He continued talking, his words sometimes halting and painful as he described the imprisonment, the near madness, the blessed company of Père Laurent. Everything he’d been unable to say to the rest of his family. “Père Laurent was my second father. You would like each other if you ever met.”

Grey smiled as he tried to imagine such a meeting. “Though he’s a Catholic, he didn’t seem at all disposed to invade England and convert all us heretics by the sword.” That ambition belonged to Napoleon, and there was nothing religious about it.

Several times he halted until he regained his composure, but he needed to say all this to his father even if he was too late for a real conversation. When he finally ran out of words, he said softly, “I really wish you wouldn’t die, Father. I’m nowhere near ready to become the next Lord Costain. I need you. We all need you.”

His words choked off. Trying for a lighter note, he said, “But I’ve done one thing right. You wanted me to marry and secure the succession, so I’ve brought my fiancée to Summerhill.”

“Is she pretty?”

The whisper was so thin that Grey was sure he’d imagined it. Bending over his father, he asked in a hushed voice, “Did you say something?”

The pale eyelids fluttered open. “Is she pretty?”

Stunned, Grey choked out, “She’s beautiful. A redhead.”

“Redheaded grandchildren?” The earl sounded disapproving. “Tell … more.”

“Her father was Lord St. Ives. She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and she saved my life several times.”

His father blinked. “Sounds … too good for you.”

“She is.” Grey wanted to stand up and shout his exhilaration at his father’s improvement, but that seemed disrespectful for a sickroom. “You’ll get to meet Cassie, but now you should rest.”

“Tired of resting.” The earl’s eyes closed. “Could hear people talk, but couldn’t answer. Till you came. Had to tell you you’re a damned young fool.”

“Yes, Father. I have been. I’ll try to do better.” Silent tears were sliding down Grey’s cheeks. “I’ll get Mother. She’ll want to talk to you.”

A faint smile softened the earl’s face. “Need my Janey.”

Jubilant, Grey squeezed his father’s hand. “She’ll be here soon.”

Outside the room, he was unsurprised to find Baker quietly waiting to return to his master’s bedside. “Good news! He woke up and was talking to me. Entirely coherent, too.” Grey grinned. “Called me a damned young fool.”

“Sounds like he’s in his right mind,” the valet said with a glimmer of humor. “Shall I go in?”

Grey nodded. “He wants to see her ladyship. I’ll tell her.”

Despite the late hour, he found his mother in the morning room. She was sitting by the fire, neglected needlework in her lap as she gazed into the flames. Looking up at Grey’s entrance, she asked, “Did you make your peace with your father?”

“I hope so, but if not, I’ll have other chances later. Mother, he woke up! He’s weak, but he spoke clearly. He wants to see you. I think he’s going to be all right.”

The countess stood, her face luminous as her embroidery fell to the floor. “Thank God!” She hugged Grey, clinging to him as she struggled to control herself. “What a day of miracles this has been!”

“It has indeed.” He held her a moment longer, remembering how she held him and sang lullabies when he was very small. He’d given up hope that he’d hold her again like this. “I’m sorry for all the trouble and grief I caused you.”

“Children exist to cause their parents trouble and grief,” she said wryly. Releasing him, she added, “But they also give life’s greatest joys. You were sometimes too heedless, but there was no malice in you. Being caught in France when the truce ended …” She shrugged. “It was abominable luck, but not a sin on your part.”

He didn’t agree, but he was too tired to discuss that. “What did Cassie tell you about my time in France?”

“Very little. She said the story was yours to tell.”

That was his Cassie. Discreet to the bone. He wasn’t sure himself how much he wanted to say, but knew he’d avoid details. He hoped his father didn’t remember them.

His mother said, “Why do you call her Cassie? Is it a nickname for Catherine?”

He nodded, since the real reason was too private to reveal. “I think it suits her.”

“What an extraordinary young woman she is.” His mother’s voice was neutral. “Formidable, even.”

Formidable. A perfect description. “She is, isn’t she?” Grey agreed. “Now go to Father. He’ll be looking for you, if he hasn’t drifted off again.”

“He was in his right wits?” she asked, looking younger than when he’d arrived.

“Yes. I think he was on the verge of waking up on his own, and hearing my voice made him curious.”

“I prefer to call it a miracle.” She gave him a radiant smile. “I half expect to wake up in the morning and find you’re a dream.”

