Free No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney

so no cherished bits freeze and snap off.”
    She suppressed a smile. “I brought a blanket you can wrap yourself in when the time comes.” A log laid on the bank served as a bench, so she wiped snow off one end, set the folded blanket on the cleared area, and sat. “I told Madame Boyer she could retire since I’ll stay here until you either emerge safely, or disappear into the watery depths.”
    “Even if I keel over from heart failure, it’s worth it to be clean again.” Grey used a long-handled brush to clean his back, scrubbing so hard he must be removing skin. “Not to mention the benefits of icy water on hot blood.”
    She blinked. “Your passions need controlling?”
    His hands stilled. “For the first couple of years, I thought about women constantly. Dreamed of them. Remembered every woman I’d ever fancied in luscious feminine detail.”
    He soaped his hair again, hard muscles rippling in his shoulders. “Gradually that faded away. By the time you arrived, I felt like a eunuch. Now I’m a guest in this glorious farmhouse and my gracious hostess is a distractingly fine-looking woman. Her daughter is a delicious nymph who is far too young for me to be having such thoughts. So yes, ice water is useful.”
    “I, of course, am too old and drab to inspire unseemly lust,” she said dryly.
    Grey turned a burning gaze on her. She could feel the heat even on this frigid night. “I thought it best not to offend you with my improper thoughts,” he said. “Particularly since you could probably defeat me in fair combat.”
    Remembering the desperate intensity of his embrace in the prison, she shivered, and not from the cold. “You’re stronger and I presume you learned Indian fighting skills from Ashton while you were at the Westerfield Academy. I acted without thinking because you looked murderous and caught you by surprise.”
    “Not murderous. Merely desperate to get past you and away from that damnable cell.” He ducked under the water to rinse his hair again.
    Cassie pulled her cloak tighter. The snow had stopped entirely, and the air was getting colder. “Madame Boyer attributes your mad desire to bathe outside in a blizzard to your Englishness.”
    He swallowed hard. “After ten years in hell, quite possibly I am mad.”
    She winced. Thinking he needed reassurance, she said, “Not mad, I think, though perhaps a little crazed. That will pass.” She uncorked the brandy jug and leaned over the water to offer it to him. “Try the apple brandy. It might save you from freezing solid.”
    He took a swallow, then began coughing so hard she was afraid he’d go under. When he could breathe again, he said hoarsely, “I’ve lost the habit of strong spirits.” He sipped more cautiously, then sighed with pleasure. “Apple fire. Lovely.”
    When he handed the jug back to Cassie, she sampled the contents. Though strong, the brandy was sweet and fruity, with perhaps pear as well as apple. Enjoying the slow burn, she returned the jug to Grey. “This is made here on the farm.”
    He took another sip. “Speak English to me,” he said haltingly in English. “Slowly. After ten years of only French, I must struggle to speak my native language.”
    She did as he asked, speaking each word distinctly. “Your English will return quickly once you have it in your ears again.”
    He frowned at the brandy jug. “I have wanted nothing more than to escape, but now that I am free, what will I find back in England?” he said slowly. “I thought I’d been long forgotten by everyone, but you said Kirkland sent you?”
    “You have not been forgotten,” she said quietly. “You haunt all the friends you made at the Westerfield Academy. Kirkland has searched for you for years. He made inquiries among the thousands of Englishmen interned in France when the Peace of Amiens ended. He heard rumors, and traced them all without success. Kirkland was determined to keep going until he either found you alive, or found proof of