Lessons in French (50 page)

"Pray consider what you say, ma'am," he said in a warning tone.

"Major—"

"Do you not see where we are?"

"Major, I—"

His face was turning red. "Do not speak!" he hissed under his breath, so viciously that

she drew back a little.

Trev's hand closed over hers. He stood beside her, regarding Callie with a faint quirk at

the corner of his mouth. Then through the eyehole of his mask, he positively winked at

her.

She gathered herself, giving one look around her at all the staring faces.

"Major Sturgeon," she said in a level, carrying voice, "I'm sorry to say that after all we

should not suit. My affections are previously engaged."

In the silence that met her words, she bit her lip and brushed the feather back out of her

eyes. Major Sturgeon stared at her, his mouth a hard, set line.

Trev pulled his mask down from his face. A ripple of sound went about the ballroom,

faint murmurs of surprise and wonder.

With a slight, ugly laugh, the major said, "As you will, then, madam. I wish you joy of

your bargain." He gave a short bow and turned his back on them, striding away with the

crowd parting before him.

Someone began to clap enthusiastically. It was Hermey. Her fiancé joined her. Another

took it up. Callie blinked around her, realizing with bewilderment that everyone was

applauding. Trev grinned and took her hand, bending deeply to kiss it. Then he pulled her

close to him, as if to kiss her cheek, but instead he whispered fiercely in her ear, "We

must go. No farewells, I'm sorry."

She let him lead her—if not quite drag her—past Hermey and Dolly and the other

clapping guests, who seemed to be taking it all as part of the entertainment. Even Dolly

was applauding with a rather wild enthusiasm. She gave a frenzied wave toward the

conductor, and the orchestra started up again, so that Callie and Trev made a grand exit to

the rising strains of an Austrian galop.

He still had her by the hand when they reached the archway to the stable range. There he

stopped and pulled her into his arms and kissed her until Callie was in danger of losing

not only her feathers but her wits.

"We'll have to steal a horse, I fear," he said, letting go. "You've cast in your lot with me

now; I hope you won't shy away from a felony here and there."

Callie lifted her foot to worry at a piece of gravel that had found its way into her slipper

as they'd run pell-mell across the drive. "Steal a horse? Why?" She hopped on one leg,

holding onto him for balance.

"We're in a great hurry, ma mie. You'll have to become accustomed to it, at least until

we're out of England. Sit down." He pushed her onto the mounting block and reached

down to pull her slipper free, shaking it out. But he paused in his great hurry long enough

to slide his hand up her ankle. He lifted her stockinged foot and kissed the arch of it. "I

adore your petticoats and bells, my love, but this is the last time you show them in

public."

Callie retrieved her shoe from him. "Let's steal my horse," she suggested.

He gave a nod, rising. "A good notion," he said approvingly. "Strictly speaking, it won't

be a crime, eh?"

She followed him into the shadow of the stable yard. "Where are we going?" she asked

curiously.

"We're for Liverpool and the Boston packet," he answered, keeping his voice low. "I'm

sorry you had no time to say your good-byes, but you can write from there."

"Very true," she agreed. "Hubert will want to know where I've gone."

He pulled her close to him again, holding her tightly. "I'm sorry. We'll find someplace

for your cattle—some land. There's a great deal of land in America."

"So I understand," she said in an equitable voice. "Let me have the groom harness my

mare to the gig. I'll drive out and pick you up at the archway.

He gave her a squeeze. "Intrepid girl."

"Certainly," she said. "I collect we're eloping?"

"We are," he said. "Unless you'd prefer it to be a forcible seizure. I don't know when

we'll find a proper parson."

"Kidnapped from a masquerade!" she said with relish. "After I jilted my betrothed in

front of a great crowd of people. On behalf of the editors of
The Lady's Spectator
, I thank

you."

He laughed and straightened her feather. "Bring out our escape vehicle, you notorious

female"—he kissed her on both of her eyelids—"before the Home Secretary remembers

where he saw me last."

