He rejoined the ladies, sitting down to a conversa tion about the price of tea carried on largely by Mrs. Farr, with the occasional nod and "yes, ma'am," from Callie. She did not seem to be paying strict attention, for which Trev could hardly blame her.

"I don't care for your green teas," Mrs. Farr said decisively. "The half of them have been doctored with such abominable tricks that there's no saying what's in them. I won't have green tea in my house, I tell you."

"No, ma'am," Callie said. "Certainly not."

Mr. Rankin appeared at the parlor door with the officer behind him. "If you'll just take a seat beside the fire, sir." He ushered the new arrival into the room, accepting the man's hat and cloak. "The boy will see to your baggage. Will you be taking a refreshment? There's gingerbread just coming out of the oven."

"Cider will do," the officer said brief ly.

Callie suddenly sat up and threw a look toward the newcomer. Such a horrified expression came into her face that Trev almost reached out to support her as she blanched, but then she put down her teacup and bent her head toward her lap, hiding any glimpse of her face under the brim of her bonnet.

Mrs. Farr entered into a discourse on Congo, with a pekoe additive, versus a good Imperial. The officer glanced toward their table with the brief disinterest of a stranger obliged to share a public space—and then looked again. It was a penetrating look directed at Callie, at the nape of her neck, where those singular red curls were as recognizable in Shelford as any sign hanging outside a shop. Trev watched a play of emotion in the man's face—the instant of detection, followed by a tightening of his thin lips, a straightening of his shoulders. The officer turned away abruptly and sat down on the sofa.

Callie was hidden, but her breasts rose and fell with a rapid rhythm. Trev moved his leg, pressing it against her knee in silent support and question. She turned her face entirely away from the fire, staring toward the window as if she could escape by f lying through it. Her eyes were wide with alarm.

"But if you care for a black tea, duke," Mrs. Farr said, "you cannot go wrong with the Congo mix. Green gunpowder will kill you in a month."

"I'm sure it would kill you with one lucky shot, Mrs. Farr," Trev said. He looked at Callie. "Are you feeling quite well, Lady Callista? Would you like to go out into the air?"

She nodded, standing up, clutching at Trev's arm as he offered it. Behind her, the officer stood up at the same time.

"My lady," he said clearly.

Callie stood still, frozen like a deer at the sound of his voice.