“And vice versa, I’ve heard, but he and Daventry are stuck with each other and have apparently declared a truce,” Cassie said. “Randall is also recently married. He seemed very happy the time I met him. His wife is a lovely, warm person.”

“I thought he’d be a confirmed bachelor, but I’m glad to hear otherwise.” If ever a man needed a lovely, warm wife, it was Randall. Thinking of his other classmates, he asked, “What of Masterson and Ballard?”

“Masterson is an army major, and Ballard is working to rebuild the family wine business in Portugal.” Her brow furrowed. “You must have known Mackenzie, Masterson’s illegitimate half brother. He has a very fashionable gaming club in London. Rob Carmichael is a Bow Street Runner.”

Grey’s brows arched. “Rob would be good at that, but it must have driven his father into a frenzy.”

“I believe that was part of the reason he became a Runner,” she said with amusement. “Those are the only Westerfield students I know, but when you’re back in London your friends will be happy to bring you up to date.”

The thought of London created a knot of panic in Grey’s gut. His friends’ marriages also made him sharply aware of how much time had passed. They had grown up and taken on adult responsibilities. Grey had merely … survived.

Uncannily perceptive, Cassie said softly, “Don’t compare your life to theirs. You can’t change the past, but you are returning to family, friends, and wealth. You can have the future you dreamed of in captivity.”

He wanted to blurt out that he was no longer capable of having the life he was born to. His confidence, his sense of himself and his place in the world, had been shattered. As a future earl, he would have no trouble acquiring a wife eager to spend his money, but where would he find a wife who was willing and able to deal with the darkness of his soul?

But whining was ugly, especially to a woman as fearless as this one. He was still amazed at how she’d come to see if he might be in Castle Durand, seen an opportunity to free him, taken down a guard, and led him and Père Laurent to safety through a blizzard. Maybe that strength was why he found her so attractive.

Madame Boyer was an attractive woman in her prime. Her daughter Yvette was a lovely girl with a face to inspire young, bad poets. Yet it was drab, aged Cassie the Fox who intrigued him. Though she might be his mother’s age, she had a lovely, delicate profile, a smokily delicious voice, and a core of tempered steel.

Wanting to know more of her, he stated, “Tell me about your family.”

She leaned forward to put another piece of wood on the fire. “My father was English, but we made long visits to my mother’s family in France. We were here when the revolution broke out.” She settled back in her chair, her face like granite. “I said we must return to England immediately, but my warnings were dismissed by the rest of the family.”

“Cassandra,” he said, remembering his Greek studies. “The Trojan princess who saw the future, but couldn’t convince anyone of the danger she foretold. Did you choose that name for that reason?”

She winced. “No one else has ever made that connection.”

“Cassandra was a tragic figure,” he said softly, wondering how closely her story resembled the myth. “Did you lose your family as she did?”

Her head whipped away and she stared at the fire. “I did.”

Hearing the pain in her voice, he realized that it was time to change the subject. In his younger, more gentlemanly days, he would have known better than to ask such personal questions. “What do you think is the best way to return to England? I don’t even know where in France I am.”

“We’re about a hundred miles southwest of Paris, somewhat farther from the north coast.” She frowned. “North is the obvious way to go, which isn’t good if we’re pursued. But any other route would be much longer.”

“Do you think we’ll be chased? With Gaspard dead, there might not be anyone at the castle capable of organizing a pursuit.”

“His guard didn’t look like the sort to take initiative,” she agreed. “But once Durand learns that his prisoners are gone, he might send soldiers after you.”

“He probably will.” Grey flinched at the thought. “His hatred of me was very personal.”

“What did you do to earn his displeasure?”

Grey disliked revealing his stupidity, but she deserved an answer. “He caught me in bed with his wife. When I came to Paris, Kirkland asked me to keep my ears open for information that might be useful to the British government.” Grey sighed. “I rather fancied myself as a spy. I’d heard that Citoyen Durand was in the inner circle of the government, so I had the brilliant notion that maybe I could learn something from his wife. I met her at a salon and she made it clear that she’d welcome a bit of dalliance.”

“Do you think she was trying to lure you in so you could be killed or captured?”

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about that, but no, I think she merely had a taste for younger men, and I was foolish enough to be caught.” How different his life would have been if he’d left when she told him to. “How will we travel? The cart?”

She shook her head. “If anyone suspects that the old peddler woman with a cart had something to do with your escape, we would be too easy to catch.”

“I could travel on my own,” he said, hating to think that his presence would endanger her.

“Despite your ten years in France and your fluent French, you don’t know what the country is like now. We need to travel together.” A smile flickered over her face. “I can be your aged mother. I’ll see if the Boyers want the cart. It’s sturdy and well built, and it can be painted to look different. I can ride Thistle, but we’ll need to find a larger mount for you. Perhaps Monsieur Boyer will know someone with a horse to sell.”

“Hasn’t the army requisitioned all the horses?”

“That happened in the early days of the war, but now they can draw on the resources of a continent, so the military has sufficient horses. It shouldn’t be hard to find a steady, uninteresting hack for you. The sort of horse no one would look at twice.”

That was probably all Grey was good for now. “If the weather cooperates, I assume a week or so to the channel coast, and that you already know some helpful smugglers?”

She nodded. “I also have forged papers for you. Kirkland provided them just in case.”

