He took a swallow, then began coughing so hard she was afraid he’d go under. When he could breathe again, he said hoarsely, “I’ve lost the habit of strong spirits.” He sipped more cautiously, then sighed with pleasure. “Apple fire. Lovely.”

When he handed the jug back to Cassie, she sampled the contents. Though strong, the brandy was sweet and fruity, with perhaps pear as well as apple. Enjoying the slow burn, she returned the jug to Grey. “This is made here on the farm.”

He took another sip. “Speak English to me,” he said haltingly in English. “Slowly. After ten years of only French, I must struggle to speak my native language.”

She did as he asked, speaking each word distinctly. “Your English will return quickly once you have it in your ears again.”

He frowned at the brandy jug. “I have wanted nothing more than to escape, but now that I am free, what will I find back in England?” he said slowly. “I thought I’d been long forgotten by everyone, but you said Kirkland sent you?”

“You have not been forgotten,” she said quietly. “You haunt all the friends you made at the Westerfield Academy. Kirkland has searched for you for years. He made inquiries among the thousands of Englishmen interned in France when the Peace of Amiens ended. He heard rumors, and traced them all without success. Kirkland was determined to keep going until he either found you alive, or found proof of your death.”

“Why?” Grey asked, surprised. “I was the very model of a useless fribble.”

“But a charming one, from what Kirkland said.”

“Charm is one of many things I’ve lost over the years.” He took another sip of brandy. “Do you know anything of my family? You have called me Wyndham, not Costain. I hope this means my father is well?”

“Kirkland said all of your immediate family is in good health,” she assured him. “Your father, your mother, your younger brother and sister.”

The moon broke through the clouds and touched Grey’s hair to brightness. Cassie was reminded that Kirkland had called him a golden boy. “If you’re through washing, it’s time to go inside.”

“I fear emerging from the water because then the cold will be truly vicious.” He handed her the brandy jug. “But I suppose I must.”

“Madame Boyer said you’d brought out towels. Ah, over there.” She scooped up the towels. After kicking snow off a section of the bank, she spread the smaller towel on the cleared space. “Step up here. The towel will protect your feet a bit. Use the larger one to wipe off as much water as you can, then I’ll wrap you in this blanket.”

“Stand back if you don’t want to be splattered.” He clambered onto the bank and planted both feet on the small towel as he took the larger one from her.

In the moonlight, he had a gaunt powerful beauty marred by scars and too many bones visible under his taut, pale skin. Teeth chattering, he said, “Pattens. Over there.”

The wooden pattens had almost disappeared in the snow. She retrieved them and set them by his towel. Pattens were usually worn over regular shoes, but he was a tall man so they fit well enough on his bare feet.

He toweled himself off rapidly. From the little she saw of what was euphemistically called “courting tackle,” the frigid water had done a good job of cooling his ardor, at least for the moment.

“Let me wipe your back,” she said. He handed her the wet towel. She swiftly pulled it down his long frame, then wrapped the blanket around him.

He pulled the scratchy wool square tight, shivering. “I knew this would be the difficult part. Where’s the brandy?”

She handed it over. He swigged some as he stepped into the pattens. “Time to run for it before I end up like one of Gunter’s ices. Lord, is Gunter’s still in business?”

“The teashop in Mayfair?” Cassie had been there once so long ago she’d almost forgotten. But now she remembered a lemon ice, the tangy sweetness melting on her tongue. “As far as I know, it’s flourishing.”

“Good. I used to take my younger brother and sister there. In warmer weather!” He headed toward the house, making good time with his long legs and high motivation. Cassie followed at a slower pace, carrying the wet towels.

Though Grey had dashed into the warm house, he held the door open for her when she arrived. His gentlemanly manners hadn’t disappeared entirely.

Viole had retired, but she’d banked the fire and left a lamp burning, so the kitchen was warm and welcoming. On the scrubbed deal table were eating utensils, a bottle of wine, and food covered by a light cloth. After hanging up the cloak, Cassie lifted the cloth and found bread, cheese, a small dish of pâté, and a jar of pickled relish.

Keeping her voice down so as not to disturb the sleepers, she said, “We both need to warm up by the fire before heading off to bed. Our wonderful hostess has left refreshments. Would you care for some, or did you eat enough earlier?”

“Madame Boyer wouldn’t let me eat too much because she thought I might make myself ill. So yes, more food would be most welcome.” He kicked off the pattens and settled into one of the cushioned chairs by the fire, the blanket wrapped closely around him. With a sigh of pleasure, he stretched his bare feet out on the hearth. “Food and freedom and a fine fire. Yesterday I could barely imagine such riches.”

Cassie assembled two plates with sliced bread and cheese and mounds of pâté and relish. She was silently amused by Grey’s cavalier treatment of the pattens. In his pampered youth, he would have had servants quietly straightening up behind him. In his prison cell, he’d had no possessions to keep orderly. The man needed housebreaking.

She handed him one of the platters, a knife, and a tumbler of hearty red wine. In the low light, he had become the golden youth Kirkland had described. His hair was a bright blond, his beard several shades darker and touched with red. But he was a boy no longer. Now he was a man aged beyond his years.

“Food and drink whenever I want it. What a remarkable concept.” He spread pâté on a slice of bread and took a bite. He savored the taste before swallowing. “Aahhh, ambrosia.”

She settled in the chair beside him with her own food and wine. She tasted cheese on bread, pâté on bread, then both plus relish. As he said, ambrosia. “How did you keep your strength up under such dreadful conditions?”

