She nodded.

"So you might have been—dear God—the Lady Callista Sturgeon?"

"Well," she admitted, "I did consider that."

"A mortifying thought. I'm not sure that we shouldn't let him live, for sparing you from this fate."

"No, he should be skewered," she said firmly.

"As you wish, ma'am. Will it be swords or a knife in the back? Or I could shoot him at dawn, if you like."

She considered this, pulling at the dried blossoms of a wildf lower as they passed. She shook her head and scattered the seeds, dusting her glove on her skirt. "No—no duels, if you please. I wouldn't wish to see you put yourself in danger on my behalf."

"It would be an honor to put myself in danger on your behalf," he said gallantly. "But I'm a fair shot, I promise you. In the—" He paused. He'd been about to say that he'd been promoted to tirailleur and assigned to a battalion of sharpshooters in the Grande Armée because of his accuracy. "In the vineyards at Monceaux," he revised, "I can shoot a cluster of grapes from their stem at a hundred paces."

"Indeed! I'm sure that endears you to Monsieur Buzot."

"Oh, he only dislikes it when I make him stand with a basket and catch them."

She laughed aloud, her smile crinkling at the edge of her lashes. "You and the evil Buzot are well suited, Monsieur," she said reprovingly.

They ought to be, Trev supposed, since he had made up the man's existence out of whole cloth. "But please don't mention it in public, Mademoiselle," he murmured. "I haven't sold my soul. Only mortgaged it, you understand, at a very reasonable rate of interest."

"I quite comprehend the fine distinction."

"It's my belief," he said, putting his hand over hers and walking on, "that you are in grave want of excite ment. Have you had one single adventure lately?"

"Hundreds, of course." She waved airily. "We are awash in adventures in Shelford. Only last week a goat climbed too high in Mr. Turner's chestnut tree, and I was called to talk it down."

"But I doubt you've climbed down from your window even once."

She hid again, looking down at the hem of her skirt. "I'm afraid I've left the acrobatics to the goats."

He kept his gaze on what he could see of her face, enjoying the play of emotion and denial at the corner of her lips. Callie showed everything in her mobile expression, which was why she kept it concealed so often, he suspected.

"Do you suppose you could still manage it?" he asked softly. "Perhaps I'll put you to the test one night."

"Trev," she said under her breath. "We are coming into town."

"Should I cover my face with a scarf?" he asked. "Or would you prefer a bag over your head?"