Lost Lords: No Longer A Gentleman Part 12

As he ground out an affirmative, Regine leaped out, ready for a new adventure. She'd put on weight even better than Grey had.

Ca.s.sie descended and helped Grey out of the coach into a rainy and very English night. "Can you manage him, ma'am?" the driver asked.

"We're fine," Grey mumbled. As Ca.s.sie paid the coachman with the last of her money, Grey headed unerringly toward Lady Agnes's door. He'd told Ca.s.sie that Lady Agnes used one wing of the sprawling manor-turned-school as her private quarters, so there should be room for unexpected visitors.

Saddlebags over one arm, Ca.s.sie caught up with him as he wielded the large bra.s.s knocker. Grey swayed while they waited for the door to open, so she moved beside him, an arm around his waist. The end of this mad adventure had arrived.

The door was opened by Lady Agnes herself. She wore a practical but elegant gown that was perfectly suited to a headmistress of n.o.ble blood.

Her brows arched when she saw the ragam.u.f.fins on her steps. "If you go around to the kitchen door in the back of the house, someone will give you food."

"What, no fatted calf?" Grey said unevenly. When Lady Agnes gasped, he said with a crooked smile, "The prodigal has returned."

Durand reached Boulogne to find the district commandant wondering what had happened to a squad of his gendarmes. Five experienced men, all former soldiers, had been patrolling the coast looking for smugglers as well as Durand's runaway spies.

The patrol had vanished without a trace. It was hard to know how far they'd traveled on their route since the folk who lived along the coast were a closemouthed lot whether they were farmers, fishermen, or smugglers.

Perhaps the gendarmes had run afoul of smugglers and their bodies were now feeding fishes in the channel. But Durand's intuition said that that devil Wyndham had had something to do with the disappearance. By now, he was probably back in England, beyond Durand's reach.

If ever Wyndham returned to France, he was a dead man. And Durand had come up with a plan to lure the b.a.s.t.a.r.d back to France.

Chapter 22.

"Dear G.o.d in heaven," Lady Agnes whispered. "Grey, it really is you!" Ignoring his wet, filthy, and bloodstained garments, she gave him a bone-bruising embrace.

Regine waited politely on the doorstep and Ca.s.sie stayed in the background, the unremitting tension and wariness of the last weeks dissolving in a rush of relief. Grey was home, back in the arms of those who loved him. Ca.s.sie would spend a fortnight or so in London recovering, then be off to France again.

She hoped her next mission wasn't a rescue. The strain was much greater when she was responsible for people beyond herself.

Tears running unabashedly down her cheeks, Lady Agnes stepped back and waved them inside. Surveying her prodigal, she said, "It looks like you've had a rough pa.s.sage, my lad, but you can tell me about it later. For now, you need a bath and a bed."

"Not necessarily in that order," Grey said. Now that he'd reached his destination, he looked ready to collapse. Even with Ca.s.sie's help, he stumbled crossing the threshold.

"That is one of the less impressive dogs I've met," Lady Agnes said as Regine trotted by her.

"But she has a sterling heart," Ca.s.sie said. "Grey rescued her in France."

"Don't worry, I'd never dream of separating a boy and his dog." Lady Agnes's brow furrowed as she studied Ca.s.sie. "We've met, but I'm having trouble placing you."

"We were introduced briefly at the wedding of Lady Kiri Lawford and Damian Mackenzie," Ca.s.sie said. "No reason you'd remember me."

"Miss Ca.s.sie Fox," Lady Agnes said as she pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. "One of Kirkland's dubious a.s.sociates."

"Very dubious indeed," Ca.s.sie agreed as she steered Grey to a chair set in a corner of the small vestibule. Wearily she deposited their saddlebags on the floor.

"Sorry, I meant no insult," the headmistress said, her gaze sharpening. "Kirkland's a.s.sociates tend to have exceptional abilities, which is surely why Wyndham is here. Thank you, Miss Fox, from the bottom of my heart."

