Lost Lords: No Longer A Gentleman Part 6

"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 cus.h.i.+oned 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."

Ca.s.sie a.s.sembled two plates with sliced bread and cheese and mounds of pte 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 pte 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, pte 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 Pere 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," Ca.s.sie 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 a.s.set when one is imprisoned."

"Pere Laurent's mind is extremely well furnished. I encouraged him to tell me everything he knew." Grey spread pte lavishly. "Ca.s.sie, 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 pa.s.sed," 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 n.o.bleman. 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 Ca.s.sie, 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 Ca.s.sie the Fox," he said softly. "What is your story?"

Chapter 14.

As soon as Grey spoke, Ca.s.sie drew into herself, strength and intelligence vanis.h.i.+ng behind the facade 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," Ca.s.sie 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 hourgla.s.s 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 l.u.s.t for conquest is his undoing."

What else did he want to know? "You mentioned my cla.s.smates 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." Ca.s.sie 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."

Ca.s.sie nodded. "He divides his time between Edinburgh and London as he runs his s.h.i.+pping 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."

"And vice versa, I've heard, but he and Daventry are stuck with each other and have apparently declared a truce," Ca.s.sie said. "Randall is also recently married. He seemed very happy the time I met him. His wife is a lovely, warm person."

"I thought he'd be a confirmed bachelor, but I'm glad to hear otherwise." If ever a man needed a lovely, warm wife, it was Randall. Thinking of his other cla.s.smates, he asked, "What of Masterson and Ballard?"

"Masterson is an army major, and Ballard is working to rebuild the family wine business in Portugal." Her brow furrowed. "You must have known Mackenzie, Masterson's illegitimate half brother. He has a very fas.h.i.+onable gaming club in London. Rob Carmichael is a Bow Street Runner."

Grey's brows arched. "Rob would be good at that, but it must have driven his father into a frenzy."

"I believe that was part of the reason he became a Runner," she said with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Those are the only Westerfield students I know, but when you're back in London your friends will be happy to bring you up to date."

The thought of London created a knot of panic in Grey's gut. His friends' marriages also made him sharply aware of how much time had pa.s.sed. They had grown up and taken on adult responsibilities. Grey had merely ... survived.

Uncannily perceptive, Ca.s.sie said softly, "Don't compare your life to theirs. You can't change the past, but you are returning to family, friends, and wealth. You can have the future you dreamed of in captivity."

He wanted to blurt out that he was no longer capable of having the life he was born to. His confidence, his sense of himself and his place in the world, had been shattered. As a future earl, he would have no trouble acquiring a wife eager to spend his money, but where would he find a wife who was willing and able to deal with the darkness of his soul?

But whining was ugly, especially to a woman as fearless as this one. He was still amazed at how she'd come to see if he might be in Castle Durand, seen an opportunity to free him, taken down a guard, and led him and Pere Laurent to safety through a blizzard. Maybe that strength was why he found her so attractive.

Madame Boyer was an attractive woman in her prime. Her daughter Yvette was a lovely girl with a face to inspire young, bad poets. Yet it was drab, aged Ca.s.sie the Fox who intrigued him. Though she might be his mother's age, she had a lovely, delicate profile, a smokily delicious voice, and a core of tempered steel.

Wanting to know more of her, he stated, "Tell me about your family."

She leaned forward to put another piece of wood on the fire. "My father was English, but we made long visits to my mother's family in France. We were here when the revolution broke out." She settled back in her chair, her face like granite. "I said we must return to England immediately, but my warnings were dismissed by the rest of the family."

"Ca.s.sandra," he said, remembering his Greek studies. "The Trojan princess who saw the future, but couldn't convince anyone of the danger she foretold. Did you choose that name for that reason?"

She winced. "No one else has ever made that connection."

"Ca.s.sandra was a tragic figure," he said softly, wondering how closely her story resembled the myth. "Did you lose your family as she did?"

Her head whipped away and she stared at the fire. "I did."

Hearing the pain in her voice, he realized that it was time to change the subject. In his younger, more gentlemanly days, he would have known better than to ask such personal questions. "What do you think is the best way to return to England? I don't even know where in France I am."

"We're about a hundred miles southwest of Paris, somewhat farther from the north coast." She frowned. "North is the obvious way to go, which isn't good if we're pursued. But any other route would be much longer."

"Do you think we'll be chased? With Gaspard dead, there might not be anyone at the castle capable of organizing a pursuit."

"His guard didn't look like the sort to take initiative," she agreed. "But once Durand learns that his prisoners are gone, he might send soldiers after you."

"He probably will." Grey flinched at the thought. "His hatred of me was very personal."

"What did you do to earn his displeasure?"

