She felt a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. She pressed her lips together to conquer the quiver and put down her cup. If only he would not look at her quite so, with that gleam in his dark eyes. It had always made her think foolish, outrageous things. "I should see if there are any eggs to be had for your supper. I believe Madame said there was a hen nesting under the rosebush when I called last month."

"No, I'm already a devil to keep you so long. It's far too late for you to be tangling among thorns and sulky chickens," he said. "Jacques will drive you home, and I'll lie awake and pine until you return. So do not tarry long, my lady."

Callie stood up. "You've had no supper."

"Not for the first time. I promise you won't find me expired of hunger, as long as you return promptly at sunrise. Or a little earlier, if you can manage it." He gave her a hopeful look. "Say, five or ten minutes from now?"

She shook her head slightly, trying to remind him of Lilly. It was impossible that he meant anything by such absurd things as he always said—she should know that well enough—but still she could feel her thought less heart f lame with long-silent memories. His carriage held the scent of him. Even after he had closed the door and stood away, after the driver had clucked to the horses and the carriage began to roll, in the dark interior of the vehicle she breathed a faint perception of his presence, a hint of sandalwood and polished leather.

Lilly sat up on the roof with Jacques, to direct the way to the gates of Shelford Hall. Inside, Callie ran her hand over the velvet seat of what was certainly an elegantly appointed traveling chaise. She could not see it well by moonlight, but she had discerned the coat of arms painted on the door. She would have thought Trev would drive a curricle, or even a cabriolet, something light and fast, but instead it was a great ponderous closed vehicle like her father's carriage.

A bit too much like her father's carriage. That ceremonial vehicle stood yet in the coach house, only used on Sundays and for funerals. Enclosed and dark and set a little away from the stables, as it had always been, left to quiet and seclusion each week after the wheels had been cleaned of mud and the seats brushed down.