Lessons in French (43 page)

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 floor. "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."

Callie made a face. "I'll confess that I'm not fond of Dolly, but I don't suppose she's a

criminal." She reached down to her basket and pulled out a ball of white yarn. "Perhaps

you may have been too much with that class of person and become excessively

suspicious."

Trev f lung himself out of the chair, almost knocking over his wine. Callie looked up,

wide-eyed, which made him realize the violence of his action. He took command of

himself. "Perhaps I have," he said coolly. "And it's taught me that anyone is capable of

deceit, from the pink of the ton to a dustman."

She gave him a long, clear look, then turned her face down to her work, taking a turn of

yarn around the shuttle. "Undoubtedly," she said.

They both watched the shuttle move in and out of her tatting. Trev stood feeling much

as he had in the dock: judged, tried, and condemned. "You may doubt me, if you please,"

he said finally. "But someone blackmailed Sturgeon, and they did it for a reason."

"Very well," she said. She stood up and set her work aside, crossing the room to her

dressing table. "Here is a key to the desk in my cousin's study. It's on the ground floor, in

the south wing. Please be certain to tell Major Sturgeon if you discover that all my money

is gone, so that he may jilt me in good time before the wedding." She held out the key,

making a stiff little curtsy. "And of course you'll want to be prepared to escape through

the window when you're discovered breaking into the earl's desk. I'd recommend the one

to the far right, nearest the fireplace, as the others have a tendency to stick in humid

weather."

Trev caught the key from her hand and closed it in his fist. "He won't jilt you. I won't

allow that to happen."

"Of course he will," she said calmly, "if it's true that I have no fortune. And perhaps it's

for the best. I'm sure my hand would grow quite sore from all the kissing, and the posies

merely wilt."

Trev gripped the key. "Damn it," he said, taking a stride to her. He put his arm about

her waist and held her up close against him and kissed her passionately, countering the

moment of resistance in her, asking and demanding at once, until she made a helpless

sound and her arms slid round his neck and a thousand nights of being without her ended

in this hard embrace, clinging to one another as if they were drowning together.

She leaned against him, her fingers opening through his hair, pulling him down to her.

The sound of the rain seemed to grow to a roar in his ears as her lips opened under his.

Trev lost all reason. He drew her down, dragging them both to their knees in a deep, long

kiss. He retained just enough sense to know that he must not lay her down on the carpet

and take her there. They were in her bedroom, in Shelford Hall—as the world spun

around him in sweet, hot lust and he outlined the shape of her body with his hands, he

saved one mite of sanity and confined himself to kissing her mouth and her chin and her

ear and throat and anything he could reach without pulling her gown entirely open—only

down off her shoulder, only that much, or more, until the little modest ribbons and

catches gave way and he tasted the ivory white skin just above her breasts.

She was making those feminine sounds that drove him to wildness, lifting herself to

him, her body pressed against him in an invitation to much more. Trev squeezed his eyes

shut. With an effort that was physical pain, he let go of her. He sat back to gain some

control, and then stood up and walked across the room.

He threw open the shutters. He would have liked to open the window and douse his

head under the roaring cascade off the roof, but all he did was lean his arm and forehead

against the glass, breathing deeply of the chill air.

When finally he regained some composure and turned, she was standing, holding the

gown up to her shoulder and trying to refasten it. Her hair had come down, cascading in a

wave of tangled copper to one side, giving her a tousled and bewildered look. She

glanced up at him, her face all warmed and softened by his kisses.

"Now I feel remarkably foolish," she said resent fully. She turned her face aside. The

firelight outlined the curve of her bared throat, and he thought perhaps he would die just

looking at her.

"Well, you appear remarkably desirable," he said. "Which is awkward, under the

circumstances."

Her lashes swept downward as her chin came up. "I must beg your pardon for

inconveniencing you," she retorted. "I didn't wish to… to succumb… to that sort of

thing."

"I fear you only make it worse by looking at me that way."

"What way?" She looked down at herself and up, tugging nervously to straighten her

skirts.

"As if you'd like to slap me and be kissed at the same time." He strolled over, made as

if he would pass by her, and then at the last moment caught her waist and leaned his face

into her throat. He brushed a light kiss over her skin. "Where can I find a mask?"

