She stopped three steps from the bottom of the stairs and said in an icily aristocratic voice, “I beg your pardon, sir, but have we been introduced?”

That voice …

He gasped. The perfect height and proportions, the delicate, vulnerable features, the blue eyes with unknowable depths. “Cassie?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m surprised you recognized me, given where you were looking,” she said with tart amusement.

“Cassie.” He moved forward and embraced her. Since she was standing on the stairs, his arms went around her waist and he rested his head on the delicious softness of her breasts. Lilac and rose blossoms and other scents he couldn’t identify, all of them adding up to make her smell even more like Cassie. “I’ve missed you.”

Smiling, she looped her arms around his neck. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“Too many hours.” He slid one hand over her perfectly curved backside. Yes, everything was just as it ought to be.

“What do you think of my fine feathers?” she asked shyly.

He pulled back and surveyed her from bright hair to slipper-shod feet, missing nothing in between. “I have an intense desire to make mad, passionate love to you,” he said with complete sincerity.

“You do that even when I look like a washerwoman.” Her brow furrowed. “Seriously, do I look fit to be your fiancée?”

Seeing her concern, he forced himself to concentrate. Perhaps some would not call her a beauty because she didn’t have classically perfect features and that spectacular red hair looked distinctly naughty. But she was allowing her strength and warmth and intelligence to show, and to him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Beautiful, and more. “You are every inch a refined lady,” he said seriously. “You’ve always been beautiful. Letting the world see that beauty must make you feel more confident, and that makes you even more beautiful. But I am a bit jealous because now everyone will see you as I do.”

“I’m glad I look sufficiently ladylike.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, very much his Cassie despite her new appearance. “Though otherwise you’re not making a lot of sense, and you smell of beer. Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” he said meekly.

She touched his bruised cheek. “Were you in a fight?”

“Yes. But I won.”

“What did you win?”

“The right to buy the fellow a beer.”

“I suppose that makes sense to males.” Her laughter was soft. “Are you happy?”

He sighed and pulled her closer. Lovely décolletage. Lovely gown. He wanted to take it off her. “Yes. Especially now that you’re here. Would you like to go upstairs so I can make mad, passionate love to you?”

“Later, perhaps, but at the moment, I wish to feed another appetite,” she said. “The Powells serve supper to anyone in residence and Kirkland intended to stop by if he had time. Join me, for you need some food and some strong coffee.”

“I expect you’re right. I believe that I forgot to eat.”

“It’s good that you’re a happy drunk rather than a mean one.” She descended the last few steps. “My lord, will you give me your arm to take me into dinner?”

“Let me see if I remember how to be gentlemanly.” He made a sweeping bow without falling over, then straightened and offered his arm. “If you would do me the honor …”

As she stepped toward him, he stroked her hair, enjoying the silkiness and bounce. The bright auburn had to be natural, for it suited her complexion much better than the dull brown. “How did you manage to transform yourself so quickly?”

“Kiri did it all. I just obeyed orders. Kiri’s sister is near my size and she contributed several lovely gowns. Kiri’s own modiste came personally with some partially made up garments, plus seamstresses for instant alterations. Kiri even managed to get cards engraved and printed for me.” She pulled a card from her dainty little reticule and handed it to Grey. “The ink is still damp, but they look very proper.”

“I’m surprised to see you carrying a purse too small to conceal a weapon,” he remarked as he took the card.

“I’ve weapons concealed elsewhere,” she assured him, amusement in her eyes.

He glanced at the card, then read it again, startled. “The Honourable Catherine St. Ives. Your father was a peer? You’ve always implied that you’re from a lower order of society. In fact, you said your family was not the rank of mine.”

She shrugged. “My father was a mere baron, the third Lord St. Ives. We’re merchant stock, not old and prestigious and wealthy like the earldom of Costain.”

“Close enough. You come of noble blood.” It was another piece of the puzzle that was Cassie Fox. Or rather, Catherine St. Ives. Returning to her childhood station after spending a lifetime as peasant and peddler had to be … supremely disorienting.

“That meant nothing when I was cleaning out chicken coops in France,” she said dryly. “And it means even less now.”

“Your brother would have been the heir,” he said. “Who inherited instead? Or were there no heirs so the title went into abeyance?”