“I exercised. Ran in place, lifted the two stones that served as furniture, kept moving as much as I could.” He shrugged. “At the beginning, there was barely enough food to keep a rat alive, but the rations improved after Père Laurent was imprisoned.”

“The castle cook thought it outrageous that a priest was so ill used, so she sent larger servings down for you both,” Cassie explained.

“I owe the cook thanks. There was never enough food to feel really full, but it was sufficient to keep me from weakening.” He spread pickle relish on a piece of bread and cheese. “There was nothing better to do, so exercise at least filled some time.”

“Exercise and singing?”

He smiled a little. “That and remembering poetry and the like. I was not an ideal student. It never occurred to me that an education might help me cling to my sanity.”

“A well-furnished mind must be a great asset when one is imprisoned.”

“Père Laurent’s mind is extremely well furnished. I encouraged him to tell me everything he knew.” Grey spread pâté lavishly. “Cassie, what happens next?”

“We need to stay here a day or two until the roads clear,” she said. “Then north to the English Channel, where smugglers can take us home.”

“Home,” he repeated. “I don’t know what that means anymore. I was a typical young man about town, drinking and gaming and chasing opera dancers. A useless life. I can’t go back to that. But I don’t know what I can go back to.”

“Ten years have passed,” she said slowly. “You would have been a different man now even if you’d been safe in England the whole time. You might have married and become a father. You might have entered politics since you’ll be in the House of Lords in time. Many paths are open to you, and you can take your time in choosing.”

“Even thinking about a night at the opera, or a boxing mill, or a gaming club frightens me,” he said bleakly. “So many people! I don’t know if I can bear that. That was one reason I went out to the pond. Even half a dozen kind people were too many.”

“After ten years of solitary confinement, it’s not surprising if you find the thought of crowds appalling,” she agreed. “But you can avoid them until and unless you’re ready. You’re a nobleman. You can be a splendidly eccentric hermit if you like. Since you were outgoing and enjoyed people before, it’s likely you will again. In time.”

“I hope you’re right.” He glanced across at Cassie, his gaze hooded. “Do you have the apple brandy?”

“Since you’re unused to strong spirits, it might be wiser not to indulge in more,” she observed. “Unless you want to greet your first day of freedom with a pounding head.”

He let his head rest on the chair back. “I expect you’re right. Even though I didn’t drink that much by the pond, I seem to be babbling away quite frivolously.”

“It’s not surprising you want to talk about what lies ahead, and I’m the best choice because I know England,” she pointed out. “And I am safe. After we reach England, you’ll never see me again, and I am not of a gossipy disposition.”

“What you are is a mystery, Madame Cassie the Fox,” he said softly. “What is your story?”


Chapter 14

As soon as Grey spoke, Cassie drew into herself, strength and intelligence vanishing behind the façade of a tired old woman. He wondered how old she really was. He’d first guessed her at twice his age, around sixty, but she did not move like a woman of so many years. When she wasn’t trying to look feeble and harmless, she had the litheness of a fit younger woman despite her gray hair and lined face.

Wanting to hear her lovely, smoky voice, he continued, “Why are you here, looking and talking like a Frenchwoman while serving an English master?”

“I serve no master, English or otherwise,” she said coolly. “Since I wish to see Napoleon dead and his empire smashed, I work for Kirkland. He shares my goals.”

Grey thought about how much he didn’t know. “The war. Is Napoleon winning? Durand would taunt me with news of French victories. Austerlitz. Jena.” He searched his memory. “He mentioned many other victorious battles as well.”

“Durand told you only one side of the story,” she said, amused. “There have been great French victories, but not lately. The French fleet was destroyed at Trafalgar in 1805, and Britain has ruled the seas ever since. In the Iberian Peninsula, the British and local allies are driving the imperial army back into France.”

“What about Eastern Europe? The Prussians, Austrians, and Russians?”

“The emperor has defeated the Prussians and Austrians several times, yet they will not stay defeated,” Cassie said. “In an act of staggering stupidity, last summer he invaded Russia and lost half a million men to General Winter. The sands of Napoleon’s hourglass are running out.”

Grey exhaled with relief. “All of these years, I’ve wondered if England was about to be conquered.”

“Napoleon is a brilliant general,” she admitted, “but even he cannot defeat all of Europe. If he had been content to stay within France’s borders, he could have had his crown, but his lust for conquest is his undoing.”

What else did he want to know? “You mentioned my classmates at the Westerfield Academy. What of them? And Lady Agnes?”

“Lady Agnes is well and continues to educate her boys of good birth and bad behavior.” Cassie smiled. “I met her only once, but she’s not a woman one forgets.”

He felt a rush of relief. Lady Agnes was far from ancient, but ten years was a long time. She had been as important in his life as his own mother, and he was glad to know she was well. “What of the others? Kirkland is obviously alive and apparently active in the spying trade.”

Cassie nodded. “He divides his time between Edinburgh and London as he runs his shipping company. Intelligence gathering is a secret sideline.”

He thought of the friends who had become closer than brothers in his years at school. “Do you know how any of the others are doing?”

Her brows furrowed. “I’m not well acquainted with most of them. The Duke of Ashton is well, recently married, and expecting his first child. Randall was a major in the army, but he left after becoming heir to his uncle, the Earl of Daventry.”

Grey had a swift memory of Randall’s taut expression after receiving a letter from his uncle. “He hated Daventry.”