What a memory the man had. "Just milk now. I lost the habit of sugar."

Kirkland poured in milk and handed over the cup. "Can you tell me what happened? Or would you rather not?"

Grey stared into his milky tea. "I don't even know where to start. Ten dreadful years of nothingness. I don't recommend it. And I don't know where to go from here."

"You take it one step at a time," Kirkland said. "I've brought my valet, who can give you a clean shave and a haircut. Since we used to be about the same size, I brought some of my clothes. They'll be loose on you but at least you'll look like an English gentleman again."

"Is that what I want?"

Kirkland hesitated. "I have no idea. Do you know what you want?"

Ca.s.sie. But he couldn't say that. Not only were their paths about to diverge, but why on earth would a strong, independent woman like her want a man who was as needy and confused as Grey?

"I wanted freedom. I never looked beyond that." He gave a twisted smile. "I don't really have much choice, do I? My path was laid out the day I was born heir to Costain. I inherited wealth and privilege and great responsibilities. I can use those things well or badly, but I can't really walk away from them. They're another sort of prison."

"Though a much more comfortable one than the dungeons under Castle Durand," his friend observed.

"More comfortable, but much more demanding. In prison, the only requirement was to survive."

Grey had attempted lightness again, but Kirkland was not fooled. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he said quietly. "Though I hope that you'll let me tell your family soon."

"I will," Grey promised. "Soon. After I've recovered some from the blood loss. I feel as weak as a day-old kitten."

"I almost bled out once," Kirkland said. "In a fortnight or so, you should be in much better strength. In the meantime, I'll send up a bath, my valet, and the clothing I brought for you. After you're clean and shaved and dressed like a gentleman, you'll feel more the thing."

Grey hoped so. It would take all his strength to face his family's loving excitement. And once they knew he was alive, the whole world would know. Life would become enormously complicated and stressful.

A year from now, he'd probably be so settled back into his existence as Viscount Wyndham that he'd hardly be able to remember the vapors he was experiencing now. But just now, the vapors were winning.

Chapter 24.

The sun was high when Ca.s.sie finally woke. Lady Agnes's guest beds were very comfortable, though she'd have slept well on broken rocks. She stretched luxuriously and wished Grey was beside her. But he was no longer her lover Grey; he was Lord Wyndham, restored to his proper station and the people who loved him.

Usually when a mission ended successfully, she felt satisfaction. Triumph, even, for she'd struck another small blow against Napoleon's tyranny.

This time, she felt ... empty. She made a brief, doomed effort to convince herself that she was only regretting the loss of a superb bedmate.

Scowling, she swung from the bed. Bed.a.m.ned to her rationalizations. She wouldn't have survived so many years as a spy if she'd been p.r.o.ne to self-delusion. With Grey's combination of wry charm, vulnerability, and desperate strength, he had touched her as no other man had. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or irritated.

She tugged on the bell pull. Her suspicion that Lady Agnes's household was exceedingly well run was confirmed by the rapid appearance of a maid. Fifteen minutes later, Ca.s.sie was drinking delicious hot chocolate while immersed in a perfumed hot bath. ("Her ladyship told us to have lots of hot water ready, miss.") She didn't emerge until the water cooled and the chocolate was long gone.

A lavish breakfast was delivered on a tray, along with her shabby but now clean gown. After she'd eaten, dressed, and pulled her hair back into its usual unflattering style, she went exploring.

Grey wasn't in his room, so she headed downstairs. Since Lady Agnes was busy running her school, Ca.s.sie waylaid a pa.s.sing maid. "Do you know where Lord Wyndham might be found?"

"He might be in the conservatory, ma'am," the maid replied. "I saw him heading in that direction."

"I didn't know Lady Agnes had a conservatory," Ca.s.sie remarked.

"It's rather new," the maid explained. "A gift from the Duke of Ashton to remind her ladyship of India. Shall I take you there? It's built off the sitting room in the back of the house."

"Thank you, I'll find it on my own." Ca.s.sie set off in the direction indicated. Lady Agnes's private quarters were only one wing of the sprawling manor, but even so this was a gracious and sizable home.

She reached the drawing room and saw that the conservatory had been cleverly designed to open off the farthest right French door so it didn't obscure the sitting room's view of the well-tended grounds. This side of the house faced south, so the conservatory would get the maximum possible sunshine and warmth.

She opened the door, then stepped into a tropical paradise. She stopped short, delighted by the warm, humid air and the lush fragrances of flowers and plants. The perfect antidote to an English winter.

The structure was so crowded with flowers and trees- and was that a pair of brilliantly colored birds flashing by?-that it was impossible to judge its size or see if anyone else was inside. She set off on a flagstone path that wound between palm trees and flowering bushes. It pa.s.sed a clearing with small tables, a loveseat, and several chairs. A perfect place for tea or a meal.

