and judgment vanished as she gave herself to the passion that bound them. They drew together, writhing with the need to join, yet too impatient to undress.

Breathing harshly, he drew her green satin gown up till it crushed around her hips. Then he delved into moist silken heat with unerring skill.

She gasped, pulsing against his hand. She wanted to melt into him. Equally she wanted to tear off his clothing. Mayhem won and she yanked his shirt from his trousers so she could slide her hand over the taut warmth of his belly.

When she found hot, hard flesh, his whole body jerked and a low moan escaped him. He ripped open his trousers while she raised one leg and wrapped it around his hips. When he sheathed himself inside her, they merged with panting breath and fierce rightness, male and female finding wholeness together.

“Catherine,” he breathed hoarsely as his hands tightened on the perfect curves of her derriere. “Cat. Cassie!” He shattered, tumbling into the abyss and taking her with him. She bit his shoulder to stifle her cries as he filled and fulfilled her, dissolving the pain that had shaped her life and leaving only sensation.

Yet it wasn’t enough. Not when passion faded and left her with gasping lungs, weakened muscles, and regret.

She might not have made it across the room if he hadn’t half carried her. Once they were standing by the bed, he deftly unfastened the ties and hooks of her satin gown. As he removed her layered garments, she wondered if the gown could be saved.

She supposed it didn’t matter since she could now buy any gown she wanted as a replacement. But Cassie was the product of too many years of frugality to not care if a beautiful garment had been wantonly destroyed.

And she was too much a product of danger and deception to give herself entirely to a man who wanted her now, but would not want her forever. That was the crux of it, she realized, as she slipped under the covers, then watched him strip off his clothing.

He was beautiful, all hard muscles and strong planes. He was a man who loved and liked women, and when the passion that joined them now faded, he would find fresh passions elsewhere.

Grey wouldn’t be unkind. He’d do his best to keep his affairs hidden from her to protect her feelings and her dignity. But she’d know. An expert spy was impossible to deceive about a matter so close to her heart.

In a year or two, when the fractured parts of his character had healed into a new shape that couldn’t yet be known, he might be ready to find the next Countess of Costain. She’d be a beautiful, sophisticated virgin who would be content with what he had to offer, and perhaps enjoy the freedom to take lovers of her own after passion faded and they had the heir and the spare his position required.

But Cassie the Fox would never be such a woman. She had no desire to share. She must leave now, before she was too deeply in love with him to leave.

As he held her close, he said with sad resignation, “You’re still going to leave, aren’t you, my lady vixen?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “There is attraction between us, and the bond created as we escaped from France, but that’s not enough to build our lives on.”

“I rather think it is, but if you disagree, I don’t know how to change your mind.” His caressing hand moved down from her shoulder, warming and shaping the soft flesh he found along the way. “I want to give you everything, yet there is nothing you need from me. You’ve found your way back to the life of wealth and position that you were born to, so I can’t even give you that.”

“You’ve given me something more valuable than a title and a fortune.” She turned her face to kiss his lips with lingering tenderness. “You’ve opened my heart in a way that makes a different kind of future thinkable. If I survive this war, and I’m beginning to believe that perhaps I will, I’ll be able to live a better life than if I hadn’t known you.”

He cupped her breast. “I’m glad you value the time we’ve been together. I thought all the benefit had been to me, and I’m not so selfish as to prefer it that way.”

“You’re not selfish.” She kissed him again, tenderness sliding into heat. “You’re generous in ways none of the other men I’ve known can match.”

He rolled so he was above her, supporting his weight so that his body barely skimmed hers. “You’re right that recovering from hell will take longer than a month. Will you think me a better, saner prospect a year from now? When you’re in England, can I take you for mad, passionate holidays by the sea?”

“No!” she said sharply. “We must end this now. You mustn’t wait to see if I’ll change my mind, and having an affair will only prolong the pain. Find joy in all the things you were deprived of. A year from now you won’t be interested in an aging spy.”

“I’m tempted to spank you,” he said with exasperation. “You worry about my state of mind, yet you’re so daft that you don’t recognize what an extraordinary and beautiful woman you are.” He began kissing his way down her throat, stirring sensations she’d thought exhausted. “Can I at least convince you that you are incredibly desirable?”

She opened her legs and he settled between them, his hardening length sliding along her exquisitely sensitive flesh. As she rocked against him, she said huskily, “You make me feel like the most desirable woman on earth.”

“Because you are.” He buried his face in the angle of her shoulder. “Ah, God, Cassie! If we only have tonight, let us spend every moment of it well.”

“We will,” she breathed as she drew him into her. “We will.”

When passion and words were exhausted, Grey cradled her spoon style, her back against his chest so she could feel the strong beat of his heart. She wondered if she’d ever feel so close to another man again.

Perhaps. Her time with Grey had changed her in fundamental ways. She could now imagine a life beyond war. If she survived, she’d buy a home in Norfolk to be near her family. Perhaps she might even marry someday. But just now, it was impossible to imagine loving any man but Grey.

She was half asleep when Grey began to sing, the soft words and melody barely audible. She hadn’t heard him sing since finding him in the dungeons of Castle Durand. She’d been surprised as much as by his strong, rich voice as by the amazing bawdiness of his song.

His voice was still rich, but this time he sang of love, or rather lost love. Her throat tightened as she recognized the haunting song from her childhood.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

Remember me to one who lives there

She once was a true love of mine.

The verses continued in the series of challenges to accomplish impossible tasks before love could be achieved. Aching, she closed her eyes against the sting of tears.

Remember me to one who lives there

He once was a true love of mine.

Chapter 40

Grey had faced more difficult challenges than bidding Cassie a civil farewell as she left him forever, but he couldn’t offhand remember when. He prayed that he would be able to maintain his composure rather than break down and confirm her worst suspicions of his mental stability.

The whole Sommers family had gathered in the front hall to say good-bye to Cassie and her cousins. She wasn’t dressed for glamour this morning, but the rich dark brown of her beautifully tailored morning gown was a perfect complement to her glorious auburn hair and porcelain complexion. When she turned to him to make her farewell, she looked more regal than the queen of England. It was hard to remember that they had lain naked and passionate in each other’s arms the night before.

While Richard and Neil gave effusive thanks and farewells to the earl and countess, Grey took the opportunity for a few last private words with Cassie. Close up, he saw shadows under her eyes. Not surprising, given how little sleep they’d had. He probably looked much the same.

“If I can get through this without breaking down into strong hysterics, surely I’m cured of my prison madness,” he murmured, trying for a light note. “Though, to be honest, the only thing preventing me from sweeping you away and locking you in the attics is the knowledge that you’d break my arm or something even more valuable.”

Her eyes lit with wry amusement. “I don’t doubt that you’re well on the way to recovery, Grey. Soon you’ll be breaking every female heart in the beau monde.”

“Oddly enough, that’s not my ambition.” He studied her face with such desperate ferocity that his gaze should have scorched her pale redhead’s complexion. In a remote corner of his mind, he understood why she believed they must go their separate ways. An even smaller part of him agreed. But his heart, body, and soul believed otherwise.

“Time to go, Cat!” Neil called.

“Good-bye, my lord and companion in adversity.” Cassie raised her hand and brushed Grey’s cheek with feather lightness. “I shall never forget you.”

His control snapped and he crushed her into a desperate embrace. “Don’t go, Cassie!” he whispered into her ear. “Stay.”

For an instant she hugged him back just as hard. Then she broke away, her face flushing. “Live well, Grey. Be happy.” She turned and walked out of Summerhill.

Taking his heart with her.

Cassie didn’t relax until the coach was well away from the estate. Not that she expected Grey to come galloping after her and sweep her onto his horse. Surely he knew better than to try. But with him, she could never be quite sure.

When they reached the main road east toward London, she finally settled back. Four people in the coach meant they were warm, so she removed her bonnet. Richard sat beside her. The facing seat held Neil opposite Cassie, while Hazel, looking invisible as only Kirkland’s agents could manage, sat across from Richard.

Richard had been silent until now, but he said abruptly, “I saw what Wyndham did as we were leaving. Has he behaved dishonorably to you, Cat?”

“Dishonorably?” she asked incredulously. “What do you mean?”

Looking embarrassed but ready to call Grey out, Richard asked, “Did he lead you to have expectations that he didn’t fulfill?”

Caught between amusement and irritation, Cassie said coolly, “If you’re practicing to be head of the family, don’t. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“But is he doing right by you?” Richard persisted. “I’m serious, Catherine.”

She studied her cousins for a dozen turns of the carriage wheels, wondering if they could understand the reality of a spy’s life. They’d probably be shocked—they were the sons of a vicar, after all. Better not to try to explain the complexities of her situation. “Wyndham wanted to marry me. Most people would consider that honorable behavior.”

“And you didn’t want to?” His voice was puzzled. “I don’t understand. You seemed very fond of each other.”

“It’s complicated.” She closed her eyes, cutting off discussion. She didn’t understand, either. But she knew she was right. Grey was not yet ready to take a bride. When and if he became ready, it wouldn’t be her.

Once more the trip to London was made at the quickest pace that a hired coach and frequent changes of horses could manage. Even so, it was midevening by the time they reached London. At her request, Hazel was set down near Kirkland’s office. Cassie suspected the agent would report about Wyndham’s return home.

As Hazel climbed from the coach, Cassie said, “Many thanks. You made my visit to the West Country much easier.”

Hazel smiled. “I enjoyed it. Perhaps we’ll meet again at Exeter Street.”

When the coach began moving again, Neil observed, “Not the usual lady’s maid.”

Cassie smiled. “I’m not the usual lady.”

St. Ives House was only a short ride away. As Neil helped her from the coach, she studied the façade. This block of houses was handsome and well proportioned. As a child, she hadn’t been brought to London often, but she remembered the house well.

“Is it difficult to be here again?” Richard asked as she took his arm.

She nodded. “I stayed here only a few times, but I have fond memories of the place. So I’ve avoided it.”

“You never came by when you were in London?” Neil asked, surprised.

“Never.” Her mouth twisted. “I buried everything to do with my childhood, and never looked back.”

“That’s not going to happen again,” Neil said firmly. “We won’t allow it.”

“Bossy brothers,” she said with a smile. “Even when I was eight years old, I didn’t take orders well.”

Richard grinned. “Can’t I briefly hope that you’ve become more biddable?”

“A waste of time. Best turn your thoughts to not shocking your parents too much,” she advised. “When Lady Costain saw Wyndham without warning, she fainted.”

“Good point. I’ll go in and prepare them. Neil, give me a couple of minutes to set the stage before you bring in Cat.”

“Shall do.”

The footman who admitted them gave Cassie a curious glance, but he was too young to have known her. “Welcome home, sirs. If you wish to pay your respects to Lord and Lady St. Ives, they’re having tea in the salon.”

“Send up a supper for three people,” Richard ordered. His step quick, he climbed the stairs to the salon.

Neil took Cassie’s cloak and bonnet, adding, “Prepare a room for our guest.” When the servant bustled off, he asked Cassie, “Ready to meet more relatives?”

She smiled crookedly as she took his arm. “I now have more sympathy for Wyndham’s nerves about going home after long absence.”

“Since you weren’t expecting Richard and me, you didn’t have to worry first,” he agreed. “But this won’t be bad. Now march lively!”

She laughed and obeyed. As they climbed the stairs, she tried to remember her cousins’ birthdays. Richard was about a year older than she, Neil a year younger. Close enough that the three of them had run around together like a pack of heathens. The vicarage was much more relaxed than the manor house, and Cassie had spent much time there, sitting in on lessons taught by her uncle.

The house appeared similar to the way she remembered it, with a number of furnishings that she recognized. Yet there were enough changes, particularly new artwork and upholstery, that it no longer felt like her parents’ house. She was glad of that.

When they entered the drawing room, Lady St. Ives was saying placidly, “How long must we wait for this happy surprise, Richard?”

“Not long,” her son replied. “Behold!” He made a sweeping gesture toward Cassie and Neil, then moved to join them. With the three of them next to each other, the family resemblance was undeniable.

Cassie’s aunt and uncle gaped at her. The passing years had added pounds and wrinkles and gray hair, but they were still the easygoing aunt and uncle she’d adored. She gave a deep curtsy. “It’s been a long way, Uncle Vicar. Patient Aunt Patience.” She used the nicknames deliberately as a way of verifying her identity.

“Catherine?” her aunt gasped.

Her uncle swiftly crossed the room to look at her more closely. John St. Ives resembled her father, but he was softer and wider and two decades older. “Catherine.” He squeezed her hands, his face beaming. “My dear girl! This is no imposter, Patience!”

