She indulged in a small reverie in which she piloted a rowboat, saving puppies and kittens and the occasional lamb from a raging f lood, ferrying them to warm safety while Trev and Major Sturgeon clung to trees, forced to await her aid, which she was in no hurry to provide. She finally got round to them, fighting wind and torrents in her oilskins, as she was stirring sugar into her second cup. Her headache receded as she treated herself to this fantasy. She disposed of Major Sturgeon in some vague but laudable manner and then found herself wrapped in a blanket with Trev, with water dripping from his hair onto his bared shoulders as he held her in his arms and kissed her fiercely…

She took a slow breath, dreaming. A sensation grew on her: a feeling of his presence, now that she brought the mute awareness to the forefront of her mind. A scent below perception, a still sound of life and breath—the things that the animals knew, and she knew too when she gave them the proper attention.

She looked up and saw the note placed on her pillow.

Abruptly she put the cup aside and strode to the bed. Don't be alarmed, the paper said, in familiar black strokes made from her own inkpot. It wasn't signed. It hardly needed to be. She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. The space was empty. Callie glanced toward her wardrobe, but that was far too full of the hopeful contributions Hermey had made to her growing trousseau. She looked toward the door to her dressing room.

Irrational pleasure and rational consternation warred for a moment. Rationality won out and was all the more enraged by the moment of foolish weakness. She stood up and snapped, "Show yourself this instant."

There was no reply. Callie glared at the door. She refused to go over and peer into it as if she were looking for a mouse that had escaped round the corner.

"If you don't come out, I shall scream," she threat ened, her voice taut.

After a long moment, Trev appeared in the doorway. He didn't move into the room, but put his hand against the frame and looked at her under a sullen lowering of his lashes. "You wouldn't scream," he murmured. "I've never heard you scream in all your life."

He was, of course, perfectly correct, but that gained him no prizes in her estimation. "I beg you will explain to me, sir, precisely what you're doing in my bedchamber."

"Raiding your jewelry casket, of course. I already have a Runner after me and a price on my head, why not actually commit a crime?"

"Oh, have you a price on your head too?" Her eyebrows arched. "I hadn't heard that much."

"Courtesy of Colonel Davenport. There are broad sides pasted up in town. Seven guineas for my capture."