Grey disliked revealing his stupidity, but she deserved an answer. "He caught me in bed with his wife. When I came to Paris, Kirkland asked me to keep my ears open for information that might be useful to the British government." Grey sighed. "I rather fancied myself as a spy. I'd heard that Citoyen Durand was in the inner circle of the government, so I had the brilliant notion that maybe I could learn something from his wife. I met her at a salon and she made it clear that she'd welcome a bit of dalliance."

"Do you think she was trying to lure you in so you could be killed or captured?"

"I've had plenty of time to think about that, but no, I think she merely had a taste for younger men, and I was foolish enough to be caught." How different his life would have been if he'd left when she told him to. "How will we travel? The cart?"

She shook her head. "If anyone suspects that the old peddler woman with a cart had something to do with your escape, we would be too easy to catch."

"I could travel on my own," he said, hating to think that his presence would endanger her.

"Despite your ten years in France and your fluent French, you don't know what the country is like now. We need to travel together." A smile flickered over her face. "I can be your aged mother. I'll see if the Boyers want the cart. It's st.u.r.dy and well built, and it can be painted to look different. I can ride Thistle, but we'll need to find a larger mount for you. Perhaps Monsieur Boyer will know someone with a horse to sell."

"Hasn't the army requisitioned all the horses?"

"That happened in the early days of the war, but now they can draw on the resources of a continent, so the military has sufficient horses. It shouldn't be hard to find a steady, uninteresting hack for you. The sort of horse no one would look at twice."

That was probably all Grey was good for now. "If the weather cooperates, I a.s.sume a week or so to the channel coast, and that you already know some helpful smugglers?"

She nodded. "I also have forged papers for you. Kirkland provided them just in case."

Grey's brows arched. "That was certainly advanced thinking when he didn't even know if I was alive."

"In my business, it is wise to prepare for all contingencies. That leaves more time to deal with unexpected problems. And there are always unexpected problems." She covered a yawn as she rose. "I'm exhausted. At least the snow gives a good reason to sleep late. We won't be able to leave for a day or two. You have a bed prepared?"

"They made up a pallet for me in the room with Pere Laurent, but I'm so comfortable in this chair that I think I'll sleep here." It was a luxury too rich for words that he had a choice of where to sleep after ten interminable years without any choices.

Going back to a complicated world, would he know how to make decisions? Or would that have to be relearned, with all the errors that implied?

Ca.s.sie added more fuel to the fire, then pulled another ragged blanket from a cupboard. She spread it over him, saying, "It will get colder toward morning."

"I'm used to the cold." He caught her hand as she started to turn. "I just realized that I haven't thanked you for rescuing me." He kissed her hand with grat.i.tude beyond words.

A spark of electricity snapped between them. She pulled her hand away, looking unnerved. "I was just doing my job. We were fortunate that today all went well. Good-night, milord."

Candle in hand, she vanished into a corridor leading to the east wing of the house. He watched her go, wondering again how old she was. Her hand was strong and shaped by work, but there was none of the gnarling of age. Perhaps she wasn't so old that he need be ashamed of himself for his l.u.s.tful thoughts.

He closed his eyes and slept, dreaming nightmares that he was a fly caught in a sticky web, and a spider was closing in for the kill.

Durand exploded into his castle cursing with rage as he called for his steward. A trembling maid summoned the man. Monsieur Houdin was pale when he appeared.

As he stripped his cloak and gloves off, then tossed them aside, Durand glared at the steward. "What happened to my prisoners, Houdin? Were you bribed to release them?"

The steward jerked back from his master's fury. "No, sir! No one in the castle betrayed you. But everyone here-everyone, including me-was laid low by a vicious disease that made us so ill that few could even stand. Two of the older servants died. Apparently in this moment of weakness, several men broke in and released the G.o.ddam and the priest."

"Gaspard will answer for this!" Durand said viciously.

"Gaspard is dead," the steward said starkly. "Killed in the a.s.sault. He did not betray you, Citoyen."

"Perhaps not, but he was incompetent! What of the guards?"

"Brun was sick in his bed and barely escaped death. Dupont was on duty and was injured in the raid."

Dupont would be the best witness, Durand supposed. "Where is Dupont?"

With no one to guard in the dungeon, Dupont was now working in the stables. Durand summoned him. The man showed up pale with fear.

Under questioning, he said, "There were three or four raiders at least, Citoyen Durand. I heard their footsteps, but the only one I saw was an old woman who was used as a decoy. She brought food down since so much of the staff was ill. I was attacked while I ate. They bashed me on the head to knock me out." Dupont rubbed the back of his neck. "I awoke tied like a pig for slaughter and with my clothes stripped off."

"Worthless swine!" Durand snarled. "You deserve to stay here mucking out the horses." Pivoting, he stormed back to the castle. Luckily he'd brought a squadron of his specially trained guards, all of them crack cavalrymen. He would consider the most likely routes the escaped prisoners would take, then send his men in pursuit.

He'd get that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Englishman if he had to send every man in the Ministry of Police.

Chapter 15.