Part 5 (2/2)
”Mankind survives because womankind has more sense,” the other woman said.
”So very, very true.” Ca.s.sie pulled the hood over her head. ”You can go to bed now. If Monsieur Sommers is alive and in reasonable health, I'll wait with him until he's ready to come back in. If he's frozen dead in the water, I'll leave him there till morning!”
Accompanied by Viole's laughter, she headed out into the night. A foot or so of snow had fallen, making walking difficult, but the storm had mostly pa.s.sed. The wind had dropped and the snow had become giant flakes, which meant the end was near.
Seething with exasperation, she followed the partially snow-filled tracks made by the foolish Lord Wyndham. The night was utterly still, and the world s.h.i.+mmered in a whiteness that caught all the available light and made the darkness glow.
The barn was a low stone building behind the house. Splas.h.i.+ng sounds came from the right. Since any sensible animal would have taken shelter, it must be Grey.
One end of the pond was dark open water. As she drew closer, she saw her quarry. He was mostly immersed, only his head and shoulders out of the water as he busily scrubbed his hair.
Relief that he hadn't frozen to death flared into irritation. She marched toward him as well as a woman could march through deep snow. ”I didn't go to the effort to rescue you just so you could kill yourself through stupidity, Lord Wyndham!”
”After ten years in a cell exposed to the open air, I don't notice temperature much.” He ducked into the water to rinse off the soap, then emerged and pushed his wet hair back with both hands. Even in the night, it was noticeably lighter than before. ”Such luxury to completely immerse myself in water! You cannot imagine.”
”I love a really luxurious bath,” she allowed. ”But that doesn't include freezing into a solid block of ice when I take one.”
”The water isn't too uncomfortable. It's the air that's bitter cold.” His tone turned wry. ”I'll have to move fast when I get out so no cherished bits freeze and snap off.”
She suppressed a smile. ”I brought a blanket you can wrap yourself in when the time comes.” A log laid on the bank served as a bench, so she wiped snow off one end, set the folded blanket on the cleared area, and sat. ”I told Madame Boyer she could retire since I'll stay here until you either emerge safely, or disappear into the watery depths.”
”Even if I keel over from heart failure, it's worth it to be clean again.” Grey used a long-handled brush to clean his back, scrubbing so hard he must be removing skin. ”Not to mention the benefits of icy water on hot blood.”
She blinked. ”Your pa.s.sions need controlling?”
His hands stilled. ”For the first couple of years, I thought about women constantly. Dreamed of them. Remembered every woman I'd ever fancied in luscious feminine detail.”
He soaped his hair again, hard muscles rippling in his shoulders. ”Gradually that faded away. By the time you arrived, I felt like a eunuch. Now I'm a guest in this glorious farmhouse and my gracious hostess is a distractingly fine-looking woman. Her daughter is a delicious nymph who is far too young for me to be having such thoughts. So yes, ice water is useful.”
”I, of course, am too old and drab to inspire unseemly l.u.s.t,” she said dryly.
Grey turned a burning gaze on her. She could feel the heat even on this frigid night. ”I thought it best not to offend you with my improper thoughts,” he said. ”Particularly since you could probably defeat me in fair combat.”
Remembering the desperate intensity of his embrace in the prison, she s.h.i.+vered, and not from the cold. ”You're stronger and I presume you learned Indian fighting skills from Ashton while you were at the Westerfield Academy. I acted without thinking because you looked murderous and caught you by surprise.”
”Not murderous. Merely desperate to get past you and away from that d.a.m.nable cell.” He ducked under the water to rinse his hair again.
Ca.s.sie pulled her cloak tighter. The snow had stopped entirely, and the air was getting colder. ”Madame Boyer attributes your mad desire to bathe outside in a blizzard to your Englishness.”
He swallowed hard. ”After ten years in h.e.l.l, quite possibly I am mad.”
She winced. Thinking he needed rea.s.surance, she said, ”Not mad, I think, though perhaps a little crazed. That will pa.s.s.” She uncorked the brandy jug and leaned over the water to offer it to him. ”Try the apple brandy. It might save you from freezing solid.”
He took a swallow, then began coughing so hard she was afraid he'd go under. When he could breathe again, he said hoa.r.s.ely, ”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 Ca.s.sie, 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 a.s.sured him. ”Your father, your mother, your younger brother and sister.”
The moon broke through the clouds and touched Grey's hair to brightness. Ca.s.sie was reminded that Kirkland had called him a golden boy. ”If you're through was.h.i.+ng, 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 s.p.a.ce. ”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, s.h.i.+vering. ”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?” Ca.s.sie 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 flouris.h.i.+ng.”
”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. Ca.s.sie 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, Ca.s.sie lifted the cloth and found bread, cheese, a small dish of pte, 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?”
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