Her movement shattered his control and he convulsed, pouring himself into her in seemingly endless rapture. Chest heaving, he subsided, his bearded cheek against her forehead as he murmured incoherent endearments in French.

She brushed his damp hair, amused and frustrated. She’d known this joining would be quick. Though not how quick. “You seem to have remembered the basics.”

“That was even better than I remembered,” he said with a catch of laughter. “Just touching you dissolved every shred of restraint I possess.” He rolled to his side and pulled her skirts down over her bare legs, then slid a hand up to her thigh under the fabric. “I also remember this matter isn’t finished yet.”

She gave a startled squeak when his questing fingers touched moist, sensitized flesh. Surprise dissolved into hot, pulsing sensation. She was so aroused it took him only a few skilled strokes to bring her to intense release. She buried her face against his shoulder to cover her cry of pleasure as shudders wracked her body.

She relaxed in his arms as sweet peace curled through her, content to drowse in the moment. Strange how their bodies could be in such harmony when they scarcely knew each other. Perhaps the fact that Grey would be gone from her life in less than a fortnight made this rare, startling intimacy possible.

He held her close, his hands caressing the length of her back. “I wonder if we’ll have a chance to do this someplace warm enough that we can take our clothes off.”

“At my age, nakedness is not always desirable,” she said wryly. “It’s been a good few years since I was eighteen.”

“‘Age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite variety,’” he quoted. “You are timeless, Cassie the Fox. Now I have twice the reason to be grateful to you. You’ve restored not only my freedom but my manhood.”

“No gratitude is needed for mutual pleasure,” she said drowsily. “If you feel you owe me something, make it up in the future when you will have opportunities to help others. That’s the best part of being a lord. Your power to aid the less fortunate.”

“You sound like my mother.” He reached for his blanket and added it to the coverings over them. “She has always been very keen on helping the less fortunate.”

“And you aren’t?”

He hesitated. “I was raised to have a sense of noblesse oblige, but it was just words to me. Though I assumed I’d do the right thing when the time came, I never thought much about what that meant. In the future, I shall be much more aware of how fate can be unkind, and when I might be able to help.”

“Another silver lining to be found under a very dark cloud.”

“I suppose.” Tenderly he cradled her head. “I want to know more about you, Cassie. Have you any family? A husband, a lover, children, grandchildren?”

“If I had a husband, I would not be lying with you,” she said dryly. “I have none of the other things, either.”

“Not even a lover? Any woman as splendid as you deserves a lover. Maybe several,” he said firmly.

“There is a man in London,” she said slowly. “More than a friend, but less than a lover. We know not to ask too much of each other.” Neither of them had much to give.

His arm tightened around her. “Perhaps when this war is finally over and you find that cottage, you’ll also find the companion you deserve,” he said. “Someone to share your declining years.”

“You’re a romantic, Lord Wyndham.” She smiled into the darkness, thinking there was no reason he shouldn’t know the truth. “How old do you think I am?”

He frowned. “I really don’t know. At first I thought you must be at least sixty, but you’re so strong and fit.” His fingers trailed down her cheek. “You have lovely, smooth skin, and from what I’ve felt of your body, your figure is one any woman would be happy to possess. Perhaps … you’re in your midforties and descended from a long line of healthy folk who lived to ripe old ages?”

She chuckled. “I’m about two years younger than you are.”

“The devil you say!” He stared at her in the dim light. “You helped me disguise myself, so presumably you’ve done the same to yourself. Yet still I wouldn’t have guessed you to be so young.”

“A friend of mine in London is a master perfumer,” Cassie explained. “She created a blend she calls Antiqua. The scent is essence of harmless little old lady.”

He began laughing. “That’s brilliant!” Laughter abruptly cut off. “Then you are of child-bearing age, and I didn’t leave before I came.”

“No need to worry. I use a very ancient and generally reliable method of preventing unwanted consequences.” She shrugged. “Either the wild carrot seeds work, or I’m barren. I’ve never had occasion to worry.”

“Now that we’ve settled that”—he nuzzled her neck—“I look forward to smelling you when you’re not wearing Antiqua. I’m sure your scent is utterly alluring.”

“I don’t know about that, but I probably won’t smell twice my age,” she agreed.

“Any last guilt pangs I felt for lusting after a woman older than my mother have vanished.” His nuzzling turned into a delicate tracing of his tongue around her ear. As she caught her breath, he continued, “I really must delve deeper to find the true essence of Cassie the Fox, the most delectable vixen in France.”

Telling him her real age had changed things between them, she realized. He was no longer giving her the deference due a respected older woman. Instead, he was playful in a way that was new to her. “Vixens bite,” she warned before nipping his ear.

He inhaled and she felt him hardening against her thigh. “So do their foxes.”

He set his teeth on her nipple with exactly the right amount of pressure to excite, not hurt. She was shocked at how powerfully passion flared. She wouldn’t have thought it possible so soon. “You have much lost time to make up for,” she said huskily.

“Indeed I do.” His palm came to rest on the juncture of her thighs, moving in slow circles as he gave luxurious attention to her breast. “And I want to make up for all that lost time with you.”

She laughed, feeling like the young girl she’d never had a chance to be. Ten years couldn’t be made up in two weeks. But they could try.