"He was imprisoned in a private dungeon in France," Ca.s.sie said succinctly, thinking that was sufficient explanation for now. "I'll be out of your way soon, but for now, add a surgeon to the list of Lord Wyndham's needs. He was grazed by two bullets and needs treatment before the wounds turn septic. And send a message to Lord Kirkland. He's been waiting for this news for a very long time."

Lady Agnes nodded. "I'll notify Wyndham's family as well. They'll be overjoyed."

"Not ... my family." Grey's head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed. "They would come thundering down here and be horrified by my present condition. The news of my miraculous survival can wait until I'm more restored."

"As you wish," Lady Agnes said with reluctance. "Can you manage the steps up to a guest room?"

He thought a moment. "With a strong railing and Ca.s.sie's help, yes."

A capable-looking housekeeper arrived in the vestibule. By the time Lady Agnes gave orders for food, drink, and hot water to be sent to the blue bedroom, Grey was halfway up the stairs, doggedly hauling himself up by the railing one step at a time.

Ca.s.sie shadowed him in case he stumbled, but he made it to the top without help. Lady Agnes followed two steps behind, a lamp in her hand.

"To the left," the headmistress said, moving ahead to light their way to a room down the corridor. She opened the door. "Note the richly patterned coverlet on the bed, designed not to show blood or mud stains."

If Ca.s.sie had been less exhausted, she would have laughed. "Obviously Lord Wyndham is not the first wounded prodigal to arrive on your doorstep. But even so, you might want to put a dark blanket over the coverlet."

"I've had other students return from the dead, but miracles never grow old." Lady Agnes pulled a navy blue blanket from a chest and spread it over the bed. "But you're right that Wyndham is quite exceptionally filthy. He never did things by halves."

Grey was the next thing to unconscious when Ca.s.sie guided him onto the bed. As Regine jumped up beside him, Ca.s.sie squeezed his hand. "You're safe now, my lord. It's been quite an adventure, hasn't it?"

He tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. "You aren't leaving now, Ca.s.sie. You can't."

"Of course she isn't leaving now," Lady Agnes said briskly. "She looks almost as close to collapse as you, so she'll be staying here also. There will be plenty of time for a proper good-bye when you've both recovered from your journey."

Several servants bustled into the room with steaming canisters and trays. Leading them was an older man of military bearing and a woman about Lady Agnes's age, but shorter and softer in appearance. Ca.s.sie guessed that these were General Rawlings and Miss Emily Cantwell, Lady Agnes's colleagues in running the school.

Face working, the general clasped Grey's other hand. "By G.o.d, boy, you've taken your time getting out of whatever trouble you found!"

Grey gave a breath of laughter. "I should have listened better to your lectures, sir. I had to be rescued by this lady here, Ca.s.sie Fox."

The general turned to Ca.s.sie, his eyes gimlet gray. "Rather more than a lady, I think. You're one of Kirkland's lot, aren't you? I look forward to hearing the tale."

"Later," Miss Emily said firmly. "These young people need rest and a good wash first. I also want to see what's under those bandages." She made a shooing motion at Lady Agnes. "Show Miss Fox to her room. We'll take care of Lord Wyndham."

Ca.s.sie was happy to transfer responsibility to these capable hands, but she felt oddly empty as she followed Lady Agnes into the room across the corridor. Two of the servants followed with hot water and a tray of food and drink.

Lady Agnes said, "I could order a tub, but my guess is that you prefer a quick wash, an even quicker bite to eat, and a very long rest. You'll find a nightgown in that wardrobe. If you leave what you're wearing outside the door, I'll have the garments cleaned and pressed."

"Most excellent." Ca.s.sie buried her face in her hands for a few moments as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. "The dye on Lord Wyndham's hair will wash out with vinegar. The injuries are less than a day old. He says he heals well, but he was a little feverish on the channel crossing. The wounds need cleaning."

"Anything else can wait till tomorrow. Rest now, child," Lady Agnes said softly. "Your job is done." Briefly she rested a hand on Ca.s.sie's shoulder before leaving.

As Ca.s.sie stripped off her filthy clothing, she understood better why Lady Agnes's lost lords loved her so much. No doubt Wyndham's family loved him deeply, but that kind of love came with hopes, fears, and expectations. Lady Agnes offered love, warmth, and acceptance. And it even extended to dogs.

