No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney Page B

do to earn his displeasure?”
    Grey disliked revealing his stupidity, but she deserved an answer. “He caught me in bed with his wife. When I came to Paris, Kirkland asked me to keep my ears open for information that might be useful to the British government.” Grey sighed. “I rather fancied myself as a spy. I’d heard that Citoyen Durand was in the inner circle of the government, so I had the brilliant notion that maybe I could learn something from his wife. I met her at a salon and she made it clear that she’d welcome a bit of dalliance.”
    “Do you think she was trying to lure you in so you could be killed or captured?”
    “I’ve had plenty of time to think about that, but no, I think she merely had a taste for younger men, and I was foolish enough to be caught.” How different his life would have been if he’d left when she told him to. “How will we travel? The cart?”
    She shook her head. “If anyone suspects that the old peddler woman with a cart had something to do with your escape, we would be too easy to catch.”
    “I could travel on my own,” he said, hating to think that his presence would endanger her.
    “Despite your ten years in France and your fluent French, you don’t know what the country is like now. We need to travel together.” A smile flickered over her face. “I can be your aged mother. I’ll see if the Boyers want the cart. It’s sturdy and well built, and it can be painted to look different. I can ride Thistle, but we’ll need to find a larger mount for you. Perhaps Monsieur Boyer will know someone with a horse to sell.”
    “Hasn’t the army requisitioned all the horses?”
    “That happened in the early days of the war, but now they can draw on the resources of a continent, so the military has sufficient horses. It shouldn’t be hard to find a steady, uninteresting hack for you. The sort of horse no one would look at twice.”
    That was probably all Grey was good for now. “If the weather cooperates, I assume a week or so to the channel coast, and that you already know some helpful smugglers?”
    She nodded. “I also have forged papers for you. Kirkland provided them just in case.”
    Grey’s brows arched. “That was certainly advanced thinking when he didn’t even know if I was alive.”
    “In my business, it is wise to prepare for all contingencies. That leaves more time to deal with unexpected problems. And there are always unexpected problems.” She covered a yawn as she rose. “I’m exhausted. At least the snow gives a good reason to sleep late. We won’t be able to leave for a day or two. You have a bed prepared?”
    “They made up a pallet for me in the room with Père Laurent, but I’m so comfortable in this chair that I think I’ll sleep here.” It was a luxury too rich for words that he had a choice of where to sleep after ten interminable years without any choices.
    Going back to a complicated world, would he know how to make decisions? Or would that have to be relearned, with all the errors that implied?
    Cassie added more fuel to the fire, then pulled another ragged blanket from a cupboard. She spread it over him, saying, “It will get colder toward morning.”
    “I’m used to the cold.” He caught her hand as she started to turn. “I just realized that I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.” He kissed her hand with gratitude beyond words.
    A spark of electricity snapped between them. She pulled her hand away, looking unnerved. “I was just doing my job. We were fortunate that today all went well. Good-night, milord.”
    Candle in hand, she vanished into a corridor leading to the east wing of the house. He watched her go, wondering again how old she was. Her hand was strong and shaped by work, but there was none of the gnarling of age. Perhaps she wasn’t so old that he need be ashamed of himself for his lustful thoughts.
    He closed his eyes and slept, dreaming nightmares that he was a fly caught in a sticky web, and a spider was