If he couldn’t face an immediate return to his family, what would be a good alternative? “You might be better off in London, but living anonymously. You can become accustomed to people while having a safe retreat whenever you need quiet. No one will flutter anxiously outside your door if you go to ground. When you’re ready, old friends can come by one at a time.”

“Exeter Street,” Kirkland said instantly. “That’s brilliant, Cassie. The house was designed to be a sanctuary, and that’s exactly what is needed.”

“What is Exeter Street?” Grey asked warily.

“The location of a house Kirkland owns near Covent Garden. It’s a boardinghouse for his agents when they’re in London,” Cassie explained. “It’s the closest I have to a home. The neighborhood is busy but not fashionable, so you’re unlikely to meet anyone from your former social circles.”

Grey exhaled with relief. “Perfect, if you’ll be there.”

She bit her lip, thinking it would be wiser to disappear now that Grey had been delivered to Kirkland. He needed to manage without her—and she needed to consign him to the past so she could continue her work without distracted thoughts about passionate nights. It was most unfair that he was so meltingly attractive!

But apparently it wasn’t yet time for her to move on. And she wouldn’t mind a little more time with him. Not at all. “I’ll be at Exeter Street for a fortnight or so.”

Grey relaxed. “Good. I’m used to having you around.” Releasing her hand, he got to his feet. “I’m tiring far too fast today, but tomorrow I should be fit for the trip up to London. Are you going upstairs now, Cassie?”

Before she could respond, Kirkland said, “If you have a few minutes, Cassie, I have some questions about what you learned in Paris before going to Castle Durand.”

Such sessions were normal after a mission, though this time the questions would be more complicated. “Of course. I have a message from one of your agents in Paris.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Grey said with a touch of acid. “Feel free to talk about me. I know you will as soon as I’m out of earshot.”

Kirkland looked uncomfortable, but Cassie said tartly, “Of course we’ll talk about you. You’re so utterly fascinating.”

“More of a nuisance than fascinating.” His smile was twisted. “You would have been wiser to have left me to rot in France.”


Chapter 25

Grey stalked off, Régine on his heels, leaving Cassie shaken. Kirkland looked equally uncomfortable.

When Grey was safely out of earshot, she said in her driest voice, “Leaving him in France wouldn’t have been wiser, but he’s right that we’re going to talk about him.”

“Of course we are. He’s the reason we’re both here.” Kirkland leaned forward, his expression worried. “Can you tell me more about his … his mental state?”

Hearing what wasn’t being said, Cassie said reassuringly, “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,” Cassie 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, Cassie. 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 slut.”

Kirkland’s eyes flared with rare temper. “You know damned 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 embarrassment to the golden boy.”

She rose and turned to leave, but Kirkland caught her wrist. “I’m not worried about you being an embarrassment, Cassie! 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, Cassie swept out of the conservatory and headed up to her room. She and Kirkland had never quarreled before. And all because the damned man was right. Even damaged and struggling to recover from ten years of hell, 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 Cassandra, 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 passably 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 knob 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.

Régine 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 Cassie 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.

Cassie 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 Cassie was cuddled around him. Peace.