And now Sidmouth of all people would be in the house, along with some army of undersecretaries, any one of whom might have seen Trev at his trial. Not that he wouldn't mind having a few pointed words with the Lord Secretary. He'd understood the deal to be that he'd receive a full pardon in return for putting up no defense-but when the royal pardon came down from the king's council, signed by Sidmouth, it was conditional and made an explicit point that he'd leave the country or hang. Trev had never met the Home Secretary, but he wondered if the fellow had something in for him. A bad bet, perhaps, or a fixed match that he blamed on Trev or the Rooster. Or perhaps he simply believed Trev was guilty.

It would have been gratifying to have the answer to this burning question, but confronting Sidmouth with a complaint about his pardon didn't seem the wisest course. He'd lived for a fortnight in Newgate under a sentence of death before any sort of pardon at all had come down; an experience he did not care to repeat. As a condemned felon, one got rapidly off the scaffold at the first opportunity and didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

He sat glumly in the dimming room, propped against the wall. He couldn't even pace, because the damned f loor creaked. He heard her take supper on a tray in her room and noted that she didn't invite him to join her. She was turned against him, looking forward to starting a family with Sturgeon, which was precisely what Trev had wanted, of course. He was perfectly delighted.

Boston was too close. It would have to be Shanghai.

They spent the evening hours in mutually ignoring one another while the incessant rain rumbled in the gutters. As it neared full dark, he finally opened the dressing room door, stood for a moment without precisely looking at her, and announced to the air in general that he was going to take supper with his mother. She bade him a chilly good evening from her seat by the fire, in a tone that suggested that he need not hurry back. Trev stalked to the window. He opened the inner shutters. Even in the dark, he could see that the rain was beating against the glass in sheets. If he raised it, the window seat-not to mention himself-would be deluged.

He closed the shutters again and turned round.

She appeared to be wholly occupied by the tatting that was spread across her lap, moving a shuttle briskly in and out of some knotted lace with deep concentration. The firelight brought a rosy bloom to her cheek, a warm copper glint to her hair. She wore it in a stylish upswept bun today, instead of her usual neat braids, but her thick curls seemed inclined to revolt against the more fashionable style and drape gently down to the nape of her neck. He watched her for a moment.

"Shouldn't you thread some yarn in that needle?" he asked dryly. "I'd think it would make the work go more efficiently."

She threw the shuttle down in her lap and glared up at him. Trev tried not to smile, as she appeared to be in no mood to be amused at herself.

"I thought you were going to make a call on your mother," she said stiff ly.

"You'll observe that the weather is somewhat inclement."

She gave a great sigh, as if he had arranged for the downpour merely to inconvenience her. Trev walked over and helped himself to a decanter of wine from her tray, pouring it into the untouched glass. He sat down in the other chair. "Can we not be civil at least? If we're no longer friends."

She bit her lip, turning her face toward the fire. For an instant there was a faint quiver at the corner of her mouth, which made him long to go down on his knees and gather her still hands and press them to his face. He took a sip of wine instead.

"I'm still your friend, Callie," he said. "And I always will be."

She nodded, looking down. "Of course."

"This masquerade is opportune," he said conver sationally. "I want to investigate the Shelford account books. Are they locked away?"

"You want to see the Shelford accounts? Whatever for?"

He debated whether to tell her of his suspicions. He didn't want to frighten her. But since he had every intention of seeing that any money that had been embezzled from her fortune was replaced, even if he had to fund it himself, he thought it safe to be open. "I had a talk with Sturgeon before I went away. I'm concerned that something's not right with your trust."

"My trust?" She looked baff led. "I don't under stand. You spoke to the major about my money?"

He gave a brief nod. "Indirectly. There's something odd, Callie. Not about Sturgeon; I don't mean that. But I discovered that he was blackmailed out of your first engagement."

She gazed at him. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean that he didn't want to break it off. He was forced to do so."

The shuttle slid from her fingers to the f loor. "Blackmail? Oh come, that's nonsense."

"It's true. It's nothing to do with you, or your marriage now, you needn't concern yourself with that. It has to do with his honor as an officer. He made a decision during the war-saved men's lives, in fact- but he disobeyed direct orders. It isn't something he wants to come out in public."

"Oh?" she said in a dubious voice.

"I don't fault him for what he did, myself." He retrieved the shuttle for her, careful that their hands did not touch. "He had his reasons. But he's an officer, and if it were known, he'd be like enough to lose his commission and face a court-martial. So he broke off the engagement to prevent it coming out."

She shook her head slowly. "Are you certain? Blackmail, of all things!" Then she pursed her lips. "No. I don't believe it. I think he simply didn't care to marry me and preferred another." Then she glanced at him and raised her chin. "At that time. He assures me that he feels quite differently now."

Trev gave her a small smile. It didn't surprise him that Sturgeon was coming to love Callie in spite of himself. And well enough, if it would make him a better husband to her. Trev would be in Shanghai, making arrangements to become an opium addict.

"You aren't saying this just to butter up my feelings, are you?" she asked suspiciously. "I don't mind that he broke it off before. You needn't make up silly stories about it just to make me feel better."

He scowled. "It's not a made-up story. And it's hardly silly if you've been embezzled of your fortune."

She gave a little gasp. "Nonsense! What are you talking about?"

"You'll have your money back, I'll make certain of that," he said. "But he was blackmailed, Callie. Why would someone try to prevent him from marrying you? And then the rest of them cried off too, on the thinnest of reasons. It's devilish strange, and I've been doing some looking into the matter."

"In between your escapes from the Bow Street Runners, I suppose?" she asked haughtily.

He held his temper. "Who would be most likely to have access to the accounts and the trust? Who's your trustee?"

"My cousin, of course," she said. "Are you saying poor Jasper blackmailed Major Sturgeon and stole all my money, and then made the rest of them cry off too? And this while my father would have been alive-I don't suppose you're accusing him of embezzling me?"

"Of course not." Trev was becoming annoyed at her resistance. "But stranger things have happened, you know, than the heir apparent wishing to help himself a bit early. How many years has your cousin had access to the Shelford accounts? I want to see the books."

"I believe you've run mad. You don't suppose he altered the accounts! Cousin Jasper couldn't add a sum correctly if it were two plus two."

"Couldn't he? I'd like to be certain of that."

"It's quite impossible. I manage the accounts. At least I supervise him at it, because he's hopeless at the task."

"Perhaps that's all a show. It was damned odd of him to gamble Hubert away-he may have come short in his reckoning and required money to cover himself. Or perhaps it could be the countess behind him? God knows she's as cold as any thief in Newgate."