A twist in the path led her by a small shrine containing a stone statue of an elephant-headed being. A Hindu G.o.d, perhaps? She continued, making a mental note to ask for a guided tour of the conservatory.

Another turn of the path, and she discovered the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. With shining golden hair, sculpted features, and an impeccably tailored navy blue coat, he was the model of an English gentleman. He stood by a bush covered with scarlet blossoms, his eyes closed as he raptly inhaled the spicy scent of one that he'd picked.

Ca.s.sie held her breath as if he were a wild creature who might take wing if disturbed. One of the school's old boys, or perhaps the father of a prospective student.

The man turned and she saw a neat white head bandage on the left side of his head, almost hidden under the golden hair. Grey.

She froze as visceral shock blazed through her. She'd known all along that their affair would be brief, that they could have no possible future. But seeing him now, indisputably Viscount Wyndham, the golden heir to the Earl of Costain, underlined their differences with vicious clarity.

She had just an instant to bring her shock under control. As soon as he saw her, his pensive face lit up. "Ca.s.sie! I was tempted to wake you, but managed to control the impulse. Yesterday was far too exciting for both of us."

He moved forward with swift strides and enveloped her in a hug. Desire flared as soon as he touched her. Whatever else he might be, Ca.s.sie thought wryly, Greydon Sommers was no sn.o.b. He didn't seem to have noticed that he'd transformed into a glittering aristocrat while she was still a drab, aging spy.

As she slid her arms around him, he gasped, "Oww!"

"Sorry!" She stepped out of his embrace. "I forgot your wounded ribs."

"So did I." He smiled ruefully. "I'm healing well enough that mostly I don't feel either of the bullet wounds. Except when they're touched." He felt gingerly around the head wound. "Another few days and I'll be fine."

"A good thing you kept the beard till now, my lord. If you'd shaved in France, every female we pa.s.sed would have remembered you."

He made a face. "It's strange to look into the mirror and see a man who looks so much like the young idiot I used to be." He delicately tucked his scarlet blossom behind her left ear, then cupped her face between his lean, strong hands. "Now to see what I can do that won't hurt my ribs."

He leaned into a kiss, his lips moving tenderly over hers. His face might not be familiar, but his mouth was. As exotic floral fragrance wafted around her, she closed her eyes and reveled in how he gave so much of himself. Perhaps prison had stripped away the armor most Englishmen used to bury their emotions.

She stroked his lips with her tongue. Such sweetness in the moment. So few moments left.

Remembering she shouldn't carry on with him under Lady Agnes's roof, she broke the kiss. "You smell of vinegar," she said teasingly. "Like a particularly handsome pickled onion."

He laughed, so lighthearted that she could imagine how he'd been as a youth. "The consequences might be onion-ish, but vinegar did a good job of washing out that brown hair coloring. Kirkland's valet found me an interesting challenge."

Her brows rose. "Kirkland is here already?"

"Apparently he set off for Kent in the middle of the night as soon as he received Lady Agnes's message. He provided the clothing as well as the valet," Grey explained. "Now where was I?"

He resumed kissing her, and this time sweetness deepened into fire. Her resolve to behave dissolved. She wanted to pull him down into the tropical flowers and rip off those well-tailored garments so they could take advantage of what little time they had left.

"Excuse me if I'm interrupting," Kirkland's dry voice said. "I'm glad to see you're undamaged, Ca.s.sandra."

Ca.s.sie jumped as if she'd been caught in adultery rather than sharing a private, if indiscreet, kiss with her lover, while Grey turned rigid. "Did my faithful hound track me down?" He bent to ruffle Regine's ears as she bounded from Kirkland's side and began twining between Grey and Ca.s.sie.

"She did, though I wouldn't want to wager what percentage of her is hound." Kirkland's cool gaze met Ca.s.sie's. "Shall we adjourn to the sitting area near the entrance so we can relax and discuss what comes next?"

"There's a way to ruin a previously good day," Grey said with brittle humor. He rested his hand on the back of Ca.s.sie's waist and ushered her toward the sitting area. "But the sitting part sounds good since I'm fatigued again."

"You were shot twice yesterday," Ca.s.sie pointed out. "You are ent.i.tled to take things slowly for a while. If Lady Agnes summoned a surgeon, he probably told you to spend several days in bed."

"Indeed he did, the tiresome fellow. I ignored him, of course. How can one rebuild one's strength without exercise?"

"I see your natural disdain for authority hasn't changed," Kirkland observed.

"Disdain for authority is the bedrock of my character." They reached the sitting area set among the palms and cascading blossoms. Grey folded into the loveseat, tugging Ca.s.sie down beside him.

When she was settled, he took firm hold of her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or irritated at his blatant proclamation that they were lovers. Not that it mattered, since Kirkland had already figured it out.

Grey's tenseness made Ca.s.sie uneasy. He'd been fine until Kirkland appeared. Was he angry with his old friend? Or uncomfortable with everyone but her?

