Part 14 (1/2)

Hearing what wasn't being said, Ca.s.sie said rea.s.suringly, ”Wyndham's not mad, though he worries that he might be. His moods can be volatile, his temper can be dangerous, and groups of people upset him badly. But he isn't broken beyond repair. He just needs time.” Surrendering to curiosity, she added, ”What do you think? Is he so different from the way he was?”

”No. Yes.” Kirkland ran stiff fingers through his dark hair. ”I've been trying to imagine what it would be like to spend ten years locked in a cold stone cell, and-it's beyond my imagination. I want to help, and I don't know how.”

”He just needs time,” Ca.s.sie repeated. ”He's strong, Kirkland. Much stronger than you or he or anyone else expected.”

”He must be, or he really would have run mad.” Kirkland frowned. ”I'm grateful for all you're doing for him, Ca.s.sie. But I'm concerned as well.”

”Because of my services above and beyond the call of duty?” she said, her voice edged. ”You've always known I'm a s.l.u.t.”

Kirkland's eyes flared with rare temper. ”You know d.a.m.ned well I've never given you reason to think such an appalling thing. I've never known a woman I've respected more.”

”Perhaps for my spying skills,” she retorted. ”You're good at concealing your true thoughts, but I know that I don't conform to your priggish Scottish morality.”

His expression turned to ice. ”Remind me never to be feverish and hallucinating around you again.”

She winced. ”I'm sorry, I shouldn't have referred to that. But I'm in no mood for a lecture on how inappropriate it is for me to be lying with Wyndham. You have no need to worry. Once he's ready for normal society, I shall quietly disappear, the way a woman of no reputation is supposed to. I won't be an embarra.s.sment to the golden boy.”

She rose and turned to leave, but Kirkland caught her wrist. ”I'm not worried about you being an embarra.s.sment, Ca.s.sie! Wyndham obviously needs you. You freed him, you know what his prison was like, and he trusts you. You can help him heal from the damage he suffered in prison as no one else can.”

She jerked her wrist free. ”Then what are you concerned about? Most men are happy when they have warm and undemanding women in their beds, and I'm fulfilling that role competently.”

”I'm worried about you being hurt. Worse than hurt. Devastated, because you've already lost more than anyone should lose in a lifetime.” He stood, looming over her. She tended to forget how tall he was. ”People have been falling in love with Wyndham since he was in the cradle. Even now, when he's angry and suffering from the effects of imprisonment, he has that magnetic charm. But there can be no future for you with him.”

”You think I don't know that?” she snapped, glaring up at him. ”Don't worry, James. I've survived worse.” She stalked away, fuming at his words even though they were true. She had indeed survived worse than losing a lover.

But she'd never had a loss like this one.

Temper simmering, Ca.s.sie swept out of the conservatory and headed up to her room. She and Kirkland had never quarreled before. And all because the d.a.m.ned man was right. Even damaged and struggling to recover from ten years of h.e.l.l, Greydon Sommers was far too easy to love-and she could have no real place in his life.

If only her father had listened when she'd begged him to take the family back to England! But she'd been only a child so he'd laughed off her frantic warnings of imminent disaster. At the time she'd not understood why she was so convinced of approaching doom. She'd just known that they should leave France immediately.

In the years since, she'd realized that she had a powerful instinct for danger. That had kept her alive, against all the odds, for a dozen years of perilous work. In the process, she'd been transformed from Catherine, a well-behaved and well-brought-up girl, to Ca.s.sandra, a haunted and ignored prophetess and instrument of revenge against the revolution that had destroyed her family.

Her life would have been unimaginably different if they had left France in time. She might have met Grey when they were both young and whole. They might ...

She halted at the top of the stairs, startled by the recognition that if they'd met then, he'd never have noticed her. There was nothing special about young Catherine that would have caught the notice of the golden heir to an earldom who was happily sowing wild oats in all directions. She was no more than pa.s.sably pretty, and as a girl she'd possessed no special charms or talents. The only thing out of the ordinary about her now was her fierce, charmless ability to gather information and survive.

Oddly, that recognition calmed her. She'd have been no use to Grey when she was seventeen, but the woman she was now had been able to free him and get him safely out of France.

She was also in the best position to help him recover from his harrowing experiences. So much more useful than if she were just another girl hopelessly besotted with young Lord Wyndham.

Instead of going to her own room, she tapped on his door. No response. She tried the k.n.o.b and found the door unlocked. He probably didn't like being behind locked doors. Or perhaps he wasn't here at all and had gone for an angry walk across the estate.