The reunion that followed was much like the one with Richard and Neil, but with more people, more food, and more overlapping voices. As midnight approached, Cassie began to yawn. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s been a long day.”

“I should have asked for a room to be made up!” her aunt exclaimed. “I was so busy talking that I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” Neil said fondly. “The room will be ready when Cat is.”

“Which is now.” Cassie smothered another yawn. She was tired not only from travel, but so much social interaction. She was used to a quieter life.

“What are your plans now, Catherine?” her uncle asked. “This is your home while you are in London, of course. But would you like to go to Eaton Manor? With spring coming, Norfolk will be particularly lovely.”

The thought produced a stab of pain. Cassie had spent most of her childhood at Eaton Manor, and there would be more memories than she could bear to face now. “Perhaps later,” she replied. “For now, I have business in London.”

After good-night hugs, she retreated gratefully to an attractively furnished and comfortable room warmed by a briskly burning fire. Her clothing had been brushed and hung in the wardrobe.

A maid arrived moments after Cassie. The girl was there to help her with her gown, and she also brought a posset of warm spiced milk to aid sleep. Tears threatened when Cassie held the gently steaming mug. She could tell from the scent that the posset was her mother’s French recipe. She’d drunk it often as a child.

After the maid unfastened her gown, Cassie dismissed the girl. Changing into her nightgown and robe, she took the mug and moved to the window to gaze out over sleeping London. A sip of the posset showed that in deference to her mature years, a fortifying dose of rum had been added.

What was Grey doing now? Better not to think of that.

Much as she loved her rediscovered family, she’d been independent for too long to allow them to take her over. They had the best intentions in the world, but she’d been Cassie the Fox, sworn to work toward Napoleon’s defeat, for all of her adult life.

Yet though she wasn’t ready for Eaton Manor, she would enjoy spending time with the St. Iveses and being a woman of means. She owed Lady Kiri Mackenzie and Lucia Stillwell a really splendid shopping spree as a thank-you for their providing her with a wardrobe overnight.

She realized that since she now had assets, she should make a will. She’d never needed one before.

She also wanted to bare her teeth at Kirkland because he’d informed Richard St. Ives that she was alive, and he’d done it without her permission. The fact that it had turned out well just meant that Kirkland was his usual irritatingly right self.

After she chided him, she’d ask him for another mission. Her life might have changed dramatically in the last weeks, but there was still a war going on in Europe. And she wouldn’t be satisfied until Napoleon was destroyed.

The fox hadn’t finished her run.

Grey took up running. He had run in place for countless hours during his years in prison, imagining that he moved through green, open landscapes. Often he mentally visited his home on those runs to nowhere. Now he really could run through Summerhill. He needed the exertion because he wasn’t burning up energy in a bed with Cassie.

He quickly realized that running up and down hills was different from running in place. Though he discovered some new muscles that hadn’t been needed on the flat, he loved the freedom of running whether it was in sunshine or rain or on misty mornings. And he would never tire of Summerhill’s beauty.

Though he loved riding, being on foot showed new aspects of Summerhill. The local cobbler made him a pair of lightweight, comfortable half boots that perfectly suited his new passion. He felt himself growing stronger emotionally as well as physically. This lovely ancestral land healed him in ways he couldn’t describe.

He tried not to think of Cassie. His maturing might have been stalled by his years in prison, but dammit, he was an adult. He should be able to accept that a woman had good and sufficient reasons not to want him.

Unfortunately, he was reminded of her every time his parents gave another small dinner party for the neighbors. He’d agreed to the gatherings because he knew people were curious about the prodigal son, and he needed to become part of his community again.

But he hated being eyed like a beefsteak thrown into a pack of hungry dogs. He’d had to tell his family that Cassie had ended their betrothal, though he refused to answer questions. The fact that he was available, however, meant that every eligible young lady in the neighborhood was studying him and evaluating her chances.

Those who weren’t ladies evaluated him in different ways and made a different kind of offer. He became an expert at politely disappearing. So much nubile femininity emphasized how unique and special Cassie was. He missed her intelligence, her warmth, her hard-won wisdom. He also missed her deliciously rounded and sensual body.

Whenever his thoughts moved in that direction, it was time to start running again.

After a fortnight at home, he was beginning to relax and feel like Lord Wyndham again. Then he received a letter that turned the world upside down again.

Grey went in search of Peter and found him in the library, which was his brother’s particular haunt. Peter looked up from a letter with a beaming smile. “This is from Mr. Burke, the theater manager! He says his company needs a young actor to make the ladies swoon, and since I show signs of acting ability, he’ll give me a chance.”

“Wonderful!” And now Grey had to destroy his brother’s happiness. “But don’t tell the parents yet.” Grimly he held up his own letter. “I must travel to France. If I don’t return, you’ll be heir to Costain again.”

Chapter 41

Samuel Johnson said that a man who was tired of London was tired of life. Perhaps that didn’t apply to women, because after a fortnight of shopping and socializing, Cassie was restless. She was used to living a life of purpose. Choosing ribbons for bonnets didn’t seem very important compared to working toward Napoleon’s end.

It was a relief to receive a message from Kirkland requesting that she pay him a call. She’d visited earlier to chastise him for telling her cousins of her identity, but neither of them took her scolding seriously since the results of his meddling were good.

This was different. As she wielded the dragon’s head knocker, she remembered the January day when she’d called on Kirkland and been asked to determine if the long-vanished Wyndham was alive. The intervening months had been so eventful that the time seemed much longer.

Once more she was admitted by the butler and made her way back to Kirkland’s study. He rose courteously when she entered.

“What do you have for me today, James?” she asked lightly. “Information to be moved from England to France or vice versa? Scouting, assassination?”

“I have information for you,” he said somberly. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

She took a seat at his gesture. “This sounds serious.”

“It is.” He settled back in his chair wearily. “You know that the French and the British governments have hidden ways of communicating with each other?” At her nod, he continued, “I received a message sent by Claude Durand. It came through many hands before reaching me. He has recaptured Père Laurent, Wyndham’s companion in captivity. And he also arrested the people who were sheltering the priest.”

“The Boyers.” Cassie’s stomach clenched so badly that she was almost physically ill. Bad enough that Durand had recaptured Père Laurent, but Viole and Romain Boyer as well? “The priest’s niece and her family. They gave kindness and shelter when we were in dire need of it. Did Durand arrest their children as well?”

“Apparently. He said he’s imprisoned four members of the Boyer family.”

Durand probably hadn’t bothered with the older married daughter, but that was small comfort. Cassie swore with words that Catherine St. Ives wouldn’t have known. “That devil!” Understanding settled over her in an icy wave. “Durand sent the information to bait a trap, didn’t he? He wants Wyndham to return to France.”

“It’s the only reason why he’d go to the considerable effort of sending this information to the English,” Kirkland agreed. “And I’m afraid he’s going to get his wish. Wyndham is preparing to leave for France right now.”

She gasped. “Why the devil did you tell Wyndham? Rescuing the Boyers would be almost impossible even for trained agents. If he goes to France, he’ll be killed!”

“I hope not. As for why I told him about Durand’s message …” Kirkland grimaced. “Despite your not unjustified comments about my meddling, I don’t like making decisions for people. How would Wyndham feel if he learned later that Père Laurent had been recaptured and died in prison? And the Boyers? They sound like good people whose only crime was offering sanctuary to Madame Boyer’s uncle.”

“You must have known Wyndham would feel compelled to go back to France.” She winced. “I can imagine him bargaining with Durand, offering himself in return for the freedom of Père Laurent and the Boyers.”

Kirkland toyed with his quill pen with tense fingers. “It would be devilish unwise to bargain with a snake like Durand, but I can imagine Wyndham doing that if he thought it was the only way.”

Calm settled over Cassie. “You must know that I won’t let Grey go alone.”

“I considered it likely that you’d insist on going with him,” he admitted.

“Do you ever tire of playing God, James?” she said in an edged voice.

“Frequently.” The quill snapped in his hands. “If Wyndham goes alone, he’s unlikely to survive, much less succeed in his mission. If you go with him, the odds of success increase, but still aren’t good, and I’ve endangered your life as well. What would you do in my place?”

She considered. “The same as you’re doing. But I need to be angry at someone, and you’re nearest.”

“Feel free to curse me. I’m used to it.” He gave her a twisted smile. “Here you are with a new life. A loving family, a fortune, a return to the station you were born to. And I’m dragging you back into the murky and dangerous world of spying.”

“If it’s any comfort, I was becoming bored with the fashionable life and was ready to return to work.” Her eyes narrowed like the Cat of her childhood nickname. “I’m sure you know how I’d react if you let Wyndham go to his doom without telling me.”

“I’d be in fear of my life,” he said promptly.

“Wise man.” She stood, knowing what she must do. “Do you know where Wyndham is?”

“Upstairs in my guest room. I invited him to stay here while he’s in London.”

She spun on her heel and headed toward the door. Behind her, Kirkland said, “Second floor, all the way to the back.”

Not that she needed directions. Now that she knew Grey was near, she’d find him. And God help anyone who got in her way.

Grey was writing one of several difficult letters that he hoped would never need to be sent when the door to his room opened soundlessly. He glanced up, thinking it was one of Kirkland’s soft-footed maids, then froze. Cassie.

She looked composed and quietly elegant in a dark blue morning dress. This would be her style as an English lady, he realized. Impeccable tailoring, beautiful fabrics, and a rather conservative cut to balance the sensual magnificence of her flawless figure and bright auburn hair.

She closed the door and leaned back against it, one hand on the knob as if she was ready to bolt. Heart pounding, he got to his feet, thinking it was damned unfair of Kirkland to send Cassie. The atmosphere turned thunderous with tension. He wanted to cross the room and wrap his arms around her and drag her to his bed.

Instead, he forced himself to stay behind the desk. Skipping the preliminaries, he said flatly, “I’m not going to change my mind.”

She regarded him with a cool, assessing gaze. “So you think you can make your way across the channel and through France and rescue five people, at least one of them in poor health, from Castle Durand?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I have to try. I owe Père Laurent and the Boyers too much not to do what I can.”

“You’re sure?” she asked. “You spent ten years in hell. Now you have regained everything. Your family, your wealth, your station in life. Are you prepared to throw it all away in an impossible quest?”

“I am.” Despite his spells of anger and wildness, life had been almost unbearably sweet since Cassie rescued him. After searching for words, he said haltingly, “I need to do this. I’ve had so many blessings from the accident of my birth, and I’ve never been required to do anything difficult in return. I’ve never risked myself on behalf of anyone else. I … I need to prove to myself that I’m a man, not a callow boy.”

She nodded as if his words confirmed her thoughts. “I’m not here to waste my breath trying to change your mind. I knew you couldn’t turn your back on them.”

“I have years of frivolousness to make up for. So”—he eyed her warily—“if you aren’t going to try to change my mind, why did you come? To tie me up and lock me in a wardrobe so I can’t leave London?”

Her brows arched. “To take charge of this mission, of course. Left to your own devices, you’ll get yourself killed and waste all the time and effort I put into you.”

He was torn between laughing and swearing. “No. You’ve already risked far too much for me. Père Laurent and his family are my responsibility, not yours.”

“That’s arguable since I drove us straight to the Boyers’ farm and benefited by their generosity,” she retorted. “What isn’t arguable is that you haven’t the experience and skills needed to make it safely into France and have a chance of coming out alive again.”

“You underestimate me,” he said shortly, knowing she was right. “I speak French like a native, and having traveled with you across France, I have some idea of how such things are done. Kirkland has also promised me a new set of papers.”

“Can you find transportation across the channel? Given that you were suffering from two bullet wounds when we reached England, I suspect you’d have a hard time finding your way back to my English smugglers.”

She was right that he’d been hazy from his wounds and seasickness, but he’d thought about this. “Their name is Nash and I have a fair idea of where we landed. I’ll find them, and offer to pay so much that it would be bad business to refuse me.”

“You might be able do that,” she agreed. “You could also probably make your way to Castle Durand, given the right papers, though some people might question a healthy young male who isn’t in the army. But what about when you reach the castle? Are you planning a one-man invasion?”

“I’ll think of something, and it won’t be straightforward assault. I may be inexperienced, but I’m not stupid.”

“Not usually, but refusing my help is profoundly stupid. Together, we have some chance. On your own …” She shook her head. “You told me that Peter didn’t want to inherit the earldom. Are you going to force the title on him?”

“Tactfully put,” he said with exasperation. He covered the distance between them in two long strides and kissed her with the passion that had been building since their last night together.