A few minutes later, still feeling satisfactorily rosy from the slight delay due to the need

for further kisses in spite of the Home Secretary hot on their heels, she trotted her mare

out of the stable yard, leaving a startled groom behind her. Trev swung up from the

darkness and settled onto the seat beside her. He leaned over and kissed her again. He

would have taken the reins, but Callie retained them, feeling that he might not drive quite

straight while afflicted with this continued compulsion to kiss her. She f licked the whip

and asked her horse to break into a brisk canter, sending up a spray of gravel as they flew

down the drive.

While Trev lounged back on the seat, his arm about her shoulders in a most warming

manner, she allowed the mare to maintain this great pace as far as the gate lodge. There

she reined in, for the trees shadowed the road and the moonlight was not as bright. The

horse came to a halt before the closed gates. The lodge keeper stared up. "My lady, is it

you? But—begging your pardon—where are you driving out at this hour?"

Callie looked over at Trev. "America, did you say?"

He leaned across her. "Or Shanghai, if you prefer it," he countered.

"You needn't leave the gates unlocked in that case," she informed the bemused

gatekeeper as the gig rolled through. Outside, she turned the mare toward Shelford

village.

"We'd best take the north road from here," Trev said. Their mingled breath frosted in

the pale dark. "No need to go this direction."

"This is a short cut," Callie told him.

"Is it? Good. Damn, I'm a fool—I ought at least to have lifted a cloak for you on our

way out. I don't think it would be wise to stop in Bromyard, except to leave your mare.

But if you can endure it as far as Leominster, we'll take a chamber there. That's four teen

miles or so."

"I'm not in the least cold," she said truthfully. Not while he was holding her close in this

gratifying manner.

"You're a heroine," he said, kissing her neck. "Je t'adore."

She accepted this compliment calmly. "But pray, will you enlighten me… when last we

spoke, you wished you had never seen me again."

"I was out of my mind," he explained. "I entirely blame your stockings."

She cast him a sideways glance.

He withdrew his arm and put his hand across her wrists, causing the mare to come to a

walk. "Callie," he said, turning her face to him. His voice dropped harshly. "Do you

understand—you won't even have your own money? Your father made certain of that

long ago."

She felt much colder when he sat away from her. "Did he?"

"Aye, he was pleased to inform me that your trust was made ironclad to protect you

from fortune hunting scoundrels." In the moonlight she could see a derisive smile curl his

lips. "Taking myself as the pattern and type."

"He didn't yet know Major Sturgeon, I suppose."

"And we'll be living abroad," he said doggedly. "I can't bring you back to see your

sister or Shelford or England. And I don't keep respectable company. I've money enough,

but—"

"Are you trying to make me jilt you too?" she demanded.

"No, damn it all, but you ought to."

"Yes," she mused, "I should return to the masquerade and announce that I've changed

my mind and prefer after all not to be forcibly seized. Doubtless that would make heads

spin even on the editors of The
Lady's Spectator."

"I daresay they'd thank you for the increase in their circulation numbers, at any rate."

She clucked the mare to a trot. "I feel they've been given adequate stimulation. As for

me, I should like to break it off with you, of course, after having discovered these

dismaying facts, but it was such great fun to jilt Major Sturgeon that I daren't encourage

that sort of fickle behavior in myself."

He fell silent. The mare splashed through a puddle, and Callie allowed her to slow

again on the muddy track. "This is Dove Lane," he said, as if he had just noticed it.

"Yes, and I hope it will dry a little by morning," she said. "Lord Sidmouth intends to

pay a call on your mother tomorrow, if he isn't kept up too late at the masquerade."

Trev sat bolt upright. "Sidmouth?"

"The Home Secretary, you know."

"He intends to call…? Good God, has that Runner been to see him? Why the devil is

Sidmouth to call here?" Then he stopped and said in an appalled voice: "Did Emma

Fowler tell him I was here?"