Willing to delay the discussion about his future, Ca.s.sie said, "This conservatory was a magnificent gift. Ashton must have enjoyed his years here."

"He did. We all did. Lady Agnes does more than teach Latin, rhetoric, and mathematics," Kirkland said. "She helps boys fit into their lives."

That was a gift far beyond the ability to conjugate Latin verbs. Ca.s.sie wondered how Kirkland had ended up at Westerfield. She didn't know the reason even though she'd worked closely with him for years. Kirkland's reserve didn't encourage questions.

The other man continued, "Wyndham, have you changed your mind and decided to go to Summerhill right away?"

"I have not," Grey snapped. "I have no idea how long it will take to screw my courage up. At the least, weeks. Perhaps months."

Ca.s.sie stared at him. "You want to delay seeing your family for that long?" She'd give anything to be with her family again for a single hour. "I thought you got on well with them."

"I do," he said starkly. "But I don't want to return to Summerhill until I'm more like the Greydon Sommers they remember."

She understood his reluctance, though she suspected his mother would want him back right now no matter what condition he was in. Seeing his agitation, she kept her voice neutral as she asked, "Have you any plans for how to make that happen?"

"None at all." His hand tightened on Ca.s.sie's. "But I will manage. In time."

"Do you want to stay in a quiet country cottage somewhere until you get used to England again?" Kirkland frowned as he sought a solution.

Grey gave a twisted smile. "Sounds delightful, but I'd probably never leave. Maybe I should stay here at Westerfield? I don't think Lady Agnes would mind."

"She would love it," Kirkland said, "but you'd run the risk of being seen and identified before you're ready. Do you think you could stand London? My house is comfortable and you'd be more than welcome."

Grey shook his head. "Kirkland House is in a fashionable neighborhood. Every time I went outside, I'd run the risk of being identified by my mother's second cousin or my G.o.dfather or someone else who has known me since I was in the cradle."

"That would be true anywhere in Mayfair," the other man agreed. "I imagine you don't want to be cooped up in a house."

"Or anywhere ever again," Grey said, his voice edged.

His words gave Ca.s.sie an insight as to why he was so skittish about returning to his own world. As heir to an earldom, he'd have wealth and a great deal of freedom, but he'd also be trapped in a gilded cage of responsibilities and expectations. When he was younger, he hadn't recognized the bars.

If he couldn't face an immediate return to his family, what would be a good alternative? "You might be better off in London, but living anonymously. You can become accustomed to people while having a safe retreat whenever you need quiet. No one will flutter anxiously outside your door if you go to ground. When you're ready, old friends can come by one at a time."

"Exeter Street," Kirkland said instantly. "That's brilliant, Ca.s.sie. The house was designed to be a sanctuary, and that's exactly what is needed."

"What is Exeter Street?" Grey asked warily.

"The location of a house Kirkland owns near Covent Garden. It's a boardinghouse for his agents when they're in London," Ca.s.sie explained. "It's the closest I have to a home. The neighborhood is busy but not fashionable, so you're unlikely to meet anyone from your former social circles."

Grey exhaled with relief. "Perfect, if you'll be there."

She bit her lip, thinking it would be wiser to disappear now that Grey had been delivered to Kirkland. He needed to manage without her-and she needed to consign him to the past so she could continue her work without distracted thoughts about pa.s.sionate nights. It was most unfair that he was so meltingly attractive!

But apparently it wasn't yet time for her to move on. And she wouldn't mind a little more time with him. Not at all. "I'll be at Exeter Street for a fortnight or so."

Grey relaxed. "Good. I'm used to having you around." Releasing her hand, he got to his feet. "I'm tiring far too fast today, but tomorrow I should be fit for the trip up to London. Are you going upstairs now, Ca.s.sie?"

Before she could respond, Kirkland said, "If you have a few minutes, Ca.s.sie, I have some questions about what you learned in Paris before going to Castle Durand."

Such sessions were normal after a mission, though this time the questions would be more complicated. "Of course. I have a message from one of your agents in Paris."

"I'll see you later, then," Grey said with a touch of acid. "Feel free to talk about me. I know you will as soon as I'm out of earshot."

Kirkland looked uncomfortable, but Ca.s.sie said tartly, "Of course we'll talk about you. You're so utterly fascinating."

"More of a nuisance than fascinating." His smile was twisted. "You would have been wiser to have left me to rot in France."

Chapter 25.

Grey stalked off, Regine on his heels, leaving Ca.s.sie shaken. Kirkland looked equally uncomfortable.

When Grey was safely out of earshot, she said in her driest voice, "Leaving him in France wouldn't have been wiser, but he's right that we're going to talk about him."

"Of course we are. He's the reason we're both here." Kirkland leaned forward, his expression worried. "Can you tell me more about his ... his mental state?"