“My father had a younger brother, and he had three sons. The two oldest were around my age.” She made a dismissive gesture. “There was no shortage of heirs.”

“Haven’t you ever written your cousins?” he asked. “Surely they would be glad to know that you survived.”

“Catherine St. Ives died,” she said impatiently. “She would have stayed dead except that resurrecting her for the next week or two will make me a more convincing fiancée. When I leave Summerhill, she will return to her French grave, this time for good.” She turned on her heel. “Enough of this nonsense. I’m hungry.”

As she headed toward the dining room, Grey slipped the card into his pocket. She might not be interested in her family, but he was. He’d have a word with Kirkland.

He caught up with her and offered his arm again. She laid her hand lightly on his forearm and they progressed to the dining room as if they were entering a grand ball. Kirkland, Mr. and Mrs. Powell, and a nondescript young woman Grey hadn’t met were eating family style around the table.

Everyone glanced up as Grey and Cassie entered. There was a stunned silence as everyone, particularly the men, stared at Cassie.

Kirkland was first to rise to his feet. “Miss Fox.” He inclined his head and permitted himself a small smile. “I always knew you were brilliant at disguise, but I didn’t recognize that your greatest disguise was concealing your natural beauty.”

“Flatterer,” she said without heat. “The credit goes to Lady Kiri and the helpers she summoned to transform me.” As Grey pulled out a chair for her, she continued, “I am not Cassandra Fox at the moment. I decided using my birth name will best suit this particular charade.” She gave Kirkland a card.

His face became very still. “Your father was the third Lord St. Ives?”

She nodded, her expression opaque.

When she didn’t say more, Kirkland continued, “Since you’re traveling to Dorset as a lady, you need a maid, so one of my associates will take that role.” He gestured to the girl next to him. “Miss St. Ives, may I present Miss Hazel Wilson? I think you’ll find that she has the usual skills of a lady’s maid’s, and a few more as well.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Wilson,” Cassie said formally. “Thank you for taking this position on such short notice.”

“Call me Hazel, miss,” the girl said with a London accent. She stood and curtsied. She had brown hair and a pleasant if unremarkable face. Her blue eyes showed humor and intelligence. “This would be Lord Wyndham, I presume?”

Grey bowed with the respect due one of Kirkland’s agents. “Indeed I am, Hazel. Thank you for your willingness to leave London for the wilds of Dorsetshire.”

Hazel bobbed her head. “I look forward to dressing your beautiful hair, miss!”

Cassie blushed. “I hated my red hair when I was a girl. I was called the Carrot.”

“Any girls who teased you then are now envious, and the boys will be languishing for your smiles,” Grey said as he took his own seat.

“Your gilded tongue is in good working order,” she said with amusement.

“He’s right, miss!” Mr. Powell blurted out.

“I think the lass is more interested in shepherd’s pie than flattery,” Mrs. Powell said, giving her husband a stern glance. “If you pass your plates, I’ll fill ’em up.”

Grey and Cassie obeyed. As he smelled the steaming-hot pie, Grey realized he would enjoy this common fare more than the elaborate meals served in his parents’ homes.

Though his appearance was once more that of a gentleman, he was a very long way from the young Lord Wyndham who had left Summerhill ten years earlier.


Chapter 32

London was dark when they left the next morning. The journey from London to Summerhill could be made in a day if the roads were dry, but it was a long day with numerous changes of horses. Cassie and Hazel spoke occasionally, but Grey mostly gazed out the window, disinclined to talk as he watched the familiar landscape go by.

How often had he made this journey? Very often. He knew every town and village, every posting inn, and he’d known a few friendly barmaids on this route as well.

He liked seeing landmarks like the spire of Salisbury Cathedral, but his tension grew with every mile. If his father died when Grey might have been there at the end if he hadn’t taken an extra day to mentally prepare for the trip …

But he and Cassie had needed that day in different ways, and his family would benefit by the advance notice of Grey’s return from the dead. Though his mother might choose to keep the news from his father, she would tell Peter and Elizabeth. They must be grown by now, but in his mind, they were still children.

His family would welcome him even if they were also disappointed in him. Once he got beyond the first few days, it would be all right. So he told himself repeatedly. In between prayers for his father’s survival.