He was otherwise naked except for neat bandages around his head and ribs. His hair and beard were matted disasters, and far too many bones were visible under his pale English skin.

Giving thanks that a razor and hot water were only a bell pull away, he lurched to the washstand, which was to the left of the door. He was pouring water into the basin when the door opened and a deep male voice said, “Breakfast, Lord Wyndham.”

The unexpected, startlingly familiar voice was such a shock that Grey dropped the pitcher. As the china shattered, he instinctively jerked away from the opening door. He banged into the solid wing chair behind him and lost his balance. As he pitched to the floor, he swore, “Merde!”

The elegant, dark-haired man who entered with a large tray of covered dishes and a steaming teapot breathed an oath of his own as he set the tray on a small table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Wyndham. Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m not all right!” Grey pushed himself up on all fours, shaking. He’d thought he was becoming used to the normal world, but apparently not. Humiliating. “I have two bullet holes in my hide and I’m near as dammit to feral.” Trying for lightness, he added, “You’ve come down in the world if you’ve hired on as a footman, Kirkland.”

“I thought I might be more welcome if I arrived bearing food.” Kirkland offered a hand. “Shall we start over again?”

Grey pulled away from the proffered help until his back was against the wing chair. “I’m not ready for this,” he blurted out, heart pounding. Kirkland was getting a damned poor return on the time and effort he’d put into Grey’s rescue.

Kirkland dropped his hand, his face ashen. He looked much older than his years. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He reached for the doorknob. “I should have known you wouldn’t want to see me. I swear that you won’t have to again.”

Grey frowned, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you in particular? It’s the whole world I’m having trouble with.”

“Because of me, you spent ten years in hell,” Kirkland said, his eyes bleak. “You’d be entitled to call me out.”

Grey blinked. “That is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” He’d forgotten how bloody conscientious Kirkland was. Too much Presbyterian responsibility and guilt. “The ten years of hell were because of my own stupidity. I never blamed you.”

He’d have been happy to stay on the floor because he felt weak as a kitten, but speaking to Kirkland’s kneecaps was a further embarrassment. He grasped the arm of the wing chair behind him, hissing at the pain that blazed through his injured side.

Seeing him struggling, Kirkland again offered a hesitant hand. This time Grey took it, shaken by nerves, emotion, and physical weakness.

As Kirkland lifted Grey to his feet, he said in a low voice, “Dear God, I’m glad to see you alive again!”

Swaying, Grey steadied himself with his other hand on Kirkland’s shoulder, and suddenly they were hugging each other. Very unlike an English gentleman, Grey thought, but he was no longer a gentleman, so he appreciated the warmth and strength Kirkland was wordlessly offering. Kirkland had always been ironic, cerebral, and frighteningly intelligent, but one couldn’t have asked for a better or more loyal friend.

“Forgive my strange behavior,” Grey said as he ended the hug. A warm banyan had been draped over the chair, so he put it on before sagging wearily into the chair. “It doesn’t take much to set me off these days.”

Kirkland efficiently moved table and tray in front of Grey’s chair, then brought the wooden chair from the desk and set it on the opposite side of the table. As he took silver covers from the dishes, he said, “I wouldn’t have recognized you under that facial thicket. Do you intend to keep it?”

“Lord, no. I would have cut it off by now, but Cassie thought it a useful disguise.” Grey discouraged Régine from putting her paws on the table. Not that he blamed her. The English bacon smelled like heaven. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“I left London as soon as I received Lady Agnes’s message,” Kirkland said simply. He set a couple of pieces of ham on a bread plate and placed it on the floor for Régine. “Help yourself. There’s enough food for both of us and a hungry dog as well.”

If Kirkland had spent half the night traveling, it was no wonder he looked tired. Grey served himself bacon, ham, fried potatoes, and eggs scrambled with cheese.

Eating was easy, but being with an old friend was unnervingly awkward. Before becoming imprisoned, he’d never been ill at ease with other people, but he wasn’t that relaxed, confident young man anymore. He’d desperately wanted to return to Westerfield because Lady Agnes was like a beloved, tolerant aunt. She was sanctuary.

Old friends with ten years of complicated living behind them were different. He settled for, “After ten years, you could have slept another few hours before charging down here.”

“Seeing is believing.” Kirkland looked down at the toast he was buttering. “I needed to see that you were really alive.”

Grey guessed that he’d also needed to learn if Grey hated him. “Why did you think you might be an unwelcome sight?”

“Because I asked you to keep an eye out for information in France, and it cost you ten years of your life.” Kirkland’s expression was bleak. “Bad years, judging by all the bones and bandages. As you said, you look feral.”

“Only half feral, thanks to Cassie. She’s been slowly reintroducing me to the world.” Wanting to know more about her, Grey continued, “She’s an amazing woman. Where did you find her?”

“Cassie found me. She’s one of my most valuable agents.” Kirkland poured two steaming cups of tea. “Do you still take milk and sugar?”

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?”

Cassie. 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 Cassie 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. Bedamned to her rationalizations. She wouldn’t have survived so many years as a spy if she’d been prone 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, Cassie was drinking delicious hot chocolate while immersed in a perfumed hot bath. (“Her ladyship 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.