Grey’s brows arched. “That was certainly advanced thinking when he didn’t even know if I was alive.”

“In my business, it is wise to prepare for all contingencies. That leaves more time to deal with unexpected problems. And there are always unexpected problems.” She covered a yawn as she rose. “I’m exhausted. At least the snow gives a good reason to sleep late. We won’t be able to leave for a day or two. You have a bed prepared?”

“They made up a pallet for me in the room with Père Laurent, but I’m so comfortable in this chair that I think I’ll sleep here.” It was a luxury too rich for words that he had a choice of where to sleep after ten interminable years without any choices.

Going back to a complicated world, would he know how to make decisions? Or would that have to be relearned, with all the errors that implied?

Cassie added more fuel to the fire, then pulled another ragged blanket from a cupboard. She spread it over him, saying, “It will get colder toward morning.”

“I’m used to the cold.” He caught her hand as she started to turn. “I just realized that I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.” He kissed her hand with gratitude beyond words.

A spark of electricity snapped between them. She pulled her hand away, looking unnerved. “I was just doing my job. We were fortunate that today all went well. Good-night, milord.”

Candle in hand, she vanished into a corridor leading to the east wing of the house. He watched her go, wondering again how old she was. Her hand was strong and shaped by work, but there was none of the gnarling of age. Perhaps she wasn’t so old that he need be ashamed of himself for his lustful thoughts.

He closed his eyes and slept, dreaming nightmares that he was a fly caught in a sticky web, and a spider was closing in for the kill.

Durand exploded into his castle cursing with rage as he called for his steward. A trembling maid summoned the man. Monsieur Houdin was pale when he appeared.

As he stripped his cloak and gloves off, then tossed them aside, Durand glared at the steward. “What happened to my prisoners, Houdin? Were you bribed to release them?”

The steward jerked back from his master’s fury. “No, sir! No one in the castle betrayed you. But everyone here—everyone, including me—was laid low by a vicious disease that made us so ill that few could even stand. Two of the older servants died. Apparently in this moment of weakness, several men broke in and released the goddam and the priest.”

“Gaspard will answer for this!” Durand said viciously.

“Gaspard is dead,” the steward said starkly. “Killed in the assault. He did not betray you, Citoyen.”

“Perhaps not, but he was incompetent! What of the guards?”

“Brun was sick in his bed and barely escaped death. Dupont was on duty and was injured in the raid.”

Dupont would be the best witness, Durand supposed. “Where is Dupont?”

With no one to guard in the dungeon, Dupont was now working in the stables. Durand summoned him. The man showed up pale with fear.

Under questioning, he said, “There were three or four raiders at least, Citoyen Durand. I heard their footsteps, but the only one I saw was an old woman who was used as a decoy. She brought food down since so much of the staff was ill. I was attacked while I ate. They bashed me on the head to knock me out.” Dupont rubbed the back of his neck. “I awoke tied like a pig for slaughter and with my clothes stripped off.”

“Worthless swine!” Durand snarled. “You deserve to stay here mucking out the horses.” Pivoting, he stormed back to the castle. Luckily he’d brought a squadron of his specially trained guards, all of them crack cavalrymen. He would consider the most likely routes the escaped prisoners would take, then send his men in pursuit.

He’d get that bastard Englishman if he had to send every man in the Ministry of Police.


Chapter 15

Sleeping in a chair by the kitchen fire had the advantage of letting Grey exercise choice, and the disadvantage that the kitchen became active early. When Viole Boyer bustled in, whistling, Grey came awake groggily, apologized to his hostess for being in the way, and headed off to the pallet made up in Père Laurent’s room.

There he slept for hours longer, waking near noon to sunshine reflecting brilliantly off the snow. The farm occupied a lovely little valley surrounded by hills and felt safe, remote, and prosperous. Laurent was gone, and Grey’s dried garments had been stacked neatly beside him.

Reveling in his freedom, he dressed and made his way to the kitchen, which bubbled with noisy life. The whole household was there, everyone happily eating and talking and celebrating the miraculous return of Uncle Laurent. Grey’s pulse began hammering and he wanted to run out into the empty countryside.

“Do you wish breakfast or luncheon, monsieur?” Viole called gaily.

“Coffee and bread to take outside would be ideal,” he said, managing to control his desire to bolt. “The open sky calls to me.”

Viole nodded and prepared a tall mug of coffee made with honey and hot milk, and a half loaf of bread split and filled with raspberry preserves. “There will be more when you return to warmth.”

Grateful she didn’t try to persuade him to stay indoors, he donned a cloak and hat offered by the young son of the house and headed outside. The day was as bitterly cold as it was beautiful, and for long minutes he just stood in the yard and studied the colors and textures that surrounded him.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen a sky more intensely blue. A grove of dark, graceful evergreens rose up the hillside left of the barn, the needles rustling in the wind. Flurries of snow danced silently over the smooth whiteness that covered the land.

And the tastes! The hot milky coffee warmed him, and the delicious tang of the raspberry preserves reminded him of how very good food could be. He would never take the pleasures of food and drink for granted again.

Since he was wearing the guard’s boots, it was easy to plow through the snow to the pond. He cleared a place on the log that served as a bench and settled down, drinking in the scents and sounds of the countryside along with his coffee.

A hawk glided effortlessly overhead. Though he had taken great pleasure in the small birds that visited his cell, he’d missed the sweeping power of a hawk’s flight.