Grey awoke feeling like a new man. Or rather, a man reborn. The air was bitter cold, but enough morning light seeped into the hut that he could study the delicate features of Cassie’s sleeping face, which was mere inches away.

Now that he knew her real age, he was amazed that he’d thought her old. She’d drawn subtle lines of age on her face, but this close he could see the smoothness of her complexion. She carried herself as a woman worn out by too many years of living when in fact she was the strongest, most physically adept female he’d ever met.

He bent the few inches forward to press his lips tenderly to hers. Her eyes flickered open. “I am in love,” he breathed. “Truly, deeply, madly, intoxicated with the most wonderful woman in the world.”

There was something deep and unreadable in her enigmatic blue eyes before she said briskly, “It’s the passion you’re in love with, not me. Don’t worry, you’ll recover from any infatuation that you might feel, Lord Wyndham. Now it’s time we rose and broke our fast so we can be on our way.”

He blinked. Even a teasing declaration should be treated with some respect. “Can’t I be at least a little in love with you?”

She gave him a twisted smile. “Passion warps the mind and judgment. I merely happen to be available. That’s not the same as love.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed with her. Love might be more than passion, but really good passion such as they’d shared through the night was surely an element of love.

He slipped his hand into the folds of her clothing and cupped her bare breast, his thumb teasing her nipple. “Available is an excellent quality and not to be wasted. Surely we can delay breakfast for a bit.”

She caught her breath, her eyes turning misty. “For a few minutes, I suppose. That should be plenty of time for you.”

He roared with laughter. “Is that a challenge, my delicious vixen? I shall take it as one.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled onto his back so that she was lying on top of him, her mischievous face above him. Her old-age perfume was wearing off, so he could inhale her natural alluring female scent. Uniquely Cassie.

There was truth in her belief that he was in love with making love. But she was far more than the nearest willing woman. He really was a little in love with her. And, he guessed as her kiss sent him spinning into rapture, he always would be.

Cassie suspected she was smiling like a fool as they set off on the rugged track that would take them out of the hills to a road that led north. Though it was hard to read Grey’s expression behind the beard, she suspected he was also beaming. They’d ended up delaying breakfast for quite some time.

She’d been rather touched by his joking claim to be madly in love with her even though he was really just expressing his exuberant pleasure in his rediscovered sexuality. Perhaps she was a little bit in love with Grey. His lovemaking had a playfulness that was new to her. She looked forward to more passionate interludes between now and the time she delivered him to Kirkland in London.

Grey would return to the loving arms of family and friends and, in time, a suitable young wife. Cassie hoped she would be sensitive about what Grey had endured.

As for Cassie, she’d return to France with blazing memories to warm her in that English cottage, if she lived long enough to retire. She’d survived more than a dozen years in the spying trade. Perhaps she’d actually live to celebrate Napoleon’s death.

It was rather sweet of Grey to want her to find a companion for her old age, but also a sign of how young he was in some ways. Though he’d been born a couple of years earlier than she, most of his adult life had been spent in captivity. She’d crammed several lifetimes of experience into her twenty-nine years, while he’d had one very bad experience over and over for ten years.

That made her feel as old as her gray hair claimed she was. But the vast differences between them didn’t mean they couldn’t be lovers until their paths parted.

Peace disintegrated when they came out of the hills and turned onto the road north. Though traffic was light, the back of Grey’s neck crawled whenever he heard hoofbeats coming toward them. Surely it was too soon for Durand to have organized a pursuit, but reason had nothing to do with his primitive fear. He wouldn’t feel safe until he was back in England.

Though he couldn’t make the fear and anger go away, he could at least pretend to be sane and normal. He found that it helped to concentrate on the countryside around him. Even in late winter, it was beautiful beyond belief. Dormant trees contained an infinity of subtle colors, and the wind carried intoxicating scents of life.

And he could always watch Cassie, and wait for the night.


Chapter 18

After Durand finished cursing his incompetent servants for letting the prisoners escape, he formulated plans for recapturing them. The feeble old priest should be easy. He would stay close to his old haunts, so he could be traced through friends and family.

But Wyndham would flee the country as fast as possible, so Durand must move quickly. Thank God he had the many and varied resources of the police at his disposal. There were detachments of the gendarmerie in all towns of any size. All he had to do was claim he was after English spies to mobilize them.

He would have flyers printed and send them out by the fast military couriers. The gendarmes could distribute the flyers to inns and villages along routes the fugitives might follow. A description and a reward for information would set hundreds of civilians watching any strangers who passed by.

The problem with flyers was coming up with descriptions. The only one of the raiders who had been seen was the old lady, who left no impression at all. Gray hair. Average height. Average weight. No distinguishing features. Perhaps sixty years old.

Wyndham and the priest weren’t much easier. Durand knew what they’d looked like originally, but years in prison had resulted in emaciated bodies and savage beards. Coats could be padded and beards could be trimmed to change their appearances.

He had to settle for approximating the heights of the prisoners and saying that one was a feeble old man, one a young man with light hair. He added that the three people being sought might be traveling together, or separately, or with other unknown men. Very unsatisfactory.

There was also the question of which way they went. It would be clever of them to head south to Spain or east into the Low Countries or Germany, but clever was probably trumped by the fact that north to the channel was by far the fastest route to England. So Durand sent flyers in all directions, but concentrated on the roads north.