It would have been gratifying to have the answer to this burning question, but confronting Sidmouth with a complaint about his pardon didn't seem the wisest course. He'd lived for a fortnight in Newgate under a sentence of death before any sort of pardon at all had come down; an experience he did not care to repeat. As a condemned felon, one got rapidly off the scaffold at the first opportunity and didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

He sat glumly in the dimming room, propped against the wall. He couldn't even pace, because the damned f loor creaked. He heard her take supper on a tray in her room and noted that she didn't invite him to join her. She was turned against him, looking forward to starting a family with Sturgeon, which was precisely what Trev had wanted, of course. He was perfectly delighted.

Boston was too close. It would have to be Shanghai.

They spent the evening hours in mutually ignoring one another while the incessant rain rumbled in the gutters. As it neared full dark, he finally opened the dressing room door, stood for a moment without precisely looking at her, and announced to the air in general that he was going to take supper with his mother. She bade him a chilly good evening from her seat by the fire, in a tone that suggested that he need not hurry back. Trev stalked to the window. He opened the inner shutters. Even in the dark, he could see that the rain was beating against the glass in sheets. If he raised it, the window seat—not to mention himself—would be deluged.

He closed the shutters again and turned round.

She appeared to be wholly occupied by the tatting

that was spread across her lap, moving a shuttle briskly in and out of some knotted lace with deep concentration. The firelight brought a rosy bloom to her cheek, a warm copper glint to her hair. She wore it in a stylish upswept bun today, instead of her usual neat braids, but her thick curls seemed inclined to revolt against the more fashionable style and drape gently down to the nape of her neck. He watched her for a moment.

"Shouldn't you thread some yarn in that needle?" he asked dryly. "I'd think it would make the work go more efficiently."

She threw the shuttle down in her lap and glared up at him. Trev tried not to smile, as she appeared to be in no mood to be amused at herself.

"I thought you were going to make a call on your mother," she said stiff ly.

"You'll observe that the weather is somewhat inclement."