"What's more," she added, "you talk a great deal of how you admire and… and… whatever it is that you say—"

"That I love you?" he interrupted.

"Well, that. Yes, you seem to say that." She became f lustered. "You have said that, several times. And that you would like to murder Major Sturgeon, and that sort of thing, which of course is quite nonsensical, and perhaps it is all nonsense." Callie stopped her pacing. She looked over at him where he stood beside the fire place. The hard expression had returned to his face.

"I think it is all nonsense, because it is only words," she ventured. She wet her lips and then blurted out: "Like your letters, and everything you've said before. Words, with nothing behind them."

She glanced toward him under her lashes. White lines had appeared at the corners of his mouth. For a long moment they stood in silence, but her heart was beating so hard that it seemed to fill her ears. She had never seen him look so forbidding.

"Because if…" she said, summoning all her nerve, "if you aren't already married, then…" She broke off, realizing with horror that she was as near as was prac tical to demanding that he propose to her instead. Her courage failed her, overcome by a miserable wave of shyness. "Of course I understand now," she continued hurriedly, trying to appear as if she had meant nothing of the sort, "your circumstances are—with what you've told me, it's quite plain—you have abundant reason for not seeking matrimony with any respectable lady."

"Any respectable lady such as yourself?" he asked in a smothered voice.

"Myself!" she said with a dismissive f lurry of her hands. Three gentlemen had assured Callie that they loved her, and then reexamined their characters and belatedly determined that they were not worthy of taking so bold a step as to actually escort her to the altar. He was going to say he wasn't worthy to marry her. She could feel it coming. "Oh no. I wasn't speaking of myself, of course. You wouldn't be offering for me!" She gave an unconvincing laugh. "I'm betrothed, am I not? I didn't mean that at all. I merely meant—some chance respectable lady."

He examined the coals in the fireplace. Callie examined the hem of her skirt.

"In fact," he said slowly, "you are correct. It was all nonsense. Merely words, with nothing behind them."

Since she had entered into the room, Callie's emotions had spun from fury and shame to astonish ment—and then a feeling that she could hardly put a name to, something rather like a fragile joy, but half-disbelieved, too tentative and tender to fully show itself. At these words, it snapped back into hiding like a frightened turtle.