Touching her simultaneously soothed and inflamed. Her mouth was sweet and hot and her breasts crushed against him as she responded, her fingers digging into his back. Dimly aware that this wasn’t what he’d expected, he broke the kiss and retreated, breathing hard. “Do you seriously think we can travel together and keep our hands off each other?”

“Obviously not.” Her face was flushed and auburn hair tumbled to her shoulders. She gave him a ruefully mischievous smile. “That’s why we must travel as husband and wife.”

Chapter 42

Grey had to laugh. “Is sharing a bed my reward if I let you come with me?”

“Probably more of a rationalization. We’re both mad to attempt a rescue from Castle Durand.” She stepped forward and kissed him as she tugged at his cravat. “But I’m serious about the fact that I won’t allow you to go alone. If you try, you might find yourself locked in a wardrobe after all.”

Reason dissolved as he unfastened her gown, then her corset. He needed to see and touch all of her, to absorb her wonderful Cassieness into every fiber of his being.

She must have felt the same for she tore at his garments with a fever that equaled his. Though it had been only a fortnight since they’d been together, it seemed like years. He wanted to devour her, to delight in shimmering coppery hair and subtle scents and powerful woman.

When they were finally skin to skin, they fell onto the bed, kissing and touching with frantic need. When he could wait no longer and buried himself in her, he groaned with pleasure and held very still, knowing how quickly this might end. Wanting to prolong their union, he rolled over so she was on top of him.

“Yesss,” she breathed as she adjusted, finding a rhythm that suited them both. But she was equally impatient, equally needy, and all too soon she convulsed around him.

He culminated instantly, clutching her tight as he surged into her. Cassie, Cassie, Cassie …

With passion exhausted, he stroked her back as he struggled for breath. When he could speak coherently, he said, “I’d considered traveling as a priest, but I don’t think that will work.”

“Definitely not,” Cassie said with a choke of laughter. She slid off him and lay on her side along his left flank, her hand resting warmly on his midriff.

“Any moment, you’ll explain to me that this doesn’t alter the long-term situation and we have no future,” he murmured. “But that if we’re traveling together, it’s more sensible to behave as husband and wife than to try to keep apart.”

“Sensible,” she mused as she traced a finger around his navel. “That’s us.”

He grinned as he toyed with a glossy lock of hair. “Maybe that’s not quite the right word.”

“Probably not.” Voice sober, she said, “Our chances of successfully rescuing Père Laurent and his family are even odds at best. That makes the pleasures of the moment worth the possible pain of the future.”

“So if we fail, we won’t be alive to endure the pain of separation? That’s sensible, in a morbid sort of way.” He caressed her bare shoulder, thinking this intimacy was worth a very high price. Even years of his life.

She cuddled under his arm, all warm, soft curves. “How were you doing at Summerhill?”

“I’ve taken up running for amusement since it feels good and it’s healthy. I’ve also been riding out to visit tenants to remind them who I am and assure them I’m reliable.” He chuckled. “There are still some doubts, but I’ve been pretending to be gentlemanly with some success. My mother has also been inviting the gentry over one family at a time so I can renew my acquaintance with the neighbors.”

“Wise of her to keep the entertainments small,” Cassie observed.

“Her first event was a tea where she invited about two dozen guests despite my request to avoid large groups,” he said dryly. “When I walked in the door and saw the number of people in the drawing room, I bowed politely and left. That convinced her I was serious in my request.”

“But overall, you’re feeling better?”

Hearing the concern in her voice, he said reassuringly, “Much better. I might be up for the autumn social season in London.” If he was alive and back in England then. “What about you? Were your aunt and uncle as welcoming as your cousins?”

“Oh, yes. My Aunt Patience always wanted a daughter. I was a tomboy as a child, but now I rather enjoy being a surrogate daughter.”

And having a surrogate mother, he suspected. “Cassie, you asked if I was really sure I wanted to risk losing so much. I have to ask you the same question. You have rediscovered a life that you thought was gone forever. Are you really sure you want to risk losing it for a cause that isn’t really your own?”

“I’m sure.” She rested her forehead against his arm. “One rule I’ve lived by is that you don’t abandon people who helped you. The Boyers helped us. It’s damnable of Durand to use them to lure you back to France. I can no more stand back and say, ‘How unfortunate, but it’s no matter of mine’ than you can.”

He’d made the decision to go to France knowing the chance of success was negligible, but with Cassie at his side, he felt a stirring of optimism. “Since you’re the expert agent, how do you think we should proceed?”

“I started thinking as soon as Kirkland told me of your mad scheme.” She pulled the covers over them, which improved their comfort and reduced distractions. “How far had you gone with your ideas?”

“I was planning on coloring my hair and maybe growing a moustache to disguise my features, but that takes time. Can I attach a convincing false moustache?”

“False moustaches look false and they’re hard to attach for any length of time.” She ran a light fingertip along his upper lip, feeling the almost invisible pale hairs growing there. “In a couple more days, this hair can be colored. It will be a short moustache, but enough to distract attention from the rest of your face.”

“What about you? Will you be a gray old lady again?”

“I need to look different from before. Besides, I don’t think you can be made to look like a gray old man who would be a convincing mate.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “We should travel as a boring middle-aged couple of modest income. You can be a clerk or a low-grade government official. I will be prim and humorless. Monsieur and Madame Harel. People will avoid us.”

He studied her lovely face. “I’m having trouble remembering that I thought you old and plain at first, but if you did it once, you can do it again.”

She gave him a flat stare and … faded away. She hadn’t moved, her features and coloring were the same, but she was duller and less interesting. “How do you do that?” he exclaimed. “It’s like you had a candle burning inside, and then you pinched it out.”

“I can’t really describe how. I just think myself plain.” She gave a half smile. “I’ve spent most of my adult life as a plain woman unworthy of any man’s notice. It comes naturally to me.”

“I shall want you just as much even if you’re disguised as the drab wife of a boring off icial.” He chuckled. “Think how amusing it will be to peel away the drab layers to reveal the delicious mysteries hidden beneath.”

She smiled agreement. “Just remember that in public, we need to look like we haven’t touched each other since our wedding night.”

“Difficult, but I’ll try my best.” Having settled that, he moved to the next question. “How shall we travel once we reach France? A cart like you had before?”

“As boring Monsieur and Madame Harel, we can travel by public coaches, which will be much faster. We’ll take a different route, too. Come at Castle Durand from a different direction.”

“Shall we get a couple of good riding hacks when we get close?” he asked. “We’ll need transportation of our own, and horses can go places carriages can’t.”

She nodded. “I hope we don’t have to spirit the whole lot of them out of France, though. That would be much, much more difficult. We’ll need to arrange some sort of safe house before we move in. Kirkland will also need to get his fine forger to make papers for the whole family, just in case.”

They hadn’t even climbed out of bed, and already he was impressed by the advantages of working with an experienced agent. “Durand hates me and wants me dead, or he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to lure me within his reach. If at all possible, he’ll want to be at Castle Durand, but he can’t be sure when or even if I’m coming, and surely he has responsibilities in Paris. So my guess is that he’s hired a number of men to guard the castle, and they’ll have orders to capture rather than kill me if possible. Does that make sense to you?”

“Yes, but he might be in residence since he can deduce when you’re most likely to show up.” She frowned. “He might be able to convince his superiors that he’s investigating a ring of traitors near Castle Durand and must be based there so he can find them all.”

Grey hoped so. He wanted the bastard to be at Castle Durand so Grey could kill him with his bare hands. Which wasn’t likely since all the advantages were on Durand’s side, but a man could dream. Voicing his worst fear, he said, “Do you think that Durand has already killed Père Laurent and the Boyers?”

“It’s certainly possible,” Cassie said, her voice grave. “But I think it unlikely. France is a nation of laws, and since the revolution, many of those laws are designed to protect the weak from the strong.”

When Grey snorted, Cassie said, “Don’t laugh. The Code Napoleon is the only thing I give the emperor credit for. Before the revolution, the country was an impossible patchwork of feudal and church laws, with mandated privileges for the nobility and the clergy. The Code Napoleon specifically forbids privileges based on birth.”

“Durand’s behavior has been very close to the edge, hasn’t it? He may not have a title, but many of his actions are not unlike those of his aristocratic ancestors.”

“Exactly. He’s been able to get away with a private dungeon within the walls of his castle, particularly since he was holding a priest and an Englishman. But murdering a respected local property owner and his family would get him into serious trouble.” Cassie’s brow furrowed as she thought. “Most likely he’s had Père Laurent charged with treason and is investigating the Boyers as possible traitors. That allows him to hold them for some time while he investigates. He may release them if he has you.”

“Dear God, I hope so.” Grey’s words were a real prayer. “If you’re right, so far he hasn’t really done anything to get himself into serious trouble with his superiors. As you say, the revolution always hated priests and the power of the church, and no one would question killing an English spy. So the Boyers may be safe.”

Cassie caught his gaze and said with icy precision, “You will not, under any circumstances, offer yourself to Durand in exchange for their freedom. I will not allow you to do that.”

Grey’s eyes narrowed in response. “Do you think you could stop me?”

“It would be an interesting battle, wouldn’t it?” she said softly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Grey agreed. The last thing he wanted was to be at odds with Cassie. Changing the subject, he said, “Your marching into Castle Durand when everyone was ill was a miraculous fluke. We won’t be so lucky again. You probably had a better look at the castle walls than I did. Will I be able to scale them with the right equipment?”

“We both can, and will. We’ll need to take dark garments to help conceal us if we go over the walls.” Cassie gazed at the ceiling as she thought. “Is it a fair assumption that prisoners would be put in the dungeons where you and Père Laurent were held?”

“I think so. They’re impossible to escape without outside help.”

“As I recall, the cells had slit windows high up on the wall. Too high and narrow for anyone to escape that way, but still, windows. Do you know where they opened?”

“On a quiet back courtyard between the castle and the stables, I think. There was very little noise or traffic. The windows are just above ground level. Occasionally castle maids would come by and chat a bit, so I don’t think the courtyard was used much.”

She laughed. “You were able to carry on flirtations even in durance vile?”

He thought of the curious girls who would sometimes stop by and exchange a few words. “I was so hungry for people that I’d have welcomed any voice. On some occasions, if I was really fortunate, a maid might toss down an apple. Heaven.”

Her amusement vanished. “It’s amazing that you came through such an ordeal as well as you did.”

“If not for Père Laurent, I would have been fit only for Bedlam,” he said, equally sober. “I can’t bear to think of him dying back in Durand’s dungeon.”

“We’ll do our best to see that doesn’t happen.” She bit her lip in a way he found very distracting. His body must be recovering from their passionate encounter.

Her mind still on business, she said, “We must do some careful scouting around the castle. Local help will be invaluable if we can find it.”

“That might be difficult to find.”

“We can start at the Boyer farm. If there’s anyone there, they might have information about the Boyers and Castle Durand.”

“More likely Durand gave the farm to some crony,” Grey said pessimistically. “If we ask for help, we’ll be arrested as spies.”

“Remember what I said about France being a nation of laws,” she said. “If Durand confiscated the property and the Boyers have yet to be charged with any crime, someone in the community would go to a magistrate and complain.”

“So he would probably not take over the property himself. Might the farm be sitting vacant?”

Cassie shook her head. “A farm can’t be neglected, especially not in springtime. There is a married daughter. My best guess is that she has returned to the farm with her husband to take care of the animals and the planting. She’s probably praying that her parents will be released. If they aren’t, or they’re executed, presumably she is the heir. If we can find her, she’ll be a source of information and aid.”

“I hope you’re right. We’re making a lot of assumptions.”

She smiled wryly. “Call them deductions. It sounds better.”

He began stroking her under the blanket. Discussions in bed had much to commend them. He stroked her nipple with his thumb and she caught her breath. “We need an army,” he muttered. “One with artillery.”

“I was thinking along those lines myself.” Cassie’s hand moved to his thigh.

“What?” He pushed himself up on one elbow and stared down at her. “I’m the one who is supposed to be mad here!”

“Whatever gave you a foolish notion like that?” She laughed with wicked amusement. “We’re both mad to attempt this, so let’s not waste a moment of madness.” She looped her hands around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

In mere moments, sanity was forgotten.

Chapter 43

Against the night sky, Castle Durand loomed stark and impregnable, looking much as it must have in the fifteenth century. Cassie and Grey, dressed in black and with faces mostly covered with dark scarves, had come to scout.

The journey to France had gone so smoothly that Cassie found herself superstitiously expecting disaster to strike. Grey had made it across the channel in rough seas without getting ill, though he was a little green when they disembarked. Their guise as a drab, humorless couple had been very effective. They were never challenged, and few people wanted to talk to Monsieur and Madame Harel.

