accepting the man's
hat and cloak. "The boy will see to your baggage. Will you be taking a refreshment?
There's gingerbread just coming out of the oven."
"Cider will do," the officer said brief ly.
Callie suddenly sat up and threw a look toward the newcomer. Such a horrified
expression came into her face that Trev almost reached out to support her as she
blanched, but then she put down her teacup and bent her head toward her lap, hiding any
glimpse of her face under the brim of her bonnet.
Mrs. Farr entered into a discourse on Congo, with a pekoe additive, versus a good
Imperial. The officer glanced toward their table with the brief disinterest of a stranger
obliged to share a public space—and then looked again. It was a penetrating look directed
at Callie, at the nape of her neck, where those singular red curls were as recognizable in
Shelford as any sign hanging outside a shop. Trev watched a play of emotion in the man's
face—the instant of detection, followed by a tightening of his thin lips, a straightening of
his shoulders. The officer turned away abruptly and sat down on the sofa.
Callie was hidden, but her breasts rose and fell with a rapid rhythm. Trev moved his
leg, pressing it against her knee in silent support and question. She turned her face
entirely away from the fire, staring toward the window as if she could escape by f lying
through it. Her eyes were wide with alarm.
"But if you care for a black tea, duke," Mrs. Farr said, "you cannot go wrong with the
Congo mix. Green gunpowder will kill you in a month."
"I'm sure it would kill you with one lucky shot, Mrs. Farr," Trev said. He looked at
Callie. "Are you feeling quite well, Lady Callista? Would you like to go out into the air?"
She nodded, standing up, clutching at Trev's arm as he offered it. Behind her, the
officer stood up at the same time.
"My lady," he said clearly.
Callie stood still, frozen like a deer at the sound of his voice.
"If you don't desire to acknowledge me, Lady Callista, I'll submit to your wish," the
man said. His nostrils flared. "I will not inflict myself upon you." He glanced an instant at
Trev, his aristocratic brows drawn together. Then he stared at Callie again. "But I would
call upon you, if you would… if you would kindly give me consent to do so."
She wet her lips. "Oh, I—no, I—" She took a deep breath, staring down at the floor. "It
would be very uncomfortable for me."
The officer's pale eyes snapped to Trev again. There was something… Trev held the
look. It was as if the other man grew taut with a personal challenge, directly marking
him. He might have thought it was jealousy, the way the two of them stood with their lips
buttoned and their faces rigid, like a pair of thwarted lovers, but Trev had a strong
suspicion otherwise. Unless Callie had participated in more romantic encounters than
anyone who knew her could believe, this would be one of the infamous jilts. A major of
cavalry, at that; Trev could read the insignia of rank now.
A fine coincidence. He didn't see how the fellow had any claim to resentment of
another man at Callie's side.
The officer looked again at her, his jaw set hard. "My lady, if you might consider—"
"I believe Lady Callista has made her answer known to you," Trev interrupted.
The man ignored him. "If you would see fit, my lady—"
"How curious." Trev gave an audible sniff. "I could swear I smell a day-old fish."
Callie's fingers nearly cut off the blood in his arm. She made a sound somewhere
between a choke and a whimper. The other man grew as scarlet as his uniform coat.
White lines played at the corner of his mouth. "I'm speaking to Lady Callista, not to you,
sir."
"I don't wish to speak to you," Callie said in a rush.
The officer stood very still for a moment. "As you wish, then, ma'am." He bowed stiff
ly and walked out of the room, casting Trev one more venomous glance as he left.
"Oh." Callie's voice trembled. She sat down with a
hat and cloak. "The boy will see to your baggage. Will you be taking a refreshment?
There's gingerbread just coming out of the oven."
"Cider will do," the officer said brief ly.
Callie suddenly sat up and threw a look toward the newcomer. Such a horrified
expression came into her face that Trev almost reached out to support her as she
blanched, but then she put down her teacup and bent her head toward her lap, hiding any
glimpse of her face under the brim of her bonnet.
Mrs. Farr entered into a discourse on Congo, with a pekoe additive, versus a good
Imperial. The officer glanced toward their table with the brief disinterest of a stranger
obliged to share a public space—and then looked again. It was a penetrating look directed
at Callie, at the nape of her neck, where those singular red curls were as recognizable in
Shelford as any sign hanging outside a shop. Trev watched a play of emotion in the man's
face—the instant of detection, followed by a tightening of his thin lips, a straightening of
his shoulders. The officer turned away abruptly and sat down on the sofa.
Callie was hidden, but her breasts rose and fell with a rapid rhythm. Trev moved his
leg, pressing it against her knee in silent support and question. She turned her face
entirely away from the fire, staring toward the window as if she could escape by f lying
through it. Her eyes were wide with alarm.
"But if you care for a black tea, duke," Mrs. Farr said, "you cannot go wrong with the
Congo mix. Green gunpowder will kill you in a month."
"I'm sure it would kill you with one lucky shot, Mrs. Farr," Trev said. He looked at
Callie. "Are you feeling quite well, Lady Callista? Would you like to go out into the air?"
She nodded, standing up, clutching at Trev's arm as he offered it. Behind her, the
officer stood up at the same time.
"My lady," he said clearly.
Callie stood still, frozen like a deer at the sound of his voice.
"If you don't desire to acknowledge me, Lady Callista, I'll submit to your wish," the
man said. His nostrils flared. "I will not inflict myself upon you." He glanced an instant at
Trev, his aristocratic brows drawn together. Then he stared at Callie again. "But I would
call upon you, if you would… if you would kindly give me consent to do so."
She wet her lips. "Oh, I—no, I—" She took a deep breath, staring down at the floor. "It
would be very uncomfortable for me."
The officer's pale eyes snapped to Trev again. There was something… Trev held the
look. It was as if the other man grew taut with a personal challenge, directly marking
him. He might have thought it was jealousy, the way the two of them stood with their lips
buttoned and their faces rigid, like a pair of thwarted lovers, but Trev had a strong
suspicion otherwise. Unless Callie had participated in more romantic encounters than
anyone who knew her could believe, this would be one of the infamous jilts. A major of
cavalry, at that; Trev could read the insignia of rank now.
A fine coincidence. He didn't see how the fellow had any claim to resentment of
another man at Callie's side.
The officer looked again at her, his jaw set hard. "My lady, if you might consider—"
"I believe Lady Callista has made her answer known to you," Trev interrupted.
The man ignored him. "If you would see fit, my lady—"
"How curious." Trev gave an audible sniff. "I could swear I smell a day-old fish."
Callie's fingers nearly cut off the blood in his arm. She made a sound somewhere
between a choke and a whimper. The other man grew as scarlet as his uniform coat.
White lines played at the corner of his mouth. "I'm speaking to Lady Callista, not to you,
sir."
"I don't wish to speak to you," Callie said in a rush.
The officer stood very still for a moment. "As you wish, then, ma'am." He bowed stiff
ly and walked out of the room, casting Trev one more venomous glance as he left.
"Oh." Callie's voice trembled. She sat down with a
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