“If I were to appear in your dreams, I probably wouldn’t be as thin and eccentric,” he said wryly.

She studied him more critically. “Definitely thin, but your usual elegant self.”

“Thanks for the elegance are owed to Kirkland, who lent me decent clothing.”

“I hope you start patronizing his tailor!” Her face sobered. “Have you become eccentric, Grey?”

“That might not be the right word.” He studied her beloved face and knew that she could never really understand. “I just … I’ll need time to become used to normal life. I require more peace and quiet than when I was younger.”

She laughed and patted his arm. “We all do when we grow up. Good night, my darling. Sleep as late as you like in the morning.”

“I intend to.” He watched her leave, wondering what room Cassie was in. He could have asked his mother, but it seemed a rather indelicate question.

He considered. As Grey’s fiancée, she would have been put in one of the best guest rooms. Probably the Rose Room, which was discreetly distant from Grey’s suite.

He set off for the Rose Room, desperate to find his thorn among the roses.


Chapter 34

The hour was very late, after midnight, so Grey saw no one as he climbed the stairs in search of Cassie. There was light visible under his father’s door, and the soft murmur of his mother’s voice. He passed by and headed down the corridor. Summerhill was shaped like a shallow U, with wings coming off each end of the main block. He turned right into the short passage at the east end.

Yes, a faint line of light under the Rose Room’s door. Probably a low-burning night lamp. He turned the knob, glad the room wasn’t locked, and stepped silently inside. The dim lamplight revealed Cassie’s sleeping form. She lay on her side, a thick braid of hair falling over her shoulder in a rope of dark molten copper.

She was so beautiful his heart hurt. He quietly closed the door behind him.

Before he could announce himself, Cassie woke and hurled herself off the far side of the mattress with amazing speed. A knife appeared in her hand as she took cover behind the massive four-poster bed and evaluated the threat.

He held absolutely still. “Sorry. I should have known better than to startle you.” After she relaxed and the knife disappeared, he said, “From your reaction, I’m guessing that Summerhill feels dangerous to you.”

“Apparently so,” she said ruefully as she circled the bed. The nightgown she wore was thick and warm, but it couldn’t conceal the lithe grace of her movements. “I was feeling rather … alone and vulnerable.”

He winced. “I’m sorry, I should have stayed with you rather than leave you to carry the full weight of my excited relatives.”

She shook her head. “It would have been nice to face their curiosity together, but you needed to talk to your father while he’s still breathing.”

Reminded of the miracle, Grey exclaimed, “He woke up! He spoke to me quite coherently. I think he’ll be all right. My mother is with him now.”

“That’s wonderful news!” She caught his hands in delight. “And not only because it means you don’t succeed to Costain for a while.”

“I’m hoping my father is good for at least another twenty years,” he said fervently as he wrapped his arms around Cassie.

She melted into him with a welcoming sigh. “I’m so glad you came. I’ll sleep better for seeing you and getting a good hug.”

“I need a good deal more than a hug.” Hungrily he bent to her mouth, wanting to draw her essence into himself. “Cassie, Cassie …” He peeled off her nightgown, then walked her back to the bed.

“Should we be doing this under your mother’s roof?” she asked uncertainly, but her hands were pulling at his coat.

“It’s my roof, too.” He swept her onto the bed, then tore at his garments with no thought for Kirkland’s expensive tailor. “I need you far more than I need propriety.”

Cassie lay on her side watching him strip, a cream and copper goddess in the dim light, her haunted blue eyes as hungry as his own. When he was down to skin and too many bones, she pulled him onto the bed, saying huskily, “You’re as powerful a drug as opium, my lord.” Then they spoke no more.

His demands were met by her strength, but also a vulnerability he’d never felt in her before. He poured everything he had into her, wanting to return the priceless gifts she’d given him. And together, they found fulfillment.

After the shattering culmination, they lay limp in each other’s arms. Her braid had come undone and her hair lay in a shimmering veil over his chest. “Catherine,” he murmured, as he twined a strand around his fingers. “You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Coloring it might have been essential for your work, but it’s a crime to deprive the world of such splendor.”

“No carroty little girl would ever believe that. And for a full-grown woman, the color is considered vulgar. Sluttish, even.” Her voice turned wry. “Not that that doesn’t fit me, since I am a slu—”