But the easy part of the journey was over. The previous night they’d stopped in a sizable town a dozen miles from St. Just du Sarthe, the village below Castle Durand. Grey bought sturdy riding horses while Cassie played the role of submissive wife.

After riding toward the village as the conventional Harels, they’d found an abandoned barn nearby and well off the road. Silently they’d settled the horses and changed into the dark clothing of thieves and burglars. It was a sign of Grey’s tension that he hadn’t made a single suggestive remark about Cassie’s trousers.

From the barn, it was only half an hour’s hike through the woods up to the castle. The night was raw and windy, with clouds scudding across a waning moon. She sensed that Grey was winding tighter and tighter, like a violin string. She couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to return to the place where he’d endured ten years of imprisonment.

When the castle came into sight, they lingered in the shadowed woods to study it. Unlike during Cassie’s first visit, the gates were closed and there was a guard in the small gatehouse. The crenellated walls must have been at least twenty feet tall. They surrounded the square castle grounds, with a cleared strip perhaps thirty feet wide at the base.

On top of each corner was a guard turret. Dim glows from braziers showed they were occupied. The guards were probably bored, but they had clear views of the walls, should anyone attempt to climb into the castle.

On the shadowed back wall opposite the main gates, they found a small postern gate. Cassie investigated, using a couple of thin metal picks on the lock. It seemed to be rusted shut. Opening the door would be neither easy nor quiet.

To her left, Grey was studying the stone wall itself, running his hands over the surface to check the condition. He found a toehold and began to climb the wall by touch. He was halfway up when Cassie gave a small, foxlike yip to catch his attention.

He halted. After a half-dozen heartbeats, he quietly dropped to the soft ground. Cassie touched his arm and gestured for them to withdraw to the woods on the other side of the cleared zone.

When they were safely back in the shadows, she asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

“I wanted to keep climbing.” He stared at the massive bulk of the wall. Voice thick with emotion, he said, “I wanted to get inside and kill Durand with my bare hands and then blow the whole place to bloody hell.”

She locked a hand around his wrist, her grip hard. “Understandable. But you must control yourself when the time comes to go in! If you run berserk, you risk everything. Everyone.”

He drew a shuddering breath. “I know you’re right. I swear I’ll not do anything that will endanger you, Père Laurent, or his family.”

She released his wrist, hoping he’d be able to keep his vow. He was far more stable than when he first escaped the dungeon, but an extreme situation could kick him over the edge again. Focusing on the business at hand, she said, “Tell me about the wall. It looked like you were climbing easily.”

“The mortar between the stones is crumbling in many places. It wasn’t hard to climb even in the dark. What about the postern?”

“The door is heavy and hard to move and the lock is rusted shut. The wall might be a better way to get in without being noticed. But we’ll need to blast the postern open to get our people out.”

He nodded. “We should go around the castle once more.”

Agreeing, Cassie set out and he followed her. Tonight, scouting. Tomorrow they would seek assistance.

After a good night’s sleep in the old barn, they dressed as the conservative Harels and set off for the Boyer farm. The trip by horseback was faster than driving a cart through a blizzard, and the road up to the farm was much prettier now that it wasn’t scoured by blizzard winds and snow.

Cassie prayed silently they’d find the Boyers’ married daughter at the farm. She could be a valuable resource. Without her, their odds would become even worse.

No one was visible in the farmyard, but smoke trickled from the kitchen chimney. The house was not empty.

As aware of the stakes as Cassie, Grey swung from his horse, tossing her the reins. As the traditional Harels, Grey took the lead in everything, while Cassie rode sidesaddle and kept her eyes cast demurely down.

Grey knocked on the door. Several dogs began barking crazily inside. They sounded as if they were slavering to get out and rip the stranger to shreds. The horses twitched nervously but Grey stood his ground.

A few moments passed quietly except for the barking dogs. Then a small window at head height opened and a woman asked suspiciously, “What do you want?”

Cassie couldn’t see the speaker, but the voice was young. Grey said peaceably, “I’m an old friend of Monsieur and Madame Boyer and was near. Are they home?”

“No,” was the snapped response. “Go away!”

Grey held the window open when she tried to close it. “What about Père Laurent? Is he still here?”

“Who are you?” This time, the voice sounded frightened.

Judging it was time to be honest, Grey replied, “I am Monsieur Sommers. I was your great-uncle’s companion in adversity.”

The young woman sucked in her breath. “The Englishman?”

“The same. Are you the Boyers’ married daughter?”

“Yes, I’m Jeanne Duval.” The voice was uncertain. “Why are you here?”

“To free your family,” Grey said softly. “Can you help?” Another long pause. Then a key scraped in the lock and the door swung inward. Jeanne Duval couldn’t be more than twenty, and her bright brown hair and hazel eyes would be pretty if not for her worried expression. She had gathered the dogs around her as if they were a weapon ready to strike.

Grey bowed with aristocratic elegance. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Madame Duval. I spent only a few days here with your great-uncle, but it was long enough to develop the highest esteem for your parents.”

Tears sprang into her eyes. “Do you really think you can free them?”

“I don’t know, but I will certainly do my best.” He gestured toward Cassie. “Allow me to introduce Madame Renard. It was she who freed Père Laurent and me. May we come in?”

Jeanne fidgeted with the edge of her apron. “Why do you want to talk?”

“If we are to have any chance of freeing your family, we need as much information about their captivity as possible,” Grey said patiently.

Jeanne gave a jerky nod. “Madame Renard can come in while you take the horses to the barn. I’ll call my husband to join us.”

Grey offered Cassie his hand to dismount from her horse, then led their mounts off to the stable. Jeanne rang a sizable bell that hung by the door, using three sets of three rings each. Cassie was quite sure the bell hadn’t been there on their earlier visit. Another sign of how stressed the household was.

They moved into the kitchen. The furnishings and broad fireplace were familiar, but the house was too quiet, no longer bustling with a whole family. As Jeanne shooed the now well-behaved dogs into the backyard, Cassie noticed that the young woman’s crisp white apron covered the gentle curve of midpregnancy.

“You are with child?” she said sympathetically. “How exhausting on top of the worry for your family!”

Jeanne promptly burst into tears. Alarmed, Cassie guided her to a chair by the fire. A blanket was folded on a bench, so she shook it out and tucked it around the girl. “Would you like something? A glass of water?”

Jeanne said in a barely audible whisper, “I want my mother.”

Collecting herself, she produced a handkerchief, blotted her eyes, and blew her nose. “I’m sorry, everything makes me cry now. It was Père Laurent who first told me I was with child. I wasn’t sure myself, but when I came to visit my parents and found him here, he took one look at my face, smiled, and said that soon he would become a great-great-uncle.” More tears appeared.

“He can see that?” Cassie said with surprise.

“Oh, yes, he was famous for it. When he had a parish, young wives would come from miles around to see if he could confirm their hopes. I never heard him to be wrong, either.” She put a protective hand over the modest curve of her belly. “He thinks I shall bear a son, though he isn’t so accurate predicting whether it will be a boy or a girl.”

Cassie had heard of midwives who were very good at identifying pregnancies. She supposed that a wise and observant old priest could have similar talents.

A tall, broad young man with dark hair and a missing left hand swung into the kitchen, his expression ready for trouble. “Jeanne!”

He moved behind her and put his right hand on her shoulder. “Is this female upsetting you?” Jeanne’s husband wasn’t much older than she, but he looked capable as well as protective. The missing hand explained why he wasn’t in the army.

Jeanne laid a hand over his on her shoulder, but before she could reply, Grey arrived. Cassie studied him, thinking how very good he looked, even with the narrow moustache. He was still lean but he no longer looked bony, and he had an air of authority that was real, not the officiousness of Monsieur Harel.

“It’s all right, Pierre,” Jeanne assured him. “This fellow says he’s the Englishman who was imprisoned beside Père Laurent, and that he’s come to free my family.”

“Madame Boyer said the Englishman had golden hair,” Pierre said suspiciously.

“I dyed my hair brown to be less conspicuous.” Grey smiled a little. “There are parts of my body where the natural hair color is visible, but we’ll have to withdraw to another room so I can show you without offending the ladies.”

Pierre flushed. “Say something in English,” he ordered.

Not missing a beat, Grey switched to English and said, “Père Laurent is the wisest, kindest man I have ever known. I would not have survived ten years in a dungeon if not for him. I needed him far more than he needed me.”

Pierre recognized the sound of English even if he didn’t speak it, so he gave a short nod. “What makes you think you can free Jeanne’s family from Castle Durand? The castle alone is difficult, and Durand has brought in guards for protection.”

Speaking for the first time, Cassie said, “We saw the guards last night when we scouted the castle. It would be useful to know how many there are.”

Pierre’s wary gaze moved to her. “Who are you?”

“I am called Madame Renard.”

Jeanne nodded recognition, but remarked, “My mother said you were older.”

“I have some skill in changing my appearance,” Cassie explained. “Have we convinced you we are who we say? I don’t blame you for being cautious.”

Jeanne glanced up at her husband, their gazes meeting. After a moment of silent communication, Pierre said, “You seem genuine. But what do you think you can do to rescue five people from a well-guarded castle? It would take an army to break in!”

“We do have a plan,” Grey said. “But we need more information. First, are you sure they’re being held there? And if so, are they in the dungeons?”

Jeanne got to her feet, looking strong, hopeful, and quite like her mother. “If we are to discuss such matters, it should be over food. Your dinner waits, Pierre. I have soup, so there will be enough for us all.”

Grey’s stomach noisily agreed with the suggestion, which broke the tension. Though Cassie’s stomach was more discreet, she was also hungry. Their breakfast that morning at the barn had been bread, cheese, and water.

Jeanne proved herself her mother’s daughter by producing thick bean soup, fresh bread, cheese, and a pork pâté. Cassie tried not to gobble greedily.

Even if the Duvals ended up telling their visitors to go away, at least Cassie and Grey would be well fed when they left.

Chapter 44

When appetites had been satisfied, Jeanne pushed her plate away and fixed her gaze on her guests. “You want to free my family. What can we do to help?”

“As I said earlier, we must be sure they are alive and held at Castle Durand,” Grey said seriously. “Have you been allowed to visit your parents?”

She shook her head sadly. “I have not seen them, but Pierre has a cousin who works in the castle. She says they are there and she has spoken with them through the windows, which are very narrow and near the ground. She said they are in two cells, my mother and sister together, and right next to them my father, Père Laurent, and my brother. Not happy, but not unwell, though it is hard on Père Laurent.”

Grey felt almost dizzy with relief at the knowledge that his worst fear, that they were already dead, hadn’t happened. “Have they been charged with a crime?”

“My father and I went to speak with the local magistrate about them,” Pierre replied. “Père Laurent had been charged with treason, and the Boyers are being investigated as partners in his crime.” The young man snorted with disgust. “It is absurd and the magistrate knows it, but he said that so far, Durand hasn’t broken the law.”

Again, this was as Cassie had speculated. Giving thanks that he was partnered with a woman who really understood France, Grey asked, “Did your cousin say how many guards have been brought in to protect the castle?”

“A dozen and a sergeant. They are privately hired guards, but all were soldiers, my cousin thought.” Pierre’s expression was skeptical. “You think you can challenge and defeat so many? Do you have a squad of English soldiers hidden nearby?”

“No squad, and no straightforward attack.” He nodded toward Cassie. “My lady fox will explain.”

“We intend a diversion to draw the attention of the soldiers,” Cassie said. “While they are busy with the diversion, we’ll climb the castle wall and go to the dungeon windows. With the right tools, we should be able to open one of the windows and help the prisoners out.”

“I will skip most of the questions your statement raises and ask what diversion you have in mind,” Pierre said tartly. “It will have to be substantial in order to draw more than a dozen men away long enough to break into the castle dungeons.”

“Explosive grenades,” Cassie said calmly.

Pierre and Jeanne gaped at her. His, “Have you grenades with you?” clashed with his wife’s, “Aren’t they dreadfully dangerous and unpredictable?”

“They are indeed dangerous,” Cassie admitted, “but that’s why they’re useful. I brought with me enough black powder and fuse to make a couple of dozen grenades about the size of a large apple.” She demonstrated with one hand.

Pierre looked dubious. “Will they be strong enough to breach the castle wall?”

“We don’t want to take down a wall, just the two gates, and we certainly don’t want to hurt any of the castle servants like your cousin,” Grey explained. “But if a dozen or so are tossed over the wall at different places, they will create a diversion.”

Beginning to look intrigued, Pierre said, “Grenades are gunpowder packed in a metal casing, aren’t they? Did you bring the casings?”