"No, nothing of that sort," Callie said soothingly. "I mentioned to him that your mother

has been feeling ill and very low about you, and he thought that perhaps a visit from him

might raise her spirits."

"Are you mad?" They had halted at the garden gate in front of Dove House. Moonlight

shone dimly on the whitewashed fence and the silvery rose canes. "Callie, don't stop

here," he hissed. "She's asleep. She knows I can't come back. For the love of God, let us

go and be done with it. "

"I have something to say to her."

He closed his eyes and took a breath. "I won't prevent you," he muttered in a

constricted voice, "but we'd best be damned quick about it, if Sidmouth's in the way of

things."

She had been enjoying to the full her opportunity to serve him back some of his own

sauce, but seeing his anguish, Callie relented. "Perhaps I should tell you too," she said.

"Before we go all the way to America."

"Well?" he asked gruffly. "What is it? You prefer somewhere closer. Italy? I warn you

that it won't make much difference, except that perhaps you might be able to make a visit

on your own now and again."

"I really don't think we need leave England at all, unless you very much wish to do so."

He shook his head. "I knew you didn't truly under stand what it would mean to go with

me."

"I know you suppose I'm a f lat—"

"A pea-goose, damn it," he corrected. "Flat is a vulgar canting word."

She cocked an eye at him. "Perhaps you should teach me some cant, as we're not

planning to keep respectable company," she suggested.

"No," he said in smothered outrage.

"A pea-goose, then," she said mildly, "but as I was saying—since Lord Sidmouth

comes tomorrow to tell your mother that you're going to receive a full and unconditional

pardon, and I understand that the climate in Shanghai is not entirely salubrious, I was

thinking perhaps we could take a look at property in the neighborhood of Hereford

instead."

He took her hands. "Ma chérie," he said gently, "you must know it's not possible—
what

did you say?
"

"I said that Lord Sidmouth is going to give you a full and unconditional pardon."

He let go of her. There was a long and charged silence, with only the sound of the

mare's soft snorting breath and the creak of a wheel on the gig.

"He gave his word on it," she added, feeling a little uneasy now that she had pushed her

amusement to the limits of what any reasonable man might be expected to bear. "Because

the evidence of your innocence is now overwhelming."

"Now overwhelming?" he repeated blankly. "When did he discover this?"

"Only an hour ago, perhaps."

"Don't jest with me. It's not a topic I find amusing. And don't suppose you can hoax me,

either."

"It's not a hoax. I merely asked Mrs. Fowler several questions, and she wrote a sample

of her handwriting on a card, and—well, perhaps she wasn't aware that Sir Thomas and

the Home Secretary were witnessing what she said." She wriggled uncomfortably. "It

might have been a bit dark in the corners of the dry laundry, and so she didn't see them.

And you're right, Trev, I may be a pea-goose, but she's a… a veritable
saphead
. If you

could have read the letter she wrote to you! That folded-up one you wouldn't touch, and I

can't blame you for it. She's forged a second note of hand, and she wrote all about it to

you, saying that you had taken the blame for her before and in hopes you would help her

to escape England this time, and so you see, when the invitation ticket she wrote matched

the handwriting in the note—and Lord Sidmouth heard what she said—" Her voice

trailed off.

He was sitting beside her, his body very, very still.

"I hope you're not angry," she said. "She was allowed to f lee."

"Who arranged this?" he asked in a strange voice.

"Well, I suppose—one could say—that I arranged it," she admitted rather nervously. He

did not seem to be as glad as she had hoped he would be.

"When?"

"Just today. This evening."

"After I left you."

She nodded, though it was dark.

"A full pardon?" he asked again. "Unconditional?"

"Yes. Lord Sidmouth gave me his word."

"A full pardon?" he repeated and shook his head as if he found the very idea alarming.

"I think he has the power to arrange such matters."

"Oh, he does," Trev said harshly. "They sit at that table in council and decide life and