Lessons in French (31 page)

been. She was his, and all the endless days and nights of exile fell away as she held him

tight to her, gripping him so hard that her fingernails dug into his skin.

He turned his head down and kissed her temple, holding himself still inside her. He

wanted to move so badly that he was shaking, but he waited in exquisite torment. "
Je

t'adore,"
he whispered. "
Je t'aime.
Do you want me?"

Her tension softened. Her hands opened across his back. "Oh yes," she breathed.

He pressed into her. She whimpered, but it was a sweet, passionate sound, frantic, her

body closing and squeezing around him.

"Do you want me?" He drew back slowly, torturing himself.

"Yes." She arched up, taking him deep as he pressed again. A moan escaped her.

Trev arched his head back, his eyes closed. "You want me?"

"Yes. Yes." She was panting now, clutching him, pulling him into her. He was going to

explode; only the kittenish sounds she made held him back, those woman sounds, Callie

sounds, rising to ecstasy as he thrust into her. He knew them, but he had never heard

them this way, from inside her, coming on waves of hot, pure pleasure. He lifted himself

on his palms with no thought beyond how it felt, how deep he could go. Her body fit his,

rising and yielding, meeting him until it seemed he had no air in his lungs. He threw his

head back as the climax came over him, a powerful shudder, a hoarse breath as she cried

out beneath him, both of them suspended together for an infinite instant of bliss.

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 flitted 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."

He had reached as far as the door by the time Callie had untangled herself from the robe

and shawl. He seemed to have come to his senses, or at least paused to consider what

method by which to eradicate the major, for he stopped and turned around. Callie was on

her feet by then.

"Let me be certain I understand you," he said. "Sturgeon has asked you to marry him?"

"Yes," she said.

"And you are presently considering his proposal?" His voice was steely. He stood very

still, looking at her.

Callie couldn't hold his eyes. Suddenly she could not seem to think of anything but his

arms around her, his body over hers. She found it difficult to breathe. She could not at

that instant recall why she had said, in the middle of the night, that they would not suit. It

seemed mad, as mad as those moments themselves, and equally dreamlike now. He had

asked her to marry him, and she had remembered just in time that for some reason she

must say no. And afterward…

She hugged herself, standing in her bare feet, covered in mortification. "Trev," she said,

turning with an agitated move. "We must—could we—discuss something?"

"What happened between us last night?" he asked bluntly.

She took a deep breath, daring to lift her eyes. "Yes, I… suppose… that."

"It was, of course, iniquitous of me to take advantage of you." He gave a short bow and

spoke as if he were reciting something that he had memorized. "Let me repeat, my lady,

that I beg of you to become my wife, if you would see fit to accept me."

From the sound of it, the last thing he hoped was that she should do so. Callie looked

down and fiddled with the fringe of the cashmere shawl. All her reasons for refusing him

came back to her in a rush.

"I know you feel that you must offer now," she said with difficulty. "But I don't think

we would suit."

"Yes," he said. "You mentioned that, I believe."

"I'm rather… awkward and not very clever in company, you know. I fear that I wouldn't

be a fitting wife for you."

She glanced up at him, half hoping to be contradicted, but he seemed to find the hem of

her gown to be of more interest than her face. He remained silent, his jaw set.

"I'm not a lady of fashion," she added, trying to make a clean breast of the whole. "I'm

seven and twenty. And I'm English, of course. And not a Catholic."

He made a slight deprecating shrug. But still he said nothing, altering his attention to

some painting on the wall, frowning at it as if it offended him.

"I suppose that might be overcome," she said, trying to reply sensibly to his silence.

"But—you may have noticed—I'm rather dull and plain. I can't see myself living amid

the
haut ton.
I was really quite a failure at it before, you know. I'd have to be like

Madame Malempré and wear a veil all the time, so that no one would see me," she added,

in a stupid attempt at humor.

His expression grew darker as she spoke. "Nonsense," he snapped. "Don't talk that

way."

Callie wet her lips and gave him one more chance. "But you must wish to find someone

who would be more worthy of Monceaux."

He gave a short laugh and turned away, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Do not

concern yourself on that head, ma'am."

So. She lifted her chin, growing more sure, and at the same time more disheartened. He

had been eager in the night, and passionate, but what was that vulgar phrase she had

overheard once among the stable lads?
All cats look alike in the dark.
She had fairly well

thrown herself at him, even if she hadn't meant for him to find her in his bed, playing a

trick like that impudent house maid who had tried to entice the parson on a dare. If he had

even a slight wish to marry her, he would certainly show more delight at the idea. Even

her jilts had managed to summon a greater show of gratification at the prospect than Trev