Cassie shook her head. “They would be too heavy, and far too conspicuous. When we were here before with Père Laurent, your mother gave me apple brandy from a sturdy little pottery jug. My hope is that you have more such jugs that can be used as casings. Pour in gunpowder, add a fuse, cork the jug, and voilà! A diversionary weapon.”

By this time, Pierre was staring at Cassie with open awe. But his brain hadn’t stopped working. “Can the two of you throw enough grenades over the wall quickly enough for the effect you want? Much running and throwing will be required if the grenades are to explode about the same time.”

The young man had put his finger on one of the plan’s weaknesses. Cassie replied, “I’ll aim to make the fuses last about ten minutes. Timing grenades is difficult, though.”

“What if a fuse goes out, or the guards see them burning and realize what is happening?”

She shrugged. “That might happen. We must hope that enough grenades will go off about the right time to create the confusion we need.”

“You need more grenade throwers.” Pierre grinned. “I throw very well.”

“No!” Grey exclaimed. “You can’t help us.”

Pierre flushed. “Because of this?” He held up the stump of his left arm.

“Of course not. That won’t interfere with you throwing,” Grey said. “But it’s vital you not be associated with this in any way since you are the first people who will be suspected of helping them escape.”

“He is right.” Jeanne laid a hand on his right arm. “We must be above suspicion. I have an idea for that. The magistrate is a cousin of my mother’s.” She grinned. “We are all related hereabouts. He has been advising us about the legal situation. On the night of your plan, we can ask him to meet us at the tavern in St. Just du Sarthe. We will buy him one of Madame Leroux’s fine dinners and he can tell us if he has had any luck inquiring of his superiors about the legality of arresting my family.”

“That is another question,” Pierre said. “Even if you free them, where will they go? They cannot return here as long as Durand is after them.”

“I know. We have found a temporary place for them to stay while we decide what is best. After that …” Grey spread his hands in a very French gesture. “If necessary, I will take them all the way to England. This war will not last forever.”

He avoided Cassie’s worried gaze. They had discussed this repeatedly on the journey. Getting the two of them out of France had been a challenge. Seven people would be far more difficult. But he would damned well do his best to ensure that his friends were safe and free.

“I suppose you are right that I shouldn’t be part of your raid on the castle,” Pierre said with regret. “But I can find other men who will be happy to help you.”

Grey caught his breath. “That would be very helpful, if they can be trusted.”

“Durand is not well liked,” Jeanne said. “There was outrage when his men arrested Père Laurent and my family.”

“There are also many royalists in this area,” Pierre added. “We do not discuss such things. And we do not turn each other in to police informers.” He held up his stump. “I lost this fighting for France and my family, not Napoleon nor a fat, stupid Bourbon king. Any man I recommend can be trusted. There is a man who works on this farm whom I would trust with my life.”

Grey’s smile was wry. “I hope I can trust him with mine.” And Cassie’s.

Jeanne had slipped out, and now she returned with a squat little jug and four small ceramic sipping cups. She set the jug in front of Cassie. “My mother is known for her apple brandy. We sell it in the town market. Will it make a good grenade? There are a couple of dozen more jugs in the pantry.”

Cassie hefted the jug to feel the weight and took out the cork to check the thickness of the walls. “These should work. We need to make and test some sample grenades to be sure.”

“Then we should empty the jug.” Jeanne poured a little into each of the small cups and passed them around the table. She raised hers. “Liberty for my family!”

Grey was happy to drink to that. The apple brandy was just as fragrant and fruity as when he’d first sampled it in the icy farm pond.

And it had just as much of a kick.

When Grey and Pierre left the house to bed down the horses and find a good place to test a grenade, Cassie sat down at the table with Jeanne to make their test weapons. She’d brought several pounds of gunpowder and yards of fuse with her. Jeanne watched warily as Cassie made a paper funnel to pour the powder into the first jug.

“That isn’t going to explode and blow up my kitchen, is it?”

“No, gunpowder is very stable. The grenade won’t explode without the lighted fuse.” After Cassie poured in the powder, she cut a length of fuse and slid it through the mouth of the jug, then corked the bottle very tightly. It looked quite innocent when she was done. A small brandy jug with a cord running out of it. “I’ll make a couple more with different fuse lengths and amounts of gunpowder.”

As she started on the second, Jeanne asked, “How soon will you raid the castle?”

“As soon as possible.” Cassie delicately funneled the gunpowder into a jug. “Preferably within the next two or three nights. The moon is waxing, and each night will be brighter.” Frowning, she cut a length of fuse. “Plus, my instincts are saying that the sooner this is done, the better. For all your family’s sake, but especially Père Laurent’s.”

Jeanne nodded gravely. “He had become stronger while here at the farm, but he is frail. Imagine the horror of being back in the cell where he spent so many years!”

“I’m trying not to think of it.” Cassie bit her lip as she made a third test grenade. This would be a chancy operation, with far too many variables. She hoped Père Laurent was on good terms with the divine, because they were going to need all the help they could get.

That night they all tromped into the forest to test grenades. Even Jeanne came, not wanting to miss the action. Grey and Pierre had found a test site on a wilderness slope opposite the village and the castle. Even though they were miles away, sound traveled, and they didn’t want anyone to be alerted to the use of explosives.

A light rain was falling, which meant the explosions would sound like thunder. As Cassie picked her way through the woods with a shielded lantern, she gave thanks for such ideal test conditions.

After half an hour of hiking, they reached the site. A pair of rocky outcroppings had a pocket of soil between them where several trees about the height of the castle walls grew. Not only could they practice their throwing, but they could see how much damage the grenades did to the rocks on the other side while taking shelter behind the outcropping on their side.

Cassie eyed the trees. “Shall we start by tossing stones about the same weight to test our throwing abilities?”

Grey nodded. “Earlier Pierre and I collected some that seem about the right weight. They’re piled over there.”

He set his lantern on the ledge of rock behind him and hefted a stone. After tossing it up and down a couple of times, he hurled it over the trees. The stone cleared with space to spare and clattered against rock on the other side.

“Not bad,” Pierre said as he chose a stone. After testing the weight, he threw. It cleared the trees by a huge margin. He hadn’t been lying about his good throwing arm.

Cassie was next. Her stone didn’t clear the trees by much, but it was an adequate throw. Next came Jeanne. Determination on her face, she wound up, threw—and the rock crashed into the tree’s budding branches.

“I think it’s good you’ll be dining with the magistrate,” Grey said with a grin. “Are we ready for live ammunition?”

Cassie produced three grenades that she’d packed in a canvas carrier bag with towels for padding. “I’ve put different-length fuses in these. I think they will explode in about five, three, and two minutes, but I’m guessing and want to test my guesses.”

She lifted the one with the shortest fuse. “This is another test—less gunpowder. A smaller charge will be useful for blowing in the postern without attracting as much notice as the explosions in front. We’ll also need one if we must blast our way into the cells. I don’t want to kill the people we’re trying to save. Pierre, since you have the best arm, you can throw this one with the shortest fuse after we’ve tested the other two.”

Pierre nodded, pleased. Grey started by lighting the longest fuse with the lantern flame, then tossing the grenade. They joined Jeanne behind the rocky outcropping and covered their ears while Cassie counted down the time mentally.

KABOOOM!!!!!!!! The ground shook and air and sound battered them even behind their barrier.

After the rattle of falling debris ended, Grey said, “Let’s look at the damage.”

They found that the grenade had left a small crater, tossing earth and stones away and cracking the stony outcropping. Grey put a warm hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “Is this what you expected?”

“Yes, though the fuse burned faster than I expected. I’ll have to cut longer fuses.” Cassie threw the next grenade, which had about the same amount of explosive power. Pierre’s low-gunpowder version seemed to have the right power for use on the windows. As they studied the smaller crater it made, Grey said, “We have our arsenal.”

Voice throbbing with excitement, Jeanne said, “Your plan seems more real now. Perhaps my family will be free in a few days!”

Cassie didn’t bother to say that grenades were the easy part.

Chapter 45

Two days later, all the arrangements had been made and the raid was set for that night. Pierre and Jeanne had already left in a cart to meet the magistrate, and Grey and Cassie were in their small bedroom preparing the equipment they might need. Ropes; a short, heavy crowbar; weapons. Grey frowned, wishing they were better armed.

He would carry the heavier equipment and most of the grenades in a pack they’d devised to sling over his back, leaving his hands free. He double- and triple-checked the contents, his nerves taut even though he and Cassie had had endless discussions about the possibilities and refining their list of materials. “Is this kind of tension like going into battle?” he asked. “How long does it take to become used to it?”

Cassie hadn’t yet changed into her black male clothing, but even with drab hair and a plain brown gown, she was lovely. Calm, sure of herself. He missed the red hair.

“We are going into battle, so tension is normal,” she replied. “Though you’re twitchy now, as soon as the first grenade explodes, your nerves will steady and you’ll be fine and dangerous. We’ve planned as much as we can. Now it’s in God’s hands.”

“I hope God wants to save one of His better priests, and us along with him.” Grey surveyed his pack. “I wish we had firearms.”

“We discussed that,” she said patiently. “We couldn’t have carried a rifle through France without being noticed, and one rifle wouldn’t have been much use against a squad of soldiers. Pistols aren’t very accurate, especially at night when we’re moving as fast as we can. I have a knife, and I know how to use it.”

“Firing a weapon can make the enemy take cover and buy time even if one has only one shot,” he pointed out.

“True.” She patted her smaller bag, which held the rest of the grenades. “But we do have explosives, if not firearms.”

He looked out the window at the darkening sky. “Is it time to go yet?”

She laughed. “Not yet. You’re as impatient as a child who has been promised an ice at Gunter’s.”

“I’ve never done anything like this.” He perched on the small bed opposite Cassie’s. Jeanne and Pierre had made it clear that they didn’t mind what sleeping arrangements their guests made, so he and Cassie were sharing the room that had belonged to the two Boyer daughters. They’d used only one of the narrow beds, which was crowded, but they’d wanted to be as close as possible. A single bed was sufficient for making love.

“One’s first experience of war is difficult,” she observed. “But everyone has a first time. At least you’re no green seventeen-year-old soldier who has never faced the enemy before.”

“I’m not so much afraid of being a coward,” he said slowly as he puzzled out his concerns. “But the stakes are so high! I’m afraid I’ll fail and it will hurt others.”

“Life and death are the highest stakes there are,” she said calmly. “But we all die eventually. I hope it’s not tonight, but would either of us choose not to be here?”

“As I said in England, this is something I must do.” He scowled at her. “But you don’t have to. You could be safe and learning how to spend money in London. Haven’t you ever thought of retiring from this most dangerous game?”

“I have,” she said, to his surprise. “When I visited Kirkland to chastise him for letting my cousin know I was alive, he told me it was time to leave spying behind. I’ve done noble work and helped my country, but Napoleon’s doom is inevitable.” She smiled a little. “Though he was very complimentary, he made it clear that my services were no longer needed.”

Grey’s brows arched with surprise. “Interesting. Even more interesting that you didn’t mention this to me earlier.”

“I’m torn,” she admitted. “Though I still want Napoleon dead and his tyranny ended, I no longer feel as much need to do it personally. But what will I do to fill the time if I’m not skulking around France and sleeping rough and wearing terrible clothes?”

He chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll find worthwhile activities soon enough.”

After a silence, she said hesitantly, “I’ve considered buying an estate in Norfolk near my family and managing it myself. Looking out for the welfare of my tenants, perhaps starting schools—that’s work worth doing.”

Before he could suggest that marrying him would give her a chance to perform such services, she continued, “What about you? God willing, it will be years till you inherit the earldom. Will you spend them in wine, women, and dissipation?”

He shuddered. “I had enough of that when I was young. Actually, I’ve been thinking of Parliament. My father controls a number of seats and one of his MPs is in poor health and considering retirement.”

“That might keep you out of mischief,” she said thoughtfully. “And it would be good experience for when you inherit and take your seat in the House of Lords.”

“Exactly!” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “I want to be involved with things that matter. I want to forge relationships with MPs that I can use later when I’m in the Lords. The world is changing, Cassie. This is an age of revolutions. If Britain is to avoid having one, we must change the system in ways that benefit the average citizen.” He grinned. “One of the things that needs changing is the way noblemen like my father control multiple seats in Parliament.”

Cassie laughed. “So you’ll become a reformer! I take back what I said about you keeping out of mischief if you go into politics. But I agree with your goals, and I can easily imagine you as an MP.”

Perhaps. He wondered if either of them would survive to fulfill the goals they were discussing tonight. Feeling tense again, he stood. “Since it’s still too early to leave, I propose we spend the time in a way guaranteed to relax us.” He held out his hand.

