Part 13 (1/2)
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 ladys.h.i.+p 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 ladys.h.i.+p 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 was.h.i.+ng out that brown hair coloring. Kirkland's valet found me an interesting challenge.”
Her brows rose. ”Kirkland is here already?”