Callie lay with him, cradled close, feeling his heated bare skin on hers, the mingled scents of what they had done. She felt numb with the impact of it, joyful and frightened and confused all at once. Her body still throbbed with the sensation of taking him into her, pain and delight mingled. He said nothing afterward, only holding her tight, his head buried against the nape of her neck. She could feel his deep breathing as he recovered himself. Her own heart was beating in her ears.

She had asked for him to do it. And now it was done. She bit her lip in the darkness. Shyness overcame her. She tried to shift away from him, but he made a low sound in his throat and caught her back. His arm came round her, stronger than she had realized, pulling her against his chest. He kissed her shoulder. He was all heat and maleness; she loved the feel of him, a great warm carnal shape enfolding her.

It was bewildering. To think of herself lying in bed with a man was too incredible. She could try to imagine herself as sultry Madame Malempré, but that fantasy had been besmirched by her encounter with Major Sturgeon. Her mind f litted through all her daydreams, pirates and naval officers and handsome alpine shepherds, finding nothing to light upon.

It was real. It was not a daydream, or even an adventure. It truly was herself, and him, in a bed, united as lovers, as husband and wife would be. She felt him fall asleep against her, his arm slipping slowly downward as his body relaxed. She would have stayed this way forever if she could, in this particular reality, this moment, this pose. It was almost better than all the passion that had come before, to lie beside him in perfect trust.

She closed her eyes. She twined her fingers with his and kissed them lightly. He made a sound in his chest, pulling her close again, but did not fully wake.

Fifteen

CALLIE SAT UP IN BED AND PEEKED OUT FROM THE closed curtains. Her nose was cold. The chill in the room surprised her. Buried under the counterpane and protected by the curtains, she had not realized how the temperature had fallen.

Her first thought was for her animals. They had arrived in Hereford last evening, before this cold snap, but she had been trapped at the Gerard and only received word of them through a complicated exchange of messages that traveled through several envoys, from Callie to Charles to Lilly to her herdsman to Lilly to Charles and back again to Callie. By the time she received her reply, it was so mangled by Lilly's ignorance of livestock jargon and garbled by Charles's imposition of cant that all she could make out was that she did possess cattle, they were some where in Hereford, and the whole countryside was in an uproar searching for Hubert.

She did not forget Trev or what had happened. But the thought of it in the morning light was like a tender bruise that she was not quite ready to touch. The instant she awoke, she had been aware that she was alone in the bed, surrounded by the lingering warmth where he had been.

A deep blue robe lay across the counterpane, along with her cashmere shawl. Callie had undressed with the help of the chambermaid and slept in her shift, but she had not laid out anything for the morning. She touched the robe, knowing that Trev had left it there for her. When she pulled it around her shoulders, she breathed the scent of him.

The fire had been lit in the grate, but it had yet done little to warm the bedchamber. A soft chink of china came from the parlor, and the sound of a servant withdrawing. Callie pulled the robe and shawl around her and slid out of the bed. With her toes curling on the cold f loor, she went to the doorway and looked in.

Trev stood by the table, shaved and fully dressed, pouring a cup from the coffeepot. He glanced up as he saw her. Callie immediately dropped her eyes, her face growing fiery.

"Good morning." His greeting was a little too loud in the quiet room.

"Good morning." She stood in the door, uncertain. When she stole a look toward him, he turned his face down to the cup before their eyes met.

He picked up a newspaper lying on the table, folded it, and tossed it aside. "Come in, it's warmer here."

Callie moved a little way into the room. He walked behind her and closed the bedroom door. She was very aware of her bare feet and her loose hair and the tumbled bedclothes behind her. If he had any similar sensation, he did not show it. They evaded one another politely, like strangers.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked briskly. "They've brought us some breakfast, if you like."

"I really should see to my cattle," she said. "It's turned cold."

"Yes, of course." He paused. "I suppose you have no slippers. I'm sorry. I didn't think of that." He poured tea for her. "I hadn't expected you to be here overnight."

Callie sat down on a chaise and curled her feet tightly under her. "I didn't expect you to come back," she countered, on a slight note of defense.

"No," he said. "I realize that." He brought her the cup. She could make nothing of his neutral tone, but as she took it, he stepped back with a small bow, as formal as if he were a butler. She began to feel more awkward yet. There were volumes of unspoken words between them.

"Did you tell me that Sturgeon had taken rooms here?" he asked.

Callie nodded. "He followed me. That is-he followed Madame Malempré. He seems to be acquainted with her."

"Acquainted with her!" Trev stopped in the motion of lifting his cup. "The deuce you say."

Callie raised her face. "He says he met her in Belgium, at a picnic after Waterloo. He seems to"-she cleared her throat-"to know her rather intimately."

He swore under his breath. "That's impossible. He must be feigning it. He suspects something. Damn, he followed you here?" He paced a step and turned. "It's as well you didn't go out again."

"He isn't pretending," Callie said. "I think he does know Madame Malempré. I think he knows her very well."

Trev looked at her sharply. "You do?"

Callie nodded. She lowered her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

"What did he say to you?" There was a taut edge in his voice.

"Not to me," she said. "He thought he was speaking to her."

"Indeed," Trev said suspiciously. "And just what did he say?"

Callie thought a moment. She wasn't sure she wished for Trev to know everything he had said. "He seems to have had an encounter with her, in a garden summerhouse."

He snorted. "An encounter in-" He stopped short. He stared, as if at some distant place, and then turned his back to her, looking out the window.

"Who is she, this Madame Malempré? Do you know her too?" Callie asked.

"Mordieu, it's just the name of a town I passed through once!" He made an impatient gesture, as if tossing something away from him. "I remembered it when I ordered the tarpaulins, that's all."

She gazed at his back. "It was quite an unfortunate choice, then." She gave a little shrug. "He would like to renew his acquaintance with her."

"Oh, he would, would he?" He turned back swiftly his jaw hardening. "He didn't touch you? You should have called Charles-" He stopped again. He frowned and then gave Callie an amazed look. "And he's been courting you, hasn't he?" It had taken a few moments longer for him to notice the incongruity of the situation than it had for her. He seemed shocked, as if he could not quite comprehend what he had just realized. "Callie!"

She lifted her eyebrows, trying to look arch. "Yes, it's rather a blunder on his part. That's why I think he isn't pretending."

"That whoreson bastard!" he exclaimed, striding across the room. He followed it up with several words in French that she had never heard in any lessons. He was not as amused by it all as she had expected. "By God, I'll kill him."