Her eyes sparked. “An excellent plan.”

Cassie rose lithely and flowed into his embrace. His kiss was fierce, hungry, hers equally so as the tension simmering inside them exploded into annihilating passion. He needed to worship her, possess her, bind her to him through eternity.

Passion burned even brighter when it might be their last time.

The night sky mixed clouds and moonlight with a hint of possible rain in the air. Though Grey and Cassie had aimed at being early at the rendezvous below Castle Durand, two men were already waiting. The recruits wore dark clothing and had covered their faces, as Grey and Cassie did. Safely anonymous. They moved out from the shadows when Grey and Cassie dismounted.

“Liberté,” a burly man said in a husky voice.

Grey responded, “Égalité.”

“Fraternité.” Having completed the code, the burly man offered a hand. Grey shook it, giving silent thanks for Pierre’s help in recruiting their grenadiers. A half dozen had agreed to participate, and Pierre attested that they were trustworthy and experienced country men. If trouble overflowed the castle, the men should be able to get away safely.

The second grenadier, slighter and quicker in his movements, said, “Just after we arrived here, a fancy coach drove up the road and into the castle.”

“Durand?” Grey said, heart quickening.

“Mebbe. The guard opened the gates right quick.”

Grey wanted Durand to be there so they could have a confrontation and he could break the devil into small pieces. But would having the master of the castle present make the guards more alert? Or would they be distracted by Durand’s arrival?

Impossible to know. Either way, there was no help for it. The mission had begun and they must carry on.

The other recruits arrived in quick succession. When everyone was present, Cassie gathered them around and explained the use of the grenades.

“You’ll each have several grenades with different-length fuses,” she said in a low voice that disguised her gender. “If a fuse burns too quickly, throw the grenade or pull out the fuse! Our mission is to save lives, not blow up our friends.”

“How do we light the fuses?” a grenadier with a youthful voice asked.

“With these.” Grey produced three very small closed lanterns. Using a tinderbox, he lit one, then the others. With the doors slid shut, almost no light escaped.

“One for each three of you, the last for us. Remember how far light and sound carry at night, and conceal both as much as possible. We’ll be at the back wall and plan to escape through the postern gate, so you need to be bombing the front part of the castle. A grenade for the main gate and then over the walls on both sides. Any questions?”

There were none. One fellow said, “I’ve wanted to bomb Durand for years.”

“I’d like to kill ’im myself,” the burly man said wistfully.

The bastard really was unpopular. Grey said warningly, “We aren’t even sure Durand is here. Remember that our main mission is to free Père Laurent and the Boyers, and do it without any casualties.”

“A night of good fun and grenades,” one of the volunteers said cheerfully. “Takes me back to me army days. Are we ready?”

They were ready. Only Grey and Cassie had horses. They led their mounts through the woods toward the castle. The ground was soft enough from the previous night’s rain that there wasn’t much sound. When they were just below the castle, Grey said softly, “Give us time to get around the back of the castle. Bonne chance, mes amis, and my thanks.” He offered his hand to the nearest grenadier.

Shaking hands, the fellow said, “’Tis my pleasure!”

There were handshakes all around. Then Grey and Cassie circled around the castle in the woods. They tethered their mounts in the shadows, but not too far from the castle, in case they were needed.

Then they waited. Grey’s pack was much lighter now that most grenades had been distributed. He planned to put the small dark lantern in a pocket when he climbed, and hoped to God the flame didn’t go out. He was fast with a tinderbox, but any time lost could be the difference between success and disaster.

The wait seemed interminable. On their scouting trip, they’d chosen a particularly rough patch of wall that was halfway between the postern and the left corner guard tower. It should be a safe place to climb while the guards were distracted by grenades. They’d come down close to the dungeon windows.

KABOOOM!!! The first explosion shattered the night air. Mere moments later, another. Then another. The grenadiers were doing a good job on their timing.

Cassie was right. As soon as the grenade exploded, Grey’s nerves steadied down to cool, focused necessity. He lit a grenade with a short fuse and tossed it to the foot of the postern. Then he and Cassie bolted toward their chosen area of wall.

More explosions and shouts rose from the front of the castle precinct. Flames flared, probably a wooden shed that had been struck by a grenade. More shouting.

The postern door exploded, shaking the ground and rattling loose stones from the castle wall. Not waiting to see if any guards were drawn to the postern, Grey and Cassie started climbing. The wall was weathered enough to supply hand- and toeholds, but feeling their way in the darkness seemed horribly slow.

Light and agile, Cassie reached the top before Grey. He was nearing the top when a hold crumbled under his foot. The pack he was carrying affected his balance and he almost fell. He flung a hand upward and caught hold of the edge of an embrasure and managed to save himself from tumbling to the ground.

Heart pounding, he pulled himself the rest of the way and crouched in the embrasure as he gasped for breath. Cassie knelt beside him and he took her hand as they studied the chaos they’d caused.

Though the castle blocked some of their view, they could hear a leather-lunged sergeant bellowing to gather his troops by the shattered front gate. Flames illuminated running men, and there seemed to be efforts to contain the fire. Not very successful ones, because the light from the fires was growing.

“Perfect,” Cassie breathed. “Time for us to go in.”

Grey pulled a long coiled rope from his pack. One end was looped. He tossed the loop over the crenellation and let the other end drop to the ground.

As he lowered himself swiftly, he saw that his grenade had smashed the postern wide enough to allow people to pass through the hole. Mercifully, the blast had drawn no attention because the guards were gathering in front of the castle, where the main attack was taking place.

As soon as he touched down, Cassie swung onto the rope and walked down the wall. He was male enough to notice that she might be dressed as a man, but she wasn’t shaped like one. As soon as she was beside him, he spared an instant for a kiss before they ran around the back of the castle to the quiet yard between dungeons and stables.

No one was in sight. Enough light came from the burning shed in the main yard to show four horizontal slit windows for the dungeon cells. Grey dropped down by the nearest slit, which he guessed was for his old cell. “Père Laurent?” he called, keeping his voice low. “Madame Boyer?”

“Grey, can that be you?” the priest replied in a startled voice.

“It is, and we’re here to get you out.” As he spoke, Grey tested the bars. They were set too solidly to be worked loose. “You’re there with Romain and André?”

“We’re here,” Romain said softly. “Viole and Yvette are in the next cell.”

Cassie had been investigating the other slit windows. To Grey, she said, “We’ll never loosen these bars in time. We need to blow up this window, which is farthest from the prisoners.”

Knowing she was right, he said to the men, “Protect yourselves. We’re going to use a grenade to enter the farthest cell.”

“A grenade?” It was Viole’s voice from the next window. “So that is what we’ve been hearing! Come, Yvette, we will burrow into a corner like foxes.”

Another round of explosions was coming from the forecourt as Grey lit a reduced-powder, short-fused grenade Cassie had built for this purpose. Luckily, the flame in the lantern hadn’t gone out during their exertions.

As soon as the fuse was burning, he set the grenade by the fourth window, which led to an empty cell. Then he and Cassie withdrew behind a nearby stone buttress.

The grenade went off between the explosions of two others in the main yard. Though theirs was modest compared to the others, there was still an ear-numbing blast and debris rattled all over the yard.

“I should have used less gunpowder!” Cassie said with mad humor as they raced to the blown-out window. There was now a pile of rubble and a gap wide enough to admit Cassie, though without much room to spare.

Grey had another rope. He wrapped it around his waist several times, then dropped the other end through the hole. Cassie crawled backward through the shattered window. When she was inside with one hand on the rope, he handed her the lantern. “I’ll work on widening the hole.”

“Right.” She disappeared down into the dark, dank cell.

Grey pulled the short crowbar from his pack and went to work prying loosened stones from around the window opening. So far, everything was going according to plan.

It couldn’t last.

Chapter 46

Cassie landed on loose rubble below the blown-out window, twisted her ankle, and almost fell. Grey’s strength on the rope kept her upright.

She tested her ankle, decided there was no real damage, and opened the lantern door to release some light into the Stygian darkness. She crossed the cell to the door and was glad to find it unlocked.

Breathing thanks that she wouldn’t have to pick the lock, she stepped into the corridor. Light came from the slit under the door to the guard’s office. She raced down and tried the door. Locked, no sound audible from the other side. Praying that the guard had gone outside to deal with the attackers, she pulled out her lock picks.

The lock was old and simple, and it took her less than a minute to open it. Nerves taut, she opened the door cautiously in case there was a guard waiting to shoot her. The room was empty. And blessed be, the key ring hung on the wall! She grabbed the keys, along with the larger lamp that had been left burning on a hook.

It took three attempts to find the right key to the men’s cell, but finally it swung open. “Madame Fox?” Romain said, startled. Beside him was his wide-eyed young son and Père Laurent, looking less frail than the last time she’d rescued him from this hellhole. Both the men needed a shave, but on the whole, they looked to be in good shape.

“None other,” Cassie said, realizing that her dark scarf had fallen down around her neck to reveal her features. “We’ll leave from the cell at the end where the window has been enlarged and there’s a rope. André, you’re the lightest. Your father can help you up and out. Then you and Sommers can pull out Père Laurent.”

Romain looked stubborn. “I won’t leave without my wife and daughter!”

“By the time André and Père Laurent are out, your womenfolk will be free, too. Now move!”

She handed Romain the larger lantern, then went to work on the door to the women’s cell. Again, it took excruciatingly long moments to find the right key. As soon as the door opened, Viole and Yvette tumbled out. Viole hugged Cassie. “Mon ange!”

“I’m no angel!” Cassie briefly hugged back, relieved that her friends seemed to have survived captivity well. “Come along now. The sooner we leave, the better.”

They moved to the escape cell and found that Père Laurent was being bodily lifted by Romain and dragged from above by Grey. It had to be painful and difficult, but the priest doggedly contributed what strength he had and didn’t complain.

As Père Laurent disappeared above ground, Romain grabbed his wife and daughter in a fierce embrace. “Yvette, you first,” he said huskily. “I’ll help you up. Then take the rope and let Sommers and André pull you through.”

“Oui, Papa.” The girl picked her way through the rubble, then reached up as high on the rope as she could. Romain boosted her so that her hands were almost to the opening. A moment of scrambling, and she was through.

“Viole, you next,” Cassie ordered.

She was heavier than her daughter so Cassie helped with the lifting. Viole’s pleasantly rounded hips barely made it through the expanded gap. “You now, milady fox,” Romain said. “It will take everyone’s strength to get me up.”

Knowing he was right, she let him lift her. The relief on getting outside and not seeing armed guards pounding down at them was enormous. She squeezed Grey’s arm with heartfelt relief. “Do you think Romain can make it through that space?”

“It will be tight, but he’ll fit.” Grey unwound the rope from his waist and held it out to the others. “Everyone who feels strong enough can help.”

Cassie and all the Boyers grabbed on to the rope. Père Laurent said ruefully, “All I’m fit for is praying.”

“Pray away, Father!” Cassie felt Romain’s weight on the rope. He had to be lifted from the bottom of the cell, and his broad frame and farmer’s muscles made him heavy.

Romain’s head appeared, then his shoulders. A very tight fit indeed, but as he worked his way through the ruined window, Cassie gave a sigh of relief. Almost here …

Relief was premature. Romain had just crawled onto solid ground when a booming voice echoed off the walls. “Wyndham! I knew you’d come!”

Cassie looked up to see Claude Durand swaggering toward them, his dark cloak flaring against the torches of the half-dozen armed guards he led.

Cassie and Grey had run out of time.

Grey hissed to Cassie, “Get everyone else out the postern while I distract him!”

She made an anguished sound but didn’t argue. “You be careful, damn you!”

“I’d much rather be a live coward than a dead hero,” he assured her. But as Grey turned to Durand, he realized that he might not have a choice. Fate had turned full circle and brought him back to this place and this enemy.

Grey guessed that the darkness behind him prevented Durand and his men from seeing the escapees. If he could keep their attention focused on him, they might not notice Cassie shepherding her charges to safety.

Time to provide that distraction. He pulled down his scarf, revealing his face. As retreating footsteps sounded behind him, he strolled toward Durand with the arrogant confidence of an aristocrat, guessing that would focus the man’s attention.

“Of course I’m here, Durand,” he drawled. “Very bad of you to imprison innocents to lure me back to France. You could have killed me anytime during the ten years I was here. Better that than play these childish cat-and-mouse games.”

“That’s a mistake I’m going to rectify!” Durand raised a pistol and cocked it, his hands trembling from rage.