She entered the room quietly and saw his long form sprawled across the bed, all angles and gaunt strength. He lay on his side and hadn't even removed his shoes.

Regine lay beside him, but her head popped up when the door opened. The dog was looking round and well fed.

She jumped down, trotted to Ca.s.sie for a head scratch, then left the room. She was probably heading for the kitchen to beg for a handout, or anxious to go outside. She'd taken easily to housebreaking after Grey had adopted her in France.

Ca.s.sie moved closer to the bed. Grey looked like a ravaged angel, his face lined with exhaustion. Not just physical fatigue and the aftereffects of being wounded, but the drain on mind and spirit of being back in a world where people had expectations of Greydon Sommers, heir to the Earl of Costain. He'd tried his best to conceal that strain, even from her, but now it was carved into those sculpted features.

She locked the door so no one could enter, then lit the fire laid in the fireplace because the room was chilly. As in her room, the wardrobe held a folded quilt, worn but clean and scented with lavender. She shook it over him, then crawled underneath and lay behind him, molding her body to his and wrapping an arm around his lean waist.

Grey didn't wake, but he exhaled softly. His hand moved to cover hers where it rested on his chest.

Tension from the difficult scene in the conservatory began to fade as the world narrowed down to this man and this bed and this moment. She was tired, too.

And nothing would soothe her more than sleeping with Grey.

Chapter 26.

Grey woke slowly, tired and not happy about the scene with Kirkland. But he was relaxed now. He was safe in England and Ca.s.sie was cuddled around him. Peace.

Limited peace. From the angle of the sun, he judged it was late afternoon. Soon he'd have to rise and prepare to dine with Lady Agnes and her friends, and tomorrow he would travel to London. An intimidating thought.

He rolled onto his back, pulling Ca.s.sie close against his side. Her eyes blinked sleepily, then opened, blue and hazy and deep with acceptance. She smiled up at him. ”Regine was here, so I changed places with her.”

”A good trade.” He tightened his arm around her, grateful that she'd joined him. ”It appears that you're the only person I'm really comfortable with. You, and Regine, and perhaps Lady Agnes. In that order.”

”An interesting list. The only thing we have in common is being female.”

”There's a reason for that. Females tend to be more forgiving.”

”They certainly are forgiving of handsome men.” She slid her fingers into his hair. ”But don't forget Pere Laurent.”

Grey thought of his friend's infinite acceptance, which was very like Ca.s.sie's, now that he thought about it. Grey needed a lot of acceptance. ”It's a good thing you're forgiving, my lady fox. I'm asking you to do far too much for me.”

”Never too much,” she said quietly. ”London and your old life might seem overwhelming at the moment, but it won't be long before your wings are fledged and you take flight again.”

He wished he had her confidence. Best to take this reemergence into the world one step at a time. And the present step was to appreciate the woman in his arms.

”I've wanted to see you naked in daylight,” he said thoughtfully. ”And here we are, nicely private and with late afternoon suns.h.i.+ne pouring in the window. I must take advantage of this situation.” He untied the drawstring at the throat of her ghastly shapeless gown. Opening in front, the garment was intended for a peasant woman who had to be able to dress herself without a.s.sistance.

”It isn't the situation you're taking advantage of,” she said tartly as she batted away his hand. ”It's me. I rather like being safely blanketed by darkness. Night covers my deficiencies.”

He pulled pins from her hair and combed the thick waves around her shoulders with his fingers. What color was it under the dull gray and brown? A nice glossy brown, he guessed, with a s.h.i.+ne reflecting her age and good health. She'd washed the lines of age from her face, revealing a complexion with the transparent purity of porcelain. ”You underrate your charms, Ca.s.sandra. I may not have been able to see you, but I've touched as much of your delicious body as I could, and all of it has been first rate.”

He started on the b.u.t.tons that closed the front of her bodice. ”Your bare skin will certainly be lovelier than this appalling gray gown. An uglier garment I've never seen.”

She laughed. ”That's rather the point. No man would look at me twice. Not even once if he could help it.”

”Yet you look astonis.h.i.+ngly attractive even so,” he mused. ”It's a great mystery.”

She made a face. ”Very well, but you must bare yourself as well.” She tugged at his crumpled cravat. ”The only time I've seen you with your clothes off was when you were s.h.i.+vering in an icy pond at midnight. I was too afraid you'd freeze to death to admire your manly charms.”

”You don't really want to see me unclad,” he a.s.sured her. ”Despite your best efforts to feed me up, I'm still more scarecrow than not.”