As he held her close, he said with sad resignation, "You're still going to leave, aren't you, my lady vixen?"

"Yes," she whispered. "There is attraction between us, and the bond created as we escaped from France, but that's not enough to build our lives on."

"I rather think it is, but if you disagree, I don't know how to change your mind." His caressing hand moved down from her shoulder, warming and shaping the soft flesh he found along the way. "I want to give you everything, yet there is nothing you need from me. You've found your way back to the life of wealth and position that you were born to, so I can't even give you that."

"You've given me something more valuable than a t.i.tle and a fortune." She turned her face to kiss his lips with lingering tenderness. "You've opened my heart in a way that makes a different kind of future thinkable. If I survive this war, and I'm beginning to believe that perhaps I will, I'll be able to live a better life than if I hadn't known you."

He cupped her breast. "I'm glad you value the time we've been together. I thought all the benefit had been to me, and I'm not so selfish as to prefer it that way."

"You're not selfish." She kissed him again, tenderness sliding into heat. "You're generous in ways none of the other men I've known can match."

He rolled so he was above her, supporting his weight so that his body barely skimmed hers. "You're right that recovering from h.e.l.l will take longer than a month. Will you think me a better, saner prospect a year from now? When you're in England, can I take you for mad, pa.s.sionate holidays by the sea?"

"No!" she said sharply. "We must end this now. You mustn't wait to see if I'll change my mind, and having an affair will only prolong the pain. Find joy in all the things you were deprived of. A year from now you won't be interested in an aging spy."

"I'm tempted to spank you," he said with exasperation. "You worry about my state of mind, yet you're so daft that you don't recognize what an extraordinary and beautiful woman you are." He began kissing his way down her throat, stirring sensations she'd thought exhausted. "Can I at least convince you that you are incredibly desirable?"

She opened her legs and he settled between them, his hardening length sliding along her exquisitely sensitive flesh. As she rocked against him, she said huskily, "You make me feel like the most desirable woman on earth."

"Because you are." He buried his face in the angle of her shoulder. "Ah, G.o.d, Ca.s.sie! If we only have tonight, let us spend every moment of it well."

"We will," she breathed as she drew him into her. "We will."

When pa.s.sion and words were exhausted, Grey cradled her spoon style, her back against his chest so she could feel the strong beat of his heart. She wondered if she'd ever feel so close to another man again.

Perhaps. Her time with Grey had changed her in fundamental ways. She could now imagine a life beyond war. If she survived, she'd buy a home in Norfolk to be near her family. Perhaps she might even marry someday. But just now, it was impossible to imagine loving any man but Grey.

She was half asleep when Grey began to sing, the soft words and melody barely audible. She hadn't heard him sing since finding him in the dungeons of Castle Durand. She'd been surprised as much as by his strong, rich voice as by the amazing bawdiness of his song.

His voice was still rich, but this time he sang of love, or rather lost love. Her throat tightened as she recognized the haunting song from her childhood.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

Remember me to one who lives there She once was a true love of mine.

The verses continued in the series of challenges to accomplish impossible tasks before love could be achieved. Aching, she closed her eyes against the sting of tears.

Remember me to one who lives there He once was a true love of mine.

Chapter 40.

Grey had faced more difficult challenges than bidding Ca.s.sie a civil farewell as she left him forever, but he couldn't offhand remember when. He prayed that he would be able to maintain his composure rather than break down and confirm her worst suspicions of his mental stability.

The whole Sommers family had gathered in the front hall to say good-bye to Ca.s.sie and her cousins. She wasn't dressed for glamour this morning, but the rich dark brown of her beautifully tailored morning gown was a perfect complement to her glorious auburn hair and porcelain complexion. When she turned to him to make her farewell, she looked more regal than the queen of England. It was hard to remember that they had lain naked and pa.s.sionate in each other's arms the night before.

While Richard and Neil gave effusive thanks and farewells to the earl and countess, Grey took the opportunity for a few last private words with Ca.s.sie. Close up, he saw shadows under her eyes. Not surprising, given how little sleep they'd had. He probably looked much the same.

"If I can get through this without breaking down into strong hysterics, surely I'm cured of my prison madness," he murmured, trying for a light note. "Though, to be honest, the only thing preventing me from sweeping you away and locking you in the attics is the knowledge that you'd break my arm or something even more valuable."

Her eyes lit with wry amus.e.m.e.nt. "I don't doubt that you're well on the way to recovery, Grey. Soon you'll be breaking every female heart in the beau monde."

"Oddly enough, that's not my ambition." He studied her face with such desperate ferocity that his gaze should have scorched her pale redhead's complexion. In a remote corner of his mind, he understood why she believed they must go their separate ways. An even smaller part of him agreed. But his heart, body, and soul believed otherwise.

"Time to go, Cat!" Neil called.

"Good-bye, my lord and companion in adversity." Ca.s.sie raised her hand and brushed Grey's cheek with feather lightness. "I shall never forget you."

