When they entered the drawing room, Lady St. Ives was saying placidly, “How long must we wait for this happy surprise, Richard?”

“Not long,” her son replied. “Behold!” He made a sweeping gesture toward Cassie and Neil, then moved to join them. With the three of them next to each other, the family resemblance was undeniable.

Cassie’s aunt and uncle gaped at her. The passing years had added pounds and wrinkles and gray hair, but they were still the easygoing aunt and uncle she’d adored. She gave a deep curtsy. “It’s been a long way, Uncle Vicar. Patient Aunt Patience.” She used the nicknames deliberately as a way of verifying her identity.

“Catherine?” her aunt gasped.

Her uncle swiftly crossed the room to look at her more closely. John St. Ives resembled her father, but he was softer and wider and two decades older. “Catherine.” He squeezed her hands, his face beaming. “My dear girl! This is no imposter, Patience!”

The reunion that followed was much like the one with Richard and Neil, but with more people, more food, and more overlapping voices. As midnight approached, Cassie began to yawn. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s been a long day.”

“I should have asked for a room to be made up!” her aunt exclaimed. “I was so busy talking that I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” Neil said fondly. “The room will be ready when Cat is.”

“Which is now.” Cassie smothered another yawn. She was tired not only from travel, but so much social interaction. She was used to a quieter life.

“What are your plans now, Catherine?” her uncle asked. “This is your home while you are in London, of course. But would you like to go to Eaton Manor? With spring coming, Norfolk will be particularly lovely.”

The thought produced a stab of pain. Cassie had spent most of her childhood at Eaton Manor, and there would be more memories than she could bear to face now. “Perhaps later,” she replied. “For now, I have business in London.”

After good-night hugs, she retreated gratefully to an attractively furnished and comfortable room warmed by a briskly burning fire. Her clothing had been brushed and hung in the wardrobe.

A maid arrived moments after Cassie. The girl was there to help her with her gown, and she also brought a posset of warm spiced milk to aid sleep. Tears threatened when Cassie held the gently steaming mug. She could tell from the scent that the posset was her mother’s French recipe. She’d drunk it often as a child.

After the maid unfastened her gown, Cassie dismissed the girl. Changing into her nightgown and robe, she took the mug and moved to the window to gaze out over sleeping London. A sip of the posset showed that in deference to her mature years, a fortifying dose of rum had been added.

What was Grey doing now? Better not to think of that.

Much as she loved her rediscovered family, she’d been independent for too long to allow them to take her over. They had the best intentions in the world, but she’d been Cassie the Fox, sworn to work toward Napoleon’s defeat, for all of her adult life.

Yet though she wasn’t ready for Eaton Manor, she would enjoy spending time with the St. Iveses and being a woman of means. She owed Lady Kiri Mackenzie and Lucia Stillwell a really splendid shopping spree as a thank-you for their providing her with a wardrobe overnight.

She realized that since she now had assets, she should make a will. She’d never needed one before.

She also wanted to bare her teeth at Kirkland because he’d informed Richard St. Ives that she was alive, and he’d done it without her permission. The fact that it had turned out well just meant that Kirkland was his usual irritatingly right self.

After she chided him, she’d ask him for another mission. Her life might have changed dramatically in the last weeks, but there was still a war going on in Europe. And she wouldn’t be satisfied until Napoleon was destroyed.

The fox hadn’t finished her run.

Grey took up running. He had run in place for countless hours during his years in prison, imagining that he moved through green, open landscapes. Often he mentally visited his home on those runs to nowhere. Now he really could run through Summerhill. He needed the exertion because he wasn’t burning up energy in a bed with Cassie.

He quickly realized that running up and down hills was different from running in place. Though he discovered some new muscles that hadn’t been needed on the flat, he loved the freedom of running whether it was in sunshine or rain or on misty mornings. And he would never tire of Summerhill’s beauty.

Though he loved riding, being on foot showed new aspects of Summerhill. The local cobbler made him a pair of lightweight, comfortable half boots that perfectly suited his new passion. He felt himself growing stronger emotionally as well as physically. This lovely ancestral land healed him in ways he couldn’t describe.

