She wet her lips. "Trev-" she said uncertainly. She looked up at him with a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach.
His faint smile vanished, and his jaw hardened. He gave a bitter laugh. "Please. Go on refusing to believe me. It's not something a man cares to admit, I assure you."
The words seemed to go past her, then spin in strange echoes round her head. "A hanging offense," she repeated slowly, hearing it as if from a great distance. She stared at him, every limb in her body going to water. If she had not been holding on to the bedpost, she would have slid to the f loor.
"It was not a pleasant experience," he said. "And so you see, I must depart." He gave a slight mechanical bow, a move full of suppressed violence.
"What happens if they discover you here?" she asked, hardly able to command her voice.
"They hang me," he said simply.
"Oh good God," she breathed. Her legs were failing her. "Oh dear God."
He stepped forward, supporting her. "Don't faint- Callie, my sweet life-oh no, please don't weep. Come here now. They haven't caught me yet."
She realized that tears had sprung to her eyes, but they were not of sorrow. She gave a sob of pure terror, clinging tightly to him as he pulled her into his arms. "You must go!" She gasped into his shoulder. "Why are you still here?"
He held her close, kissing her temple. "You can't guess?"
"Your mother!" She pulled back sharply. "Does your mother know?"
His mouth f lattened. "No. God grant she never will."
"Of course not." Callie turned from him, hugging herself. "No, she mustn't know." She turned back. "But you must f lee directly-they're all hunting you now as Malempré." Her head was a painful whirlwind. "Oh lord, the duchesse-what shall I say to her? I can't go back to Shelford and-"
"Hush, mon ange." He caught her again, more gently. "I've thought of all these things."
"You have?"
He nuzzled her temple, his breath soft on her skin. "Most of them."
"Where will you go? To Monceaux?"
He pulled her close. "It doesn't matter, if you aren't there."
Callie turned her face up. He gazed down at her for a moment and then kissed her roughly.
"Don't forget me," he whispered. He put her away from him. Callie held out her hands numbly. He caught them up and kissed them, and then without another word, he left her-not by the window, by the door, but she hurried to the window and stood there, looking out through the wavy glass with her heart beating hard until he appeared in the street below.
He crossed swiftly to the far side, his face muff led up again, only another drover among the working people cleaning up smashed preserves and setting pens and crates and tables to rights. At the corner he turned, looking back up at her. She put her palm to the glass.
He nodded once and vanished from her view.
Seventeen
MAJOR STURGEON STRODE VIGOROUSLY TOWARD THE Black Lion in the long shadows of evening, his collar turned up against the cold. Clearly he meant to keep his appointment with Colonel Davenport this time. As the cathedral bells rang out, echoing deeply across the roofs and down in the back lanes and alleys, the streets emptied, deserted by the fair crowds for the warmth of taverns and inns.
Trev straightened from the wall where he'd been loitering, hunched down in his ragged jacket, and stepped into the major's path, shouldering him hard. The officer grunted and recoiled, exclaiming at a damned stupid oaf, but before he could get far with this rebuke, Trev grabbed him by his gilded braids and shoved him into the alley.
Sturgeon caught on instantly-he turned, trying to reach his sword and shout, but Trev kneed him hard, doubling him over before he could draw steel. Trev had his own knife at the ready, and he let Sturgeon feel it, but the man was no fading f lower even with a knife at his ribs. He seized Trev's wrist and shoved the weapon away, throwing a short, hard punch at his face. Trev ducked, to take the hit on the top of his skull-a cheap boxer's trick that hurt like the devil but could break the officer's hand if Trev got lucky. He didn't stop to discover if it worked: he clubbed Sturgeon in the side of the head with an elbow, jammed his forearm against the officer's throat, and wrenched his knife hand free. With Sturgeon blocked up against the wall, Trev shook his head to loosen the scarf from his face.
"You!" The officer showed his teeth in a sneer, resisting Trev's grip until both their hands trembled with the strain.
"Aye, it's me," Trev said cordially, moving the knife downward. "Now shut up and listen, or I'll cut off your pretty baubles and have done with it."
Their huffs of frosted breath mingled in the fading light. Sturgeon made a wordless growl, his teeth bared, but Trev's arm across his windpipe and the knife at his groin appeared to be sufficient persuasion. He stood still.
"I've got some good advice for you, Sturgeon." Trev spoke through his teeth. "If the lady chooses to take you, you'll treat her right, do you follow me?"
For an instant, the officer just stared at him, breathing hoarsely against the pressure at his throat. Then a half degree of tension left his body, though he held himself stiff against the wall, well away from Trev's knife point. "Shelford's girl, do you mean?" He lifted his lip in derision. "Is that all? Damn, I thought you a common footpad."
"I could be," Trev said in a silken tone. "I could strip you and leave you bleeding in the street, and I may yet. But you'll give up your bobtails and keep your trousers closed, starting now. You won't shame her or hurt her; you'll treat her like a queen, do you comprehend me?" He pressed the knife closer.
Sturgeon tried to back up with a little scrabble against the brick. "Good Christ," he snarled. "What is it you have in for me? I caved to your bloody blackmail the first time, I broke it off with her- damned if I crawl for the likes of you again. I'll kill you first."
"Blackmail?" Trev held him hard, his eyes narrowed. "Somebody got the advantage of you, Sturgeon?"
"You know what I mean. What's your game? What do you want from me?" Sturgeon made a grunt as he tried to break free. "Take your blade away, fight me like a man." He gasped through Trev's constriction on his throat.
"This is how I fight." As Sturgeon's hand moved, reaching, searching for the knife, Trev kneed him again. The officer wheezed, well caught between his windmill and his waterpipe.
"Like a bloodsucking thief." Sturgeon's teeth were white in the shadows. "Blackmailer!"
"I never blackmailed you, you maggot," Trev hissed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lie like the two-faced French devil you are!" Sturgeon gasped for air. "I know you did it. You were there."
"Where? I was where?"
The officer held stiff, glaring at Trev over his arm, his lips compressed. "You were there. Who else but Hixson could have known?"
"Are you talking about Salamanca?" Trev asked in wonder. "Good God, is that it?"
Sturgeon didn't answer, but his look was answer enough.
Trev held him. "That courier's orders? Someone blackmailed you with it?"
"Oh, the innocence," Sturgeon sneered. "All these years I never realized it must be you, you turncoat worm, until I saw you with her! It's too bad I didn't have you shot the day Hixson brought you in."