His control snapped and he crushed her into a desperate embrace. "Don't go, Ca.s.sie!" he whispered into her ear. "Stay."

For an instant she hugged him back just as hard. Then she broke away, her face flushing. "Live well, Grey. Be happy." She turned and walked out of Summerhill.

Taking his heart with her.

Ca.s.sie didn't relax until the coach was well away from the estate. Not that she expected Grey to come galloping after her and sweep her onto his horse. Surely he knew better than to try. But with him, she could never be quite sure.

When they reached the main road east toward London, she finally settled back. Four people in the coach meant they were warm, so she removed her bonnet. Richard sat beside her. The facing seat held Neil opposite Ca.s.sie, while Hazel, looking invisible as only Kirkland's agents could manage, sat across from Richard.

Richard had been silent until now, but he said abruptly, "I saw what Wyndham did as we were leaving. Has he behaved dishonorably to you, Cat?"

"Dishonorably?" she asked incredulously. "What do you mean?"

Looking embarra.s.sed but ready to call Grey out, Richard asked, "Did he lead you to have expectations that he didn't fulfill?"

Caught between amus.e.m.e.nt and irritation, Ca.s.sie said coolly, "If you're practicing to be head of the family, don't. I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

"But is he doing right by you?" Richard persisted. "I'm serious, Catherine."

She studied her cousins for a dozen turns of the carriage wheels, wondering if they could understand the reality of a spy's life. They'd probably be shocked-they were the sons of a vicar, after all. Better not to try to explain the complexities of her situation. "Wyndham wanted to marry me. Most people would consider that honorable behavior."

"And you didn't want to?" His voice was puzzled. "I don't understand. You seemed very fond of each other."

"It's complicated." She closed her eyes, cutting off discussion. She didn't understand, either. But she knew she was right. Grey was not yet ready to take a bride. When and if he became ready, it wouldn't be her.

Once more the trip to London was made at the quickest pace that a hired coach and frequent changes of horses could manage. Even so, it was midevening by the time they reached London. At her request, Hazel was set down near Kirkland's office. Ca.s.sie suspected the agent would report about Wyndham's return home.

As Hazel climbed from the coach, Ca.s.sie said, "Many thanks. You made my visit to the West Country much easier."

Hazel smiled. "I enjoyed it. Perhaps we'll meet again at Exeter Street."

When the coach began moving again, Neil observed, "Not the usual lady's maid."

Ca.s.sie smiled. "I'm not the usual lady."

St. Ives House was only a short ride away. As Neil helped her from the coach, she studied the facade. This block of houses was handsome and well proportioned. As a child, she hadn't been brought to London often, but she remembered the house well.

"Is it difficult to be here again?" Richard asked as she took his arm.

She nodded. "I stayed here only a few times, but I have fond memories of the place. So I've avoided it."

"You never came by when you were in London?" Neil asked, surprised.

"Never." Her mouth twisted. "I buried everything to do with my childhood, and never looked back."

"That's not going to happen again," Neil said firmly. "We won't allow it."

"Bossy brothers," she said with a smile. "Even when I was eight years old, I didn't take orders well."

Richard grinned. "Can't I briefly hope that you've become more biddable?"

"A waste of time. Best turn your thoughts to not shocking your parents too much," she advised. "When Lady Costain saw Wyndham without warning, she fainted."

"Good point. I'll go in and prepare them. Neil, give me a couple of minutes to set the stage before you bring in Cat."

"Shall do."

The footman who admitted them gave Ca.s.sie a curious glance, but he was too young to have known her. "Welcome home, sirs. If you wish to pay your respects to Lord and Lady St. Ives, they're having tea in the salon."

"Send up a supper for three people," Richard ordered. His step quick, he climbed the stairs to the salon.

Neil took Ca.s.sie's cloak and bonnet, adding, "Prepare a room for our guest." When the servant bustled off, he asked Ca.s.sie, "Ready to meet more relatives?"

She smiled crookedly as she took his arm. "I now have more sympathy for Wyndham's nerves about going home after long absence."

"Since you weren't expecting Richard and me, you didn't have to worry first," he agreed. "But this won't be bad. Now march lively!"

She laughed and obeyed. As they climbed the stairs, she tried to remember her cousins' birthdays. Richard was about a year older than she, Neil a year younger. Close enough that the three of them had run around together like a pack of heathens. The vicarage was much more relaxed than the manor house, and Ca.s.sie had spent much time there, sitting in on lessons taught by her uncle.

The house appeared similar to the way she remembered it, with a number of furnishings that she recognized. Yet there were enough changes, particularly new artwork and upholstery, that it no longer felt like her parents' house. She was glad of that.

When they entered the drawing room, Lady St. Ives was saying placidly, "How long must we wait for this happy surprise, Richard?"

"Not long," her son replied. "Behold!" He made a sweeping gesture toward Ca.s.sie and Neil, then moved to join them. With the three of them next to each other, the family resemblance was undeniable.