"A mask?" she repeated helplessly.

"I think it best if I don't remain here where we might… succumb, as you put it." He

nuzzled her ear. "Unless you'd prefer it?"

He felt her breasts rise and fall with unsteady breath. "Oh, that is brilliant," she said in a

voice that would have been sarcastic if it hadn't ended on a slightly cracked and upward

note. "So you intend to prowl about the house in a mask instead?"

"Take your choice,
mon amour."

"I'm not your love."

"You are," he murmured into her hair. "You always will be."

She swallowed. "I'm your friend merely."

"Is it so?" He drew her against him, opening his lips against her temple. "Callie. A mere

friend?"

A tremor went through her, but she was soft in his arms. "Don't," she said. "Oh don't."

He shouldn't, he knew. But her body pleaded in spite of her words. She wanted him—

he could feel her desire vibrate under every touch. She'd be in Sturgeon's arms; the vision

froze his heart, crushed what little remained of his tattered honor. His embrace tightened

as if he could hold on to her by strength alone. When she yielded and turned and lifted

her face, Trev was lost to it.

He took her to the bed in a swift move, pressing her backward until he tumbled her atop

the counterpane. He leaned over her, braced on his hands, looking down at her face. "I

want to see your stockings," he growled. "The plain white ones."

Her lips parted, as if to make a refusal, and then she blinked. Her puzzled look only

made her more adorable to him.

"Yes, I was driven demented in your closet." He bent down to kiss her. "I'm

passionately in love with your hosiery."

She twisted her ankles together. He could see that she tried to frown. Then she clutched

his shoulder, tilting her head back as he ran his fingers along her leg and under her garter.

She made a breathless sound and drew up her knee when he explored further, following

the smooth muscle of her thigh upward. Her petticoat fell back, revealing the curve of her

leg, the pale, pure white stocking and simple garter lit by firelight down to shadowed rosy

curls, half-glimpsed and half-imagined. For a moment she looked up at him like an

innocent, all fresh and maidenly with her shimmering red hair framing her face.

Then her lips curled and puckered. She began to giggle. "I'm keeping a gentleman in

my closet," she said and laughed aloud.

He gazed at her as the sounds of mirth bubbled up. Her body quivered. She pressed her

hand to her mouth, trying to suppress it, but the corners of her eyelids tilted up with

hilarity.

Trev bent down and put his lips beside her ear, feeling her laughter all the way through

him. "My little cabbage," he murmured, sliding his fingers into the warmth of her, "you

really aren't supposed to find it amusing when I do this to you."

She whimpered, arching to him. "Oh don't," she moaned. "It's not amusing."

He watched her with pleasure. There was nothing and no one in his life like Callie

when she giggled. "You don't want me to go about in a mask instead," he said innocently,

stroking his thumb over the place that made her shudder.

"No," she said breathlessly. "Oh!"

"You could pack me off to your closet, to a cruel sentence of nothing to do but moon

over your drawers," he offered.

She laughed and gasped, holding tight to him. "Trev! We shouldn't."

"Of course not," he said, bending to kiss her offered breast. "If you'll just release this

delicate grip on my arm—"

She showed no inclination to do so. When he moved atop her, her embrace welcomed

him. She smelled of warm skin and female desire, but it was her laughter that impelled

him. She was laughing as he kissed her, a sweet shaking deep inside. He pushed into it,

into her, a union that carried both of them beyond any doubt or words to pure and simple

joy.

Twenty-One

CALLIE HAD SLEPT LATE. VERY LATE. NORMALLY SHE was up by dawn to

bring Hubert his loaves of bread. His sad, complaining bellow could be heard faintly even

now through the closed shutters. She was still trying to sort through her hair to find the

displaced pins and make some sense of this à la mode fashion of Hermey's design when

Anne scratched at the door.

Callie blushed and kept her eyes strictly on the mirror at the dressing table as the maid

entered. She knew already that Trev had vacated her chambers while she slept, but she

seemed to breathe his scent on her and everywhere in the room. If Anne noticed, she

made no mention of it, but came quickly to Callie and began to tuck up the trailing

weight of her hair. "The countess wants you downstairs directly, my lady," she said.

"There's a caller for you, and my lady says you're to be at home to her."