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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Also … ?” Kiri prompted gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 31

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grey shuddered, not wanting to think of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it outside!” the landlord barked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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