Ca.s.sie's aunt and uncle gaped at her. The pa.s.sing years had added pounds and wrinkles and gray hair, but they were still the easygoing aunt and uncle she'd adored. She gave a deep curtsy. "It's been a long way, Uncle Vicar. Patient Aunt Patience." She used the nicknames deliberately as a way of verifying her ident.i.ty.

"Catherine?" her aunt gasped.

Her uncle swiftly crossed the room to look at her more closely. John St. Ives resembled her father, but he was softer and wider and two decades older. "Catherine." He squeezed her hands, his face beaming. "My dear girl! This is no imposter, Patience!"

The reunion that followed was much like the one with Richard and Neil, but with more people, more food, and more overlapping voices. As midnight approached, Ca.s.sie began to yawn. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's been a long day."

"I should have asked for a room to be made up!" her aunt exclaimed. "I was so busy talking that I forgot."

"I didn't forget," Neil said fondly. "The room will be ready when Cat is."

"Which is now." Ca.s.sie smothered another yawn. She was tired not only from travel, but so much social interaction. She was used to a quieter life.

"What are your plans now, Catherine?" her uncle asked. "This is your home while you are in London, of course. But would you like to go to Eaton Manor? With spring coming, Norfolk will be particularly lovely."

The thought produced a stab of pain. Ca.s.sie had spent most of her childhood at Eaton Manor, and there would be more memories than she could bear to face now. "Perhaps later," she replied. "For now, I have business in London."

After good-night hugs, she retreated gratefully to an attractively furnished and comfortable room warmed by a briskly burning fire. Her clothing had been brushed and hung in the wardrobe.

A maid arrived moments after Ca.s.sie. The girl was there to help her with her gown, and she also brought a posset of warm spiced milk to aid sleep. Tears threatened when Ca.s.sie held the gently steaming mug. She could tell from the scent that the posset was her mother's French recipe. She'd drunk it often as a child.

After the maid unfastened her gown, Ca.s.sie dismissed the girl. Changing into her nightgown and robe, she took the mug and moved to the window to gaze out over sleeping London. A sip of the posset showed that in deference to her mature years, a fortifying dose of rum had been added.

What was Grey doing now? Better not to think of that.

Much as she loved her rediscovered family, she'd been independent for too long to allow them to take her over. They had the best intentions in the world, but she'd been Ca.s.sie the Fox, sworn to work toward Napoleon's defeat, for all of her adult life.

Yet though she wasn't ready for Eaton Manor, she would enjoy spending time with the St. Iveses and being a woman of means. She owed Lady Kiri Mackenzie and Lucia Stillwell a really splendid shopping spree as a thank-you for their providing her with a wardrobe overnight.

She realized that since she now had a.s.sets, she should make a will. She'd never needed one before.

She also wanted to bare her teeth at Kirkland because he'd informed Richard St. Ives that she was alive, and he'd done it without her permission. The fact that it had turned out well just meant that Kirkland was his usual irritatingly right self.

After she chided him, she'd ask him for another mission. Her life might have changed dramatically in the last weeks, but there was still a war going on in Europe. And she wouldn't be satisfied until Napoleon was destroyed.

The fox hadn't finished her run.

Grey took up running. He had run in place for countless hours during his years in prison, imagining that he moved through green, open landscapes. Often he mentally visited his home on those runs to nowhere. Now he really could run through Summerhill. He needed the exertion because he wasn't burning up energy in a bed with Ca.s.sie.

He quickly realized that running up and down hills was different from running in place. Though he discovered some new muscles that hadn't been needed on the flat, he loved the freedom of running whether it was in sunshine or rain or on misty mornings. And he would never tire of Summerhill's beauty.

Though he loved riding, being on foot showed new aspects of Summerhill. The local cobbler made him a pair of lightweight, comfortable half boots that perfectly suited his new pa.s.sion. He felt himself growing stronger emotionally as well as physically. This lovely ancestral land healed him in ways he couldn't describe.

He tried not to think of Ca.s.sie. His maturing might have been stalled by his years in prison, but dammit, he was an adult. He should be able to accept that a woman had good and sufficient reasons not to want him.

Unfortunately, he was reminded of her every time his parents gave another small dinner party for the neighbors. He'd agreed to the gatherings because he knew people were curious about the prodigal son, and he needed to become part of his community again.

But he hated being eyed like a beefsteak thrown into a pack of hungry dogs. He'd had to tell his family that Ca.s.sie had ended their betrothal, though he refused to answer questions. The fact that he was available, however, meant that every eligible young lady in the neighborhood was studying him and evaluating her chances.

Those who weren't ladies evaluated him in different ways and made a different kind of offer. He became an expert at politely disappearing. So much nubile femininity emphasized how unique and special Ca.s.sie was. He missed her intelligence, her warmth, her hard-won wisdom. He also missed her deliciously rounded and sensual body.

Whenever his thoughts moved in that direction, it was time to start running again.

After a fortnight at home, he was beginning to relax and feel like Lord Wyndham again. Then he received a letter that turned the world upside down again.