be a real Madame Malempre who he had met, but he appeared to believe that he had far more than a passing acquaintance with her.
He took her hand. 'Don't tell me you have truly forgotten me,' he murmured. 'The garden. The summerhouse. I know you might not recall my name, but-' He broke off, looking down. 'It was not so much to you as to me, perhaps.'
As the full import of his words sank in, Callie began to feel an upwelling of outrage. He not only knew this Madame Malempre, but it was becoming quite clear that he'd had some romantic encounter with her in a summerhouse. And it appeared that he would be quite willing to renew the acquaintance, in spite of the fact that he had been diligently courting Callie for the past week.
As the realization sank in, a new recklessness possessed her, the sort of feeling that she had not experienced in a very long time. Not since her last adventure with Trev, in fact, in which she had been obliged to steal a melon from a canvas bag and replace it with a large hedgehog. Instead of marching away, she allowed the major to take her gloved fingers to his lips.
He smiled over her hand. 'You have not forgot,' he whispered. 'Tell me it is so.'
From the corner of her eye, Callie could see that Charles had drawn closer. His bulk towered over the major's height. At a word, she thought, she could have Major Sturgeon deposited in a watering trough. The picture of it made her give a low laugh as she let him kiss her hand. 'Forget?' she asked noncommittally. 'What do you mean, Monsieur?'
He turned away from Charles, drawing her arm through his, leaning very close to her ear. 'Is it your husband?' he murmured. 'I didn't think he was a jealous man.'
Callie's heart beat faster. She found it difficult to believe that he did not recognize her from so close. But if he did, he was playing a very deep game. She should repulse him immediately, she was sure, but the desire to take some small revenge was growing.
'You must have a better knowledge of him than I, if you suppose that,' she said.
'But it's not very handsome of him to leave you alone at a dirty cattle fair, Madame.'
Callie instantly wanted to protest that the Hereford show maintained exceptionally high standards of cleanliness, but she suppressed her annoyance. 'He has the headache,' she said, allowing her fingers to play over his arm the way she had once seen Dolly do as she f lirted discreetly with a gentleman houseguest. 'Refresh my poor memory, Monsieur, if you please. I met you at the Waterloo picnic?'
His hand tightened on her a little. 'I see that I made scant impression on you. I'm humbled. But a lady of your loveliness must have many admirers.'
'You f latter me,' she said, putting a sultry note into her voice. She was pleased to encourage him to suppose himself forgettable. 'But there aren't so many. I'm very sorry-I cannot understand how I have not recalled you. The summerhouse…?' She let her words trail off suggestively.
'Perhaps you recall more than you wish to confess,' he said. There was a hint of bitterness in his words.
'La, if only you would give me some hint. Some detail that might prod my memory.'
'Are you angry with me, Sofie?' he asked huskily. Apparently it didn't suit him to believe any woman might not remember an encounter with him. 'You know I could make you no promises, nor return again.'
'Oh?' she asked with a dawning interest. 'Why not?'
'You do remember!' he exclaimed instantly. 'But then you know why, my love. How could I promise to come back, when I was to wed the moment I returned to England?'
'I see,' Callie said. She stopped. She could feel her cheeks growing hot under the veil. 'You were engaged to an English lady?'
He shrugged, walking on with her. 'Yes. I told you then, Sofie. I didn't hide it. I thought you understood.'
'So of course, you were in love.'
He gave a brusque snort. 'Nothing of the sort. In fact I didn't care for her-she's a chilly woman, with a dull wit and no beauty. What little time I had with you was precious, when I knew what I must go back to.'
Callie blinked. She bit her lip. With a sense of turning a knife in her own breast, she said, 'How sad for you, Monsieur. A man like you, to marry a plain woman.'
'Not a pleasant prospect, I admit. But fate inter vened, and I didn't marry her after all,' he said.
'Fate?' she inquired with an effort. 'Did you discover some prettier heiress?'
He took her hand, kissing it. 'Of course not. Do you think me a fortune hunter? She died before the wedding.'
Callie hid her gasp in a choked laugh. 'What a fortunate escape for you, then! And still you didn't return to me?'
'I could not, my love. I was posted to the West Indies.'
She stood frozen in sick amazement at his gall. After breaking off with her, he had wed Miss Ladd and gone to Norwich to have three children; he had not been posted to the West Indies. For a moment she could think of nothing to say. They had been strolling slowly, and the door of the Gerard lay only a few steps ahead. It seemed to her to be a portal of escape now, a place she could run away and hide. A furious part of her wanted to tear off her veil and reveal herself, but she could not be so rash in spite of the ugly lump in her throat. She had to be rid of him.
'It's a very affecting story, Monsieur,' she said, assuming a cold hauteur. 'I thank you for telling me, but still I don't recall anything of our meeting. I think perhaps you have confused me with another lady. Now I must leave you. Adieu.'
She detached her arm forcibly from his clasp, in spite of his quick objection, and glanced back toward Charles. The footman came forward with a determined look on his face. Callie felt a wave of relief as the big servant imposed himself between her and Major Sturgeon. Charles escorted her up the steps. She dared to glance back once and was alarmed to see that the major followed them right into the hotel. She hurried her pace, going directly to the staircase. Only when she reached the upper f loor did she pause, catching her breath. He hadn't the effrontery to pursue her that far, at least.
She looked at Charles. '
'Ma'am, I don't speak that Froggie talk, I'm sorry.' The footman bobbed his head apologetically.
'Oh.' It was a relief to slip back into her own language. She'd thought he must be one of Trev's French retinue. 'I'll be pleased to thank you in English, in that case! I'm very glad to be rid of him.'
'Was that officer swell taking liberties, then, ma'am? I weren't certain. I'd 'a made a dice box of his swallow, if ma'am just give me the office.'
His thick slang was almost as foreign to her as the French, but she understood his meaning. 'Yes, I'm sure you would have, but I didn't wish to make a scene.' She paused, not sure if she should speak openly of Trev's plans. 'Do you know my maid, Lilly?'
'Aye, ma'am.' He nodded toward the street. 