What were the chances that the pistol would misfire or Durand would miss his shot? Didn’t really matter since Durand was backed up by half a dozen soldiers carrying rifles, and they were professionals, not crazed amateurs.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked in a conversational tone. “I could have understood if you’d shot me at the beginning. A crime of passion, very traditional. But why throw a foolish boy into a dungeon for ten years?”

“I wanted you to suffer!” Durand looked more than a little mad, and he was gripping his pistol as if savoring the moment, not wanting to shoot too soon. “Spoiled, selfish aristocrats like you brought France to ruin. I would have sent you to the guillotine, but that would have made death too easy, and everything in your life had been easy. You deserved to die a difficult death.”

“You’re right, I was spoiled and selfish, but at least part of that was simply being young, not my most noble blood.” Grey halted twenty paces from the other man. He was trying to think of a really good insult so he could go down like a fearless, insouciant Englishman. Strange that events had brought him back here to die. But he’d had the best weeks of his life since Cassie rescued him.

That gave him an idea. Instead of an insult, he said lazily, “It will horrify you to know that I’m not only a much better man for my imprisonment, but in the months since I was freed, I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of happiness.”

“You’ll have no more!” Durand stared down the barrel of his pistol with narrowed eyes. “Shall I shoot you in the knee so it will take you days to die in screaming agony? Or should I put a bullet in your heart and end this nonsense?”

“You’re giving me a choice? How gentlemanly of you.” Grey gave a brief, ironic bow. “I’ll have to think about this. Though I might survive being shot in the knee, if I don’t, it’s a nasty way to die. But being shot in the heart is so very final.”

“I’m not giving you a choice, you bloody Englishman!” Durand snarled.

He was steadying his aim when a dark figure walked past Grey. Dear heaven, Père Laurent! The old priest looked disreputable, but his head was high.

In a rich voice that could fill a church, he said, “Don’t kill another innocent man, Claude. You have enough sins on your soul.”

Durand’s pistol began wavering. “Get away from me, you vile old man! You are not my judge!”

“I was merely your confessor,” Père Laurent said calmly as he stepped between Durand and Grey. “God is your judge, but a merciful one. Redemption is possible even for the great sinners if there is true contrition. Repent before it is too late.”

“I am damned already!” Durand squeezed the trigger. At the same instant, a dagger flew out of the darkness behind Grey and sliced into Durand’s hand. Cassie.

Durand swore and his hand jerked as the pistol fired. The blast echoed between the walls as Père Laurent crumpled to the ground.

Père Laurent! Feeling as if the dagger had struck his own heart, Grey hurled himself past the priest and tackled Durand before the devil could reload his pistol. Grey and Père Laurent might be doomed, but Grey would damned well take Durand with them.

They flailed across the ground in a tangle of fists and thrashing limbs. As the sergeant yelled at his men not to fire because they might kill the wrong man, Durand hissed, “You stupid decadent goddam! Do you think you can escape alive?”

“Probably not.” Grey remembered the time they’d fought before when Grey had been weakened from his imprisonment. Durand was still surprisingly strong for a man his age, and a tough, dirty fighter, but now Grey was stronger and in a killing rage. “But I’m not going alone!”

He locked his hands around Durand’s throat, cutting off a stream of obscenity. From the corner of his eye, he saw the soldiers approaching to pull the fighters apart. It was time to end this. “In the name of justice, I execute you, Claude Durand!”

He twisted the older man’s neck. There was an audible snap, and the light of life vanished from Durand’s eyes.

A moment later rough hands seized him and dragged him to his feet. The sergeant flung up his rifle and aimed at Grey’s chest at point-blank range. Grey felt no fear, and only one regret. I should have told Cassie I love her.

The sergeant was cocking his rifle when a powerful woman’s voice called, “Halt! Do not shoot this man!”

Grey and Durand’s soldiers all snapped their gazes toward the voice. A tall, full-figured woman was rushing toward them, a cape billowing around her. A dark angel silhouetted against a burning shed.

She stopped ten feet from Grey, panting for breath. “No more shooting, no more violence! Not if you and your men wish to be paid for your work here. I’ll add a bonus for everyone if you obey now.”

The sergeant sputtered, “Madame, this pig murdered your husband! A government minister!”

“The man was acting in self-defense.” Camille stared at her husband’s body. Crossing herself, she added, “Durand shot a priest. He refused God’s mercy, and received God’s punishment.”

Grey was released, though he heard muttered cursing. But since these men were mercenaries, the promise of money was enough to buy their cooperation.

“Sergeant Dupuy, gather your men to fight the fire,” Camille ordered. “This castle has stood for five centuries. I don’t want to see it burn tonight.” She swallowed convulsively. “Tell the castle steward to take my husband’s body to the chapel and have the estate carpenter make a coffin.”

Scowling, Dupuy gathered his men with a glance and headed toward the fires. Grey bowed deeply to his savior. “My most profound thanks, Madame Durand.”

“Grey. It’s been a long time,” she said quietly. “I prefer you call me Camille.”

“You look well, Camille.” And she did. Fuller of figure, touches of silver in her dark hair, but still a handsome woman. “I’m sorry you had to see your husband killed.”

“I’m not.” Her face worked as she struggled to maintain her composure. “There was … much between us, but he was a monster.”

Grey caught a motion from the corner of his eyes and turned to see Cassie helping Père Laurent to his feet. “Père Laurent, you’re alive!”

“Indeed I am, and barely touched by the bullet.” He patted Cassie’s supportive hand. “Madame Renard’s knife ruined Durand’s shot, but because I am old, a grazed shoulder was enough to knock me down.”

“God be thanked!” Camille caught hold of the priest’s hands. “I swear I didn’t know what Durand did to you and Lord Wyndham. He never told me, and I never came to the castle because I dislike it.”

“This has not been a happy place,” Père Laurent agreed. She surveyed the bleak stone walls with a shudder. “I much prefer Paris. But Durand insisted I come this time because there was something here to amuse me.”

Durand had wanted her to see Grey and Père Laurent die. It sounded like the man was deeply twisted, and he compelled his wife to witness his mad whims.

“I never believed that you condoned his behavior,” the priest said soothingly.

Camille released the priest’s hands and turned to Grey. “I’m sorry, my golden boy. I never thought a bit of amusement would have such terrible repercussions.” Her mouth twisted. “Durand was aroused by my indiscretions. But I should have known not to take an Englishman to my bed. That he could not bear.”

It was altogether too French for Grey. He took her hand and bent to kiss it lightly. “There is no need for apologies. We both erred. That is the past. What matters is the present. Can Père Laurent’s niece and her family go home safely with no repercussions?”

“Of course. They never should have been imprisoned. You may borrow a carriage to get them home. Père Laurent, will you stay till morning? Your wound should be seen to, and I am in dire need of confession.” Camille’s gaze moved to Durand’s body again. “Also … there is a funeral to be arranged.”

“Of course, my dear girl.” The priest, who had knelt to close Durand’s eyes, moved forward to take Camille’s arm and they headed toward the castle entrance.

Grey’s gaze returned to Durand’s body. He didn’t feel triumphant. He didn’t feel guilty for killing a monster. He felt shaken and tired and glad that the long nightmare was over, and he and his friends had survived.

Cassie had been standing quietly in the shadows, but now she moved to Grey’s side. “You have interesting taste in mistresses, and I thank God for it.”

He put an arm around Cassie, so tired he could barely stand. “Perhaps Père Laurent’s prayers brought her here in time for a miracle. Now we need a good night’s sleep, and a safe journey home to England. It would be far too ironic to survive this and get ourselves killed on the way out of France.”

“That won’t happen,” Cassie said confidently. “Soon we’ll be safe in London and Kirkland will heave a great sigh of relief.”

Dragging his mind back to the present, he asked, “The Boyers escaped safely?”

“They wouldn’t leave in case you needed help.”

He turned and saw Viole and Romain and their children hastening toward him. They were in dire need of baths and fresh clothing, but they wore beaming smiles.

Viole came right up to Grey and kissed him on the cheek. “You have the courage often lions, Monsieur Sommers!”

He gave her a tired smile. “Then your uncle has the courage of a hundred lions.”

“I think he prayed us a miracle.” She slid an arm around Romain’s waist, holding tight. “It’s a long walk back to the farm. Where might we find that carriage ride that Madame Durand offered?”

“At the stables.” Grey wrapped an arm around Cassie’s shoulders and led the way. “My lady fox and I will ride. May we rest at the farm for a day or two before leaving?”

“You can stay as long as you desire, mon heroes,” Romain said fervently.

As they moved into the main courtyard, Grey saw that two sheds were burning, but the flames were under control through the efforts of the soldiers and some of the castle servants.

No signs of their grenadiers. The men must have faded back into the woods to watch from a distance. Though there were numerous grenade craters dotted irregularly inside the walls, he didn’t see any bleeding bodies.

Viole was right. There had been a miracle.

Chapter 47

It was very late when Cassie and Grey arrived back at the farmhouse. They pushed their narrow beds together and slept in each other’s arms despite the awkward gap between the mattresses. Cassie was so tired she could have slept on a bed of nails.

It was nearing midday when she woke. She drowsed a little, not opening her eyes. She’d had grave doubts about whether she’d see another day, yet here she was. And she’d have another fortnight or so with Grey before they reached England and said their farewells.

“You’re smiling like a happy cat,” Grey murmured in her ear, his breath warm. “Shall we get up and find something to eat? I’m ravenous.”

“Life-threatening adventures do work up an appetite.” She debated seducing him—it was never difficult—but she was hungry and also wanted to affirm that everyone really was well.

She swung from the bed, did a quick wash at the basin, and donned her boring Madame Harel gown. She was going to burn the beastly thing when she reached England.

They followed the sound of laughter to the kitchen. Cassie and Grey entered to find the Boyers and Duvals and incandescent happiness. She and Grey were greeted with welcoming cries and seated at the long table opposite Père Laurent, who had just returned from his duties at Castle Durand. Cassie felt quiet satisfaction that Grey didn’t flinch at the number of people.

“You’re looking well, Father,” Cassie said. The priest was clean and relaxed as he dug into a large herb and cheese omelet. “The graze on your shoulder wasn’t deep?”

Père Laurent smiled mischievously. “People have predicted my imminent demise since I was a sickly toddler, yet I’m still here. The bullet barely touched me. I think it knocked me down more because it caught the fabric of my coat.”

Grey shook his friend’s hand fervently. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you confront Durand! It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Père Laurent shrugged. “The worst he could do was kill me, which is not a disaster for a man of faith. But I’ll be pleased to return to a church and a congregation.” He eyed Grey sternly. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to risk your life for an old man like me, but for the sake of my Viole and her family, you have my deepest gratitude.”

As Grey looked uncomfortable with the thanks, Viole set steaming mugs of real, expensive coffee in front of Cassie and Grey. “Isn’t it fine how much we’re in charity with each other?”

“Proof that the French and the English can be friends given half a chance.” Cassie added cream and sugar to her coffee and took a deep swallow. It was delicious, hot and invigorating. Warmth and energy curled through her weary body.

“May the future hold peace, and soon.” Grey raised his coffee mug to Cassie in a toast, his eyes warm. As a woman both French and English, she couldn’t agree more. She’d never wanted war between her two homelands.

As Cassie started in on the omelet Yvette placed in front of her, Père Laurent said thoughtfully, “Your natural hair color is red like your fox namesake, isn’t it?”

She swallowed before replying. “More like a fox and less like the carrot I resembled as a child.”

He chuckled. “I wonder if your child will have red hair?”

Her coffee cup froze in midair as she stared at him.

His bushy white brows arched. “You didn’t know you were with child? Of course, it’s very early yet and you’ve been busy with other matters.”

Cassie felt her fair complexion turning violent red as everyone gazed at her with deep interest. Beside her, Grey got to his feet, clasped her upper arm in a firm grip, and said pleasantly, “If you’ll excuse us, my betrothed and I must talk.”

He marched her out of the kitchen and back to their room. After settling her trembling body on one of the beds, he knelt and built up the fire. She was grateful for the warmth since she was in shock.

He stood and regarded her intently, looking very tall and very broad shouldered. “I gather that’s news to you?”

She nodded, her stomach roiling. “Jeanne told me that Père Laurent is famous for being able to tell if a woman is with child. I … I’ve been feeling a little off, but thought it was the worry and danger.”

“You said you had a reliable method of prevention?”

“Wild carrot seeds. They work fairly well, but no method is perfect.” She gave him a twisted smile. “Heaven knows we’ve been giving the wild carrot seeds quite a lot of challenges.”

“I am …” He shook his head, groping for words. “I am awed. Amazed. Delighted. I never thought I’d live to become a father.” He sat on the bed opposite her, his knees only a foot from hers, his gaze intent. “But how do you feel about this sudden change in circumstances?”

