No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney Page A

Thinking of his other classmates, he asked, “What of Masterson and Ballard?”
    “Masterson is an army major, and Ballard is working to rebuild the family wine business in Portugal.” Her brow furrowed. “You must have known Mackenzie, Masterson’s illegitimate half brother. He has a very fashionable gaming club in London. Rob Carmichael is a Bow Street Runner.”
    Grey’s brows arched. “Rob would be good at that, but it must have driven his father into a frenzy.”
    “I believe that was part of the reason he became a Runner,” she said with amusement. “Those are the only Westerfield students I know, but when you’re back in London your friends will be happy to bring you up to date.”
    The thought of London created a knot of panic in Grey’s gut. His friends’ marriages also made him sharply aware of how much time had passed. They had grown up and taken on adult responsibilities. Grey had merely … survived.
    Uncannily perceptive, Cassie said softly, “Don’t compare your life to theirs. You can’t change the past, but you are returning to family, friends, and wealth. You can have the future you dreamed of in captivity.”
    He wanted to blurt out that he was no longer capable of having the life he was born to. His confidence, his sense of himself and his place in the world, had been shattered. As a future earl, he would have no trouble acquiring a wife eager to spend his money, but where would he find a wife who was willing and able to deal with the darkness of his soul?
    But whining was ugly, especially to a woman as fearless as this one. He was still amazed at how she’d come to see if he might be in Castle Durand, seen an opportunity to free him, taken down a guard, and led him and Père Laurent to safety through a blizzard. Maybe that strength was why he found her so attractive.
    Madame Boyer was an attractive woman in her prime. Her daughter Yvette was a lovely girl with a face to inspire young, bad poets. Yet it was drab, aged Cassie the Fox who intrigued him. Though she might be his mother’s age, she had a lovely, delicate profile, a smokily delicious voice, and a core of tempered steel.
    Wanting to know more of her, he stated, “Tell me about your family.”
    She leaned forward to put another piece of wood on the fire. “My father was English, but we made long visits to my mother’s family in France. We were here when the revolution broke out.” She settled back in her chair, her face like granite. “I said we must return to England immediately, but my warnings were dismissed by the rest of the family.”
    “Cassandra,” he said, remembering his Greek studies. “The Trojan princess who saw the future, but couldn’t convince anyone of the danger she foretold. Did you choose that name for that reason?”
    She winced. “No one else has ever made that connection.”
    “Cassandra was a tragic figure,” he said softly, wondering how closely her story resembled the myth. “Did you lose your family as she did?”
    Her head whipped away and she stared at the fire. “I did.”
    Hearing the pain in her voice, he realized that it was time to change the subject. In his younger, more gentlemanly days, he would have known better than to ask such personal questions. “What do you think is the best way to return to England? I don’t even know where in France I am.”
    “We’re about a hundred miles southwest of Paris, somewhat farther from the north coast.” She frowned. “North is the obvious way to go, which isn’t good if we’re pursued. But any other route would be much longer.”
    “Do you think we’ll be chased? With Gaspard dead, there might not be anyone at the castle capable of organizing a pursuit.”
    “His guard didn’t look like the sort to take initiative,” she agreed. “But once Durand learns that his prisoners are gone, he might send soldiers after you.”
    “He probably will.” Grey flinched at the thought. “His hatred of me was very personal.”
    “What did you