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."