She hesitated, her mind churning. “Delighted because I never thought I’d have a child, either. Dismayed because the timing is … awkward.” She scowled at him. “And really irritated because now you’ll feel you have to marry me.”

“Wrong.”

She blinked. “You aren’t going to become all gentlemanly and honorable and insist that we marry because of the baby?”

“No, I’m not.” He leaned forward and caught her hands. “The baby will be a joy, but in terms of marriage, it’s irrelevant. I already had every intention of persuading you to marry me. We’re just having this discussion a little earlier than I expected.”

She tried unsuccessfully to tug her hands away, but his grip was gently implacable, and it didn’t seem appropriate to start a wrestling match. “Unless my memory is failing, we had a conversation where I explained that needing me was no basis for marriage and that in a year you’d want something different from what you want now,” she said, exasperated. “I thought you agreed with me.”

He grinned, looking so attractive she almost melted. “I only agreed with part of it. At the time, I thought you’d have to be mad to take on a semicrazed fellow like me. But I’ve improved. I haven’t tried to kill anyone without a good reason for almost a month.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard more convincing arguments.”

“Very well.” He leaned forward, his gaze on her, his dark-edged gray eyes vivid. “I’ve changed a great deal in the last two months, but so have you.”

She thought of the hardened, wary spy she’d been when Kirkland had sent her to Castle Durand and nodded agreement. “Your legendary charm works even when you’re half mad.”

His turn to roll his eyes when she mentioned legendary charm. “There is nothing wrong with needing another person,” he said firmly. “My parents need each other every hour of every day because they’re devoted. They’re happiest when they’re together.”

“They do seem very fond.”

He must have heard a note of doubt in her voice because he said perceptively, “Are you concerned that because I’ve always liked women I’m incapable of being faithful? There you’re wrong. My father was much like me, I’m told. Quite the young gallant, including great admiration for your mother. Then he met my mother. He hasn’t looked at another woman since. I am very like him. I sowed my share of wild oats until I met the right woman. You. I love you, and that is not going to change if we wait a year.”

She stared at him helplessly, wanting to believe. Unable to.

He lifted her hands and kissed the back of one, then the other. “I love you, Cassie Catherine Cat,” he said softly. “I’ve never met a woman with your strength and grace and utter trustworthiness. Nor can I imagine a wife who will better understand me, and there’s a lot to understand.”

She hadn’t thought of that. What would a sheltered young lady make of the scarred, complicated man he’d become? Her hands curled around his protectively as she realized she didn’t want to leave him to the tender mercies of someone who couldn’t fully appreciate his hard-won strength and resilience and courage.

Seeing her expression change, he said soberly, “I’m functioning reasonably well, but I’m not yet anyone’s idea of normal. I might never be able to tolerate crowds, my temper may always be chancy. Are you willing to take me on? I was prepared to wait a year if you insisted, but the situation has changed.” He gently rubbed her flat abdomen with a large, warm hand. “I’d prefer our child be legitimate.”

She caught his hand and pressed it to her, thinking of the baby they’d made together. As soon as Père Laurent had said the words, she’d known in her marrow that he was right. Didn’t she owe her child a father?

And yet … “I’ve seen too much, experienced too much,” she said haltingly. “I don’t want you to regret that someday.”

“What will it take to convince you that I’ll never want a boring innocent?” he asked with exasperation. “It’s your experience that makes you what you are. A woman of irresistible strength and wisdom.”

He suddenly lunged the distance between them and pinned her down on the narrow bed, kissing her throat and sliding a scandalous hand up her thigh under her very respectable Madame Harel skirt. “The fact that you are also the most deliciously attractive female I’ve ever met is not the most important thing about you.”

He raised his head a moment and thought. “Though it’s close.” He captured her mouth for another kiss.

She began to laugh as belief and desire pulsed through her. “What if I’m a shallow, lustful female who would only agree to marry because of your magnificent face and body and … and advanced amatory skills?”

“That’s all right, too.” He looked at her hopefully. “Do you really want to marry me for my looks and use me shamelessly? I like that much better than being stalked for my wealth and title.”

Her throat tightened and she brushed at the dull brown hair that should be golden. They had changed each other, and for the better. She’d rescued him, nurtured him, taught him how to live in the world again. He’d taught her to open her heart. To give love. Even more difficult, to receive love.

Voice husky, she said, “I don’t want to marry you for your looks and passion, or your position and wealth.” She swallowed hard before she could get the words out. “Only because … I love you.”

His face lit with a joy that matched her own. “That’s the best reason of all, my lady fox.” His eyes crinkled with laughter. “Can I use you shamelessly now?”

She wrapped her arms around his broad chest. “Oh, please do!”

They came together with a sweet carnality where all the barriers to intimacy of mind and soul dissolved. Passion was swift and satisfying beyond anything she’d ever known. From the words of love Grey sang softly into her ear, the same was true for him.

As they lay tangled together in the too small bed, she said dreamily, “Will Père Laurent marry us without bans? It will make the child’s birthday look less irregular.”

Grey kissed her temple. “I’m sure he will, though I guarantee our families will want a second, entirely proper Church of England marriage as well.”

“I won’t mind. If wedding once is good, twice should be better.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s good once and twice is better.” He stroked suggestively down her torso.

Even as desire curled through her, she said a little breathlessly, “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I’m impressed by your stamina!”

He grinned down at her, eyes alight with mischief. “Shall we ask Viole for a second cup of coffee?”

Epilogue

“I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”

With the marriage ceremony complete, Grey escorted his radiant bride down the aisle of his family’s parish church accompanied by jubilant organ music. Indeed, wedding once was good and twice was even better.

Père Laurent had married them first in the Boyer farmhouse the morning after the raid. Grey hadn’t really thought that Cassie would change her mind, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

After sharing danger, the Boyers and Duvals felt like family, and Grey had thought he couldn’t be happier than when Père Laurent had pronounced him and Cassie man and wife. Cassie had glowed and Grey had beamed like the summer sun. The regular breakfast was easily converted into a wedding breakfast with the addition of a bottle of fine wine the Boyers had been saving for a special occasion.

The bride and groom stepped out onto the church porch. As guests tossed handfuls of flower petals, Cassie leaned up to whisper, “This wedding is even better because we have our natural hair colors.”

Laughing, he brushed a kiss on her shining dark copper hair. In the fortnight since their return to England, spring had arrived in full force and the air was filled with birdsong and the scent of blossoms. “You smell of roses,” he murmured.

Cassie’s Aunt Patience had stepped into the role of mother of the bride and helped with a trousseau, starting with a bronze gown that emphasized Cassie’s coloring with breathtaking richness. Grey took care of the special license. With a baby on the way, the sooner the better. Besides, he hated having to sneak around the house to spend nights with Cassie.

Lady Kiri Mackenzie was the matron of honor, and exotic dark-haired Kiri and gloriously red-haired Cassie made a pair dazzling enough to make any man swoon. Peter was Grey’s best man, and there had been some hushed female remarks about how striking the pair of them looked side by side.

Since Grey was no longer available and had zero interest in any other woman, speculative female gazes were evaluating Peter, not that it would do them any good. After Peter was accepted into Mr. Burke’s theater company, Lord and Lady Costain had resigned themselves to his choice. Now he was more interested in acting than marriage. Before the service, Peter urged Grey to be sure that he produced a male heir so his brother would never have to worry about inheriting.

Guests were lining up on the porch to offer personal best wishes, and Grey was delighted to see that two of his old classmates had made it in time for the ceremony. “Ashton! Randall! I’m so glad you’re here.”

Smiling widely, the Duke of Ashton shook Grey’s hand with both of his. “Randall and I were delayed by a broken carriage wheel, but we were determined to make it even if we had to ride the post horses. I never thought I’d see this day!”

“Nor I.” Randall, lean and blond and military, clapped a hand on Grey’s shoulder. “Frankly, I’d given you up for lost, Wyndham.”

“And good riddance, I’m sure.” Grey grinned as he took Randall’s hand. “I hear you’ve taken on a foster son who’s one of Lady Agnes’s students. How do you like fatherhood?”

Randall responded with a smile far happier than any he’d had as a boy. “I recommend it, especially if you can start with a twelve-year-old like Benjamin. That way you skip the messy stages.”

Lady Agnes, General Rawlings, and Miss Emily had come from the Westerfield Academy to celebrate. Everyone in the Summerhill community was there, of course. They liked knowing that the next generation of Costains was secure.

The St. Iveses were present in full force, including George, the youngest son, down from Oxford. They couldn’t have been happier if Cassie really was their daughter and sister. Her uncle had walked her down the aisle, though there had been no nonsense about him “giving” her to Grey. She’d been her own woman for too many years.

Last in line was Kirkland, his handsome, saturnine face relaxed. “Remember those lists I always made in school to keep track of everything I needed to do?”

Grey laughed. “Who could forget? You were fearsomely organized even then.”

Kirkland pulled a worn piece of paper from his breast pocket along with a pencil and held it up for Grey to see. The name “Wyndham” was written in the middle of a list where everything else had been crossed off. With a flourish, Kirkland drew a line through the name. “I now have one less thing to worry about!”

Grey laughed, then turned serious. “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve done. You gave me freedom, and Cassie.” Grey put an arm around his wife. “All I need to make my happiness complete is Régine.”

Kirkland grinned. “I trust Cassie isn’t upset by the implied comparison.”

As he moved away, Cassie nestled comfortably against Grey’s side. “In another fortnight or so, Lady Agnes will allow you to have her.”

“Only because Lady Agnes is keeping a puppy to spoil.”

Cassie glanced up. He could happily drown in those deep blue pools of patience and wisdom. She asked, “Is the crowd bothering you?”

He knew better than to lie to Cassie, since she could see through him. “A little,” he admitted. “But this is home and these are friends, and during the wedding breakfast I can slip away for a few minutes when I need to. Will you slip away with me?”

She grinned. “Of course. People will notice and enjoy thinking scandalous thoughts.”

The Costain carriage pulled up in front of the church to take Grey and Cassie to Summerhill for the wedding breakfast. The Costains and Cassie’s aunt and uncle had already been taken in another carriage while other guests were walking along the lane that led to the great house. There would be an indoor feast for close friends and relatives, and an outdoor festival for the community. Inevitably the two groups would mingle.

Grey helped Cassie into the carriage, then followed. As soon as the door was closed, he pulled her into his arms for a smoldering kiss that would have been scandalous in the church.

By the time they came up for air, her flowered chaplet had fallen and left a trail of pale pink petals on her lovely bare shoulder. Cassie smiled at him with a tenderness that turned his heart inside out. “Tonight we sleep in our cottage by the sea, my golden lord. Even if it is really a farmhouse.”

“It was worth ten years in prison to have found you, my one and only love,” he said softly.

Cassie cupped his cheek. “I never believed fortune would bring me to such happiness.” Her gravity dissolved into laughter. “Along the way I was warned by several people that you’d never, ever marry me. I always agreed with them wholeheartedly.”

He joined her laughter. “That’s a good reason to have two weddings.” He kissed one of the delicate petals on her throat. “So there is no mistaking the fact that we are well and truly married, now and forever more.” Abandoning seriousness, he added, “Any time you want me to marry you again, just ask!”

Author’s Note: The Truce of Amiens

Britain and France fought on and off for centuries. The war triggered by the French revolution ran almost continuously from 1793 to 1815, when Waterloo ended Napoleon’s empire. The main break in hostilities was the truce following the Treaty of Amiens, which was in effect from March 1802 to May 1803.

War was expensive and the allied nations that had been fighting France wanted peace. Once the treaty was signed, high-born Britons flocked to Paris to party. However, Napoleon used the peace to consolidate his power and continued his belligerent and expansionist ways. As relations among France, Britain, and Russia deteriorated, many foreign visitors wisely returned home.

Britain recalled its ambassador to France and declared war on May 18, 1803. On May 22, Napoleon abruptly ordered the imprisonment of all British men between the ages of eighteen and sixty. His action was denounced as illegal by all the major powers, but Napoleon was never very interested in anything but power. Hundreds of men were interned and many did not return home until 1814, after Napoleon’s abdication.

The provincial town of Verdun was the off icial place of residence for well-born British internees, most of whom were joined by their womenfolk. British tradesmen who were also interned set up shop to cater to the well off, so British grocers and tailors sprang up. A fairly comfortable, if limited, community of expatriates was formed.

In all this upheaval, it’s easy to believe that a particularly impertinent young English lord might have vanished into a private dungeon.

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ISBN: 978-1-4201-2853-6

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Epilogue