Limbs leaden and mind numb, Ca.s.sie folded her bedraggled clothing and set it outside the door, did a quick but much appreciated wash at the basin, then pulled on a soft cotton nightgown. After eating a piece of cheese on bread, followed by a few sips of wine, she crawled under the covers.

The mattress was soft and comfortable, but the bed was far too empty. She thought, with a sharp pang, that holding Grey in the fishing boat as they crossed the channel would be her last night with him. Viscount Wyndham, heir to the Earl of Costain, had been returned to his rightful rank. There was no place in his life for a spy with no name or reputation.

She must be grateful for what they'd shared. For Ca.s.sie the Fox, there was more work to be done.

Suffocating, falling into endless night ...

Grey jerked awake, heart pounding. "Ca.s.sie, Ca.s.sie? Where are you?"

A wet tongue slurped his face. Shaking, he reminded himself that he was safely back at Westerfield. He'd been well taken care of and left to sleep, but now he wanted Ca.s.sie. She wasn't far away, but he wasn't sure where, and he was too exhausted to wander till he found her.

Besides, she deserved her rest, too. She'd practically carried him most of the last stretch of their journey. He must settle for Regine, who was burrowed under his right arm.

He forced himself to relax, not easy when he was craving Ca.s.sie. He'd known she was his shield and defender as he adapted to the world outside of prison, but he hadn't realized just how much he needed her strength and calm intelligence.

He was weak and wrong to need her so much. But that didn't stop him from wanting her.

Chapter 23.

Grey was jarred awake by screaming. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, and to recognize the cries as boys shouting while playing some game outside.

He relaxed, remembering when he'd shouted on those same playing fields. Lady Agnes and General Rawlings were firm believers in young males burning off their energy in sports. There was a place for everyone on the teams, even the least athletic, and no bullying was allowed, ever, which made it better than any other school in Britain. Those had been good days.

He ached all over and the bullet wounds in his head and side throbbed painfully, but that was mitigated by the comfort of a soft bed and safety. He allowed himself to luxuriate even though the warm weight against his side was Regine, not Ca.s.sie. Ideally, they'd both be here; the bed was large enough.

He'd missed animals for so long that he'd almost forgotten the pleasure of their company. Perhaps he'd buy a small cottage like the one Ca.s.sie wanted and live there with numerous animals. And her.

He sighed, knowing the dream was impossible. Eventually he'd have heavy responsibilities that couldn't be ignored. Worse, someday all too soon she'd vanish back into her mysterious, dangerous world. But not quite yet.

Regine made a small canine noise that made it clear that she needed to go outside and then eat and no shilly-shallying. "Soon, my furry little queen," he said as he ruffled her ears. He was so tired that he could barely move. Partly relief at the end of his long journey, he supposed. Not to mention the amount of blood he'd lost. It would take time to recover from that. He'd have to eat plenty of beef.

Like Regine, he required both bodily relief and food, so he swung out of the bed. The long mirror on the wardrobe reflected a complete savage.

He vaguely remembered arriving at the manor, struggling to this room, then sliding into unconsciousness. Efficient hands had cleaned him up and dressed his wounds, and d.a.m.ned painful it had been, too. After the superficial blood and dirt were gone, they'd managed to get clean drawers on him.

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 d.a.m.ned 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 doork.n.o.b. "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 h.e.l.l," Kirkland said, his eyes bleak. "You'd be ent.i.tled to call me out."

Grey blinked. "That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard." He'd forgotten how b.l.o.o.d.y conscientious Kirkland was. Too much Presbyterian responsibility and guilt. "The ten years of h.e.l.l 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 embarra.s.sment. 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 G.o.d, 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 Ca.s.sie thought it a useful disguise." Grey discouraged Regine 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 Regine. "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 b.u.t.tering. "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 Ca.s.sie. 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?"

"Ca.s.sie found me. She's one of my most valuable agents." Kirkland poured two steaming cups of tea. "Do you still take milk and sugar?"