He tried not to think of Cassie. His maturing might have been stalled by his years in prison, but dammit, he was an adult. He should be able to accept that a woman had good and sufficient reasons not to want him.

Unfortunately, he was reminded of her every time his parents gave another small dinner party for the neighbors. He’d agreed to the gatherings because he knew people were curious about the prodigal son, and he needed to become part of his community again.

But he hated being eyed like a beefsteak thrown into a pack of hungry dogs. He’d had to tell his family that Cassie had ended their betrothal, though he refused to answer questions. The fact that he was available, however, meant that every eligible young lady in the neighborhood was studying him and evaluating her chances.

Those who weren’t ladies evaluated him in different ways and made a different kind of offer. He became an expert at politely disappearing. So much nubile femininity emphasized how unique and special Cassie was. He missed her intelligence, her warmth, her hard-won wisdom. He also missed her deliciously rounded and sensual body.

Whenever his thoughts moved in that direction, it was time to start running again.

After a fortnight at home, he was beginning to relax and feel like Lord Wyndham again. Then he received a letter that turned the world upside down again.

Grey went in search of Peter and found him in the library, which was his brother’s particular haunt. Peter looked up from a letter with a beaming smile. “This is from Mr. Burke, the theater manager! He says his company needs a young actor to make the ladies swoon, and since I show signs of acting ability, he’ll give me a chance.”

“Wonderful!” And now Grey had to destroy his brother’s happiness. “But don’t tell the parents yet.” Grimly he held up his own letter. “I must travel to France. If I don’t return, you’ll be heir to Costain again.”


Chapter 41

Samuel Johnson said that a man who was tired of London was tired of life. Perhaps that didn’t apply to women, because after a fortnight of shopping and socializing, Cassie was restless. She was used to living a life of purpose. Choosing ribbons for bonnets didn’t seem very important compared to working toward Napoleon’s end.

It was a relief to receive a message from Kirkland requesting that she pay him a call. She’d visited earlier to chastise him for telling her cousins of her identity, but neither of them took her scolding seriously since the results of his meddling were good.

This was different. As she wielded the dragon’s head knocker, she remembered the January day when she’d called on Kirkland and been asked to determine if the long-vanished Wyndham was alive. The intervening months had been so eventful that the time seemed much longer.

Once more she was admitted by the butler and made her way back to Kirkland’s study. He rose courteously when she entered.

“What do you have for me today, James?” she asked lightly. “Information to be moved from England to France or vice versa? Scouting, assassination?”

“I have information for you,” he said somberly. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

She took a seat at his gesture. “This sounds serious.”

“It is.” He settled back in his chair wearily. “You know that the French and the British governments have hidden ways of communicating with each other?” At her nod, he continued, “I received a message sent by Claude Durand. It came through many hands before reaching me. He has recaptured Père Laurent, Wyndham’s companion in captivity. And he also arrested the people who were sheltering the priest.”

“The Boyers.” Cassie’s stomach clenched so badly that she was almost physically ill. Bad enough that Durand had recaptured Père Laurent, but Viole and Romain Boyer as well? “The priest’s niece and her family. They gave kindness and shelter when we were in dire need of it. Did Durand arrest their children as well?”

“Apparently. He said he’s imprisoned four members of the Boyer family.”

Durand probably hadn’t bothered with the older married daughter, but that was small comfort. Cassie swore with words that Catherine St. Ives wouldn’t have known. “That devil!” Understanding settled over her in an icy wave. “Durand sent the information to bait a trap, didn’t he? He wants Wyndham to return to France.”

“It’s the only reason why he’d go to the considerable effort of sending this information to the English,” Kirkland agreed. “And I’m afraid he’s going to get his wish. Wyndham is preparing to leave for France right now.”

She gasped. “Why the devil did you tell Wyndham? Rescuing the Boyers would be almost impossible even for trained agents. If he goes to France, he’ll be killed!”

“I hope not. As for why I told him about Durand’s message …” Kirkland grimaced. “Despite your not unjustified comments about my meddling, I don’t like making decisions for people. How would Wyndham feel if he learned later that Père Laurent had been recaptured and died in prison? And the Boyers? They sound like good people whose only crime was offering sanctuary to Madame Boyer’s uncle.”