Free No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney Page A

your death.”
    “Why?” Grey asked, surprised. “I was the very model of a useless fribble.”
    “But a charming one, from what Kirkland said.”
    “Charm is one of many things I’ve lost over the years.” He took another sip of brandy. “Do you know anything of my family? You have called me Wyndham, not Costain. I hope this means my father is well?”
    “Kirkland said all of your immediate family is in good health,” she assured him. “Your father, your mother, your younger brother and sister.”
    The moon broke through the clouds and touched Grey’s hair to brightness. Cassie was reminded that Kirkland had called him a golden boy. “If you’re through washing, it’s time to go inside.”
    “I fear emerging from the water because then the cold will be truly vicious.” He handed her the brandy jug. “But I suppose I must.”
    “Madame Boyer said you’d brought out towels. Ah, over there.” She scooped up the towels. After kicking snow off a section of the bank, she spread the smaller towel on the cleared space. “Step up here. The towel will protect your feet a bit. Use the larger one to wipe off as much water as you can, then I’ll wrap you in this blanket.”
    “Stand back if you don’t want to be splattered.” He clambered onto the bank and planted both feet on the small towel as he took the larger one from her.
    In the moonlight, he had a gaunt powerful beauty marred by scars and too many bones visible under his taut, pale skin. Teeth chattering, he said, “Pattens. Over there.”
    The wooden pattens had almost disappeared in the snow. She retrieved them and set them by his towel. Pattens were usually worn over regular shoes, but he was a tall man so they fit well enough on his bare feet.
    He toweled himself off rapidly. From the little she saw of what was euphemistically called “courting tackle,” the frigid water had done a good job of cooling his ardor, at least for the moment.
    “Let me wipe your back,” she said. He handed her the wet towel. She swiftly pulled it down his long frame, then wrapped the blanket around him.
    He pulled the scratchy wool square tight, shivering. “I knew this would be the difficult part. Where’s the brandy?”
    She handed it over. He swigged some as he stepped into the pattens. “Time to run for it before I end up like one of Gunter’s ices. Lord, is Gunter’s still in business?”
    “The teashop in Mayfair?” Cassie had been there once so long ago she’d almost forgotten. But now she remembered a lemon ice, the tangy sweetness melting on her tongue. “As far as I know, it’s flourishing.”
    “Good. I used to take my younger brother and sister there. In warmer weather!” He headed toward the house, making good time with his long legs and high motivation. Cassie followed at a slower pace, carrying the wet towels.
    Though Grey had dashed into the warm house, he held the door open for her when she arrived. His gentlemanly manners hadn’t disappeared entirely.
    Viole had retired, but she’d banked the fire and left a lamp burning, so the kitchen was warm and welcoming. On the scrubbed deal table were eating utensils, a bottle of wine, and food covered by a light cloth. After hanging up the cloak, Cassie lifted the cloth and found bread, cheese, a small dish of pâté, and a jar of pickled relish.
    Keeping her voice down so as not to disturb the sleepers, she said, “We both need to warm up by the fire before heading off to bed. Our wonderful hostess has left refreshments. Would you care for some, or did you eat enough earlier?”
    “Madame Boyer wouldn’t let me eat too much because she thought I might make myself ill. So yes, more food would be most welcome.” He kicked off the pattens and settled into one of the cushioned chairs by the fire, the blanket wrapped closely around him. With a sigh of pleasure, he stretched his bare feet out on the hearth. “Food and freedom and a fine fire. Yesterday I could barely imagine such