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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