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 aff licted 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 f lew 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 discov ered 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 oppor tunity 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 gruff ly. "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 death at their whim after every session. I don't doubt he has the power to arrange it. It's only that—" He stopped and scowled at her in the dim moonlight. "This puts a new complexion on matters."
She regarded him doubtfully. The night seemed to have grown colder. A faint shiver ran through her. She couldn't quite discern from the tone of his voice exactly what the new complexion on matters might be. He might wish to reconsider his position. He might even wish to reconsider marrying her at all. Now that he was a free man, he might want to find some other heiress, one who wouldn't have so readily agreed to accompany him to Shanghai. She bent her head, preparing herself to appear perfectly unconcerned if he should suddenly become unworthy to abduct her.
"For one thing," he said, "it means we don't have to drive fourteen miles to Leominster and arrive looking as if we took a wrong turn at the Barbary Coast."
"I rather like you as a pirate," she said shyly.
"I assure you, Mademoiselle, my feelings about you as a harem girl are beyond description," he informed her. "But I don't arrange a very good abduction, I'm afraid. In my haste to seize you and carry you off to the ends of the earth, I seem to have forgotten a few of the important articles. Such as baggage."
"It was a perfect abduction," she declared. "Pray do not carp about the details."
"No doubt the press will add such embellishments as are required to satisfy the public taste. And since I had already determined that my life is a vast wasteland without you, in spite of my best and repeated efforts to abscond like a worthless cad—"
"Usually through a window," she interposed.
"—and you appear to have agreed that you would accompany me to Shanghai if you must—"
"With the greatest happiness," she concurred.
"—I wonder if I might prevail upon you to forgo some of the minor particulars of this plan, such as driving all night to Leominster and sailing to Boston in the dead of winter, in favor of the simpler expedient of sleeping in a warm bed here at Dove House tonight?"
Callie tilted her head, considering. "Well, I'd been hoping for a Chinese adventure, but if you're so poor spirited as to want to forgo storm and shipwreck…"
"Shabby of me, I must admit, but there's the added advantage that I'll be able to debauch you thoroughly before sunrise," he pointed out.
She gave a contented sigh. "I daresay your mother will be shocked."
"I daresay she'll be purring like a hat in a cream pitcher," he said. "And I must warn you that if you continue to giggle in that provocative manner, I shall be forced to accost you right here on a carriage seat, in my customary French scoundrel style. Drive on to the stable, my sweet life, before The Lady's Spectator catches us in the open."
Epilogue
"IT'S TIME."
Trev started up from a deep sleep. His stockinged feet hit the f loor. For an instant he had no notion of where he was, only that this was important news and he had to react quickly. "I'm coming," he mumbled. "I'm here. Stay calm."
His fumbling hand found his shirt; he was pulling it on as he rose from the cot. He grabbed his boots in the dark and took a step toward the door, cracking his shin on the corner of an unexpected obstacle. "Stay calm," he muttered to himself, hopping on one foot. "Damn it."
"Hurry!" Callie's voice drifted to him. "Oh!" Her voice rose in pitch. "Oh my!"
Trev's heart was pounding. He drew a deep breath into his lungs. He remembered that he was in the cattle yard, not in his bedroom. Faint lamplight outlined the door of the tool room. He picked his way more carefully and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, dragging on one boot. Callie urged him again to come quickly, her voice echoing in the eaves.
"On my way!" he responded, rolling up his shirt sleeves and attempting to sound as if he were wide awake. He could just see the clay-paved corridor as he hobbled past the granary on the way to the cattle stalls, carrying one boot. Down the long row, she was standing with her stockman and a farm boy at the edge of the lamp glow, her palms pressed together and her eyes alight.
"Look!" she said, pointing toward a lush bed of straw.
Trev blew out a breath of relief. He'd been deputized to provide added manpower in case it was required, a task which The Complete Grazier had not made to sound inviting, but from her joyful expression he could see that all was well. As he reached the open stall, a large cow heaved herself to her feet, revealing a wet and unprepossessing bundle of calf in the straw. Trev appeared to have slept through the grittier details of the procedure, for the tiny beast was already licked clean and attempting to get its hind legs under it in a wobbly effort to rise.
"It's a bull calf," Callie whispered, leaning toward him. "Our first!"
"Congratulations," Trev said low, winking at her.
She took his arm and watched as the calf struggled to get its legs in order, collapsed, and tried again. This time he made it, standing with his feet splayed, trembling but upright, his damp tail f lapping from side to side.
"Oh, bravo! On the second try!" She cast a glowing look up at Trev. "I never tire of seeing this," she confided, resting against him in a gratifying manner that fully made up for his cracked shin and the fact that he still only had one boot on. "Look at his perfect mottling! He looks a great deal like Hubert, don't you think?"
"Exceedingly like," Trev agreed with a sage nod, privately considering that he had never seen anything that looked less like Hubert than this wobbly scrap of life that seemed to be all legs and eyes. As if to disagree with his assessment, the proud father favored them from somewhere in the distance with a prolonged, plaintive bellow.
"Is it that late? The sun must be coming up." Callie glanced over her shoulder. Hubert had removed with them to the new property at Hereford, a wedding gift from Colonel Davenport—which was damned decent of the man, Trev thought, considering that the bridegroom had punched him in the breadbox. She had accepted the gift with fervent gratitude and promised the colonel one of Hubert's offspring, but it was not to be this particular one, Trev surmised. She was leaning over and baby-talking to the calf, cooing and encouraging its first step like a new mother.
Trev might have been a bit jealous if it weren't for the fact that she made equally foolish babble over their own two-month-old son. Master Etienne Shelford d'Augustin had also been pronounced to be the perfect image of his father, so Trev could feel satisfied that he rated well up with Hubert on the paternal scale of things. Hubert, of course, got by with lying about in a pasture, having done his duty, eating and sleeping himself to another championship, while Trev was sitting up with Callie for late-night feedings, walking the halls with a crying infant, and applying himself to a new life of bonds and cent per cents and bank shares instead of sporting bets.
He had a family of his own. Etienne's program rather resembled Hubert's: eat and sleep, with the addition of periodic howling sessions. Trev had never realized that babies were so consistently raucous, but if that was the price of admission, he was more than willing to pay. He experienced some indescribable prickle of sensation across his skin every time he watched his wife and son together, sitting up late at night in the house he had bought for her, just the three of them together.
Assured that the new calf was up and nursing, Callie left her stockman with a lengthy set of instructions and then allowed Trev to escort her ba
ck to the house, kindly pointing out to him that he ought to put his boot on first. Faint light barely touched the horizon, outlining the heavy, strange shapes of ancient oaks. Trev carried a bucket of warm molasses mash, walking over the dewy grass beside her. They had been here only a six-month, but all the fences were in trim, and the hay fields ripening. Their house stood elegantly on level ground overlooking the River Wye: nothing so great and magnificent as Shelford Hall, but a pretty mansion, recently built, with six bedrooms, two drawing rooms, and a modern kitchen that had almost brought Cook to tears of delight.
Callie paused at the gate to felicitate Hubert on his accomplishment, covering him with compliments that would have made a debutante blush. Trev merely told him that he was a jolly good fellow and offered the mash. Hubert appeared to fully appreciate the gesture, tipping the bucket over with relish and consuming the treat off the grass with his great tongue.