No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page A

predictions of the imminent defeat of the British.
    But if Durand or Gaspard were visiting, they would know what key to use. A guard? No one else was allowed down here. Grey approached the door, every muscle in his body taut. Beside the door were ten years’ worth of neat scratches to mark the days. Thousands of marks measuring endless days. If there was even the remotest chance he could escape, he’d attack.
    The door swung open to reveal a woman. The shock temporarily paralyzed him. Dear God, a woman, the first he’d seen in ten years! She was old and drab and forgettable, but unquestionably female. The sheer wonder of that held him immobile.
    He recovered from his surprise when he realized this was his chance to escape this damnable cell. She’d never be able to stop him, especially since she didn’t even hold a weapon. He charged toward her.
    He was grabbing for the keys when she tripped him, caught his outstretched arm, and used his own speed to sling him to the floor with his arm twisted agonizingly high behind his back. He lay on his belly gasping. Years of constant exercise and an old woman could flatten him?
    “Are you Lord Wyndham?” she asked in a swift, low voice. “I come from Kirkland to help you.”
    She spoke in English. It was so long since he’d heard the language that it took him a long moment to interpret the words. Wyndham. Kirkland. Help?
    She said in French, “So you’re not Wyndham. No matter, if you want to escape, I’ll help you if you promise not to attack me again.”
    He replied in the same language, “I am Wyndham. Haven’t spoken English in years. Wasn’t attacking you, just trying to escape. Let me up?”
    She released his arm. He scrambled to his feet, feasting his eyes on the sight of another human being. Better yet, a clean, normal woman. He impulsively wrapped his arms around her and crushed her warm body into an embrace, his heart pounding.
    She swore and shoved at him.
    “Please,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’ve been so … so hungry for touch. Only a moment. Please!”
    She relaxed and let him hold her. Dear God, she felt good! A warm, breathing woman with a sweet old-lady scent of lavender that made him think of his grandmother. He never wanted to let her go.
    After too short a time, she pushed away. “Enough,” she said, her voice compassionate. “We must leave. Almost everyone in the castle is ill with influenza, so I think we can walk right out if we’re careful. I have a pony cart where you can hide till we’re away. Do you have anything to take with you?”
    He gave a bitter laugh. “Not a single damned thing except for Père Laurent in the next cell.” He took the keys from her and began fumbling through them.
    “Try this.” She touched a key. “It’s similar to the one that opened your cell. Can the priest move quickly?”
    “He’s been ill. I don’t know how much longer he’ll last in this beastly place.”
    The woman frowned. “That could jeopardize our escape.”
    “I’m not leaving without him,” Grey said flatly as he slid the key into the lock.
    “Very well, then.” The woman might be old and drab, but she knew when not to waste time arguing.
    Grey’s hands were shaking as he tried to unlock the door. Such a simple action, yet deeply unreal after ten years when he had done nothing so simple and normal. But the cold iron key was solid in his hand, and that throw to the floor had been very real.
    “Who are you?” he asked as he jiggled the key in the stiff lock.
    She shrugged. “I have had many names. Call me Cassie or Renard.”
    Cassie the Fox. Given that she’d managed to enter the castle and release him, it was a good name for her.
    The door swung open and Grey finally met the man who knew him better than anyone else in the world. Laurent was lying on his pallet. On the stone wall above his head an irregular brown cross had been drawn in blood. The priest’s personal shrine.
    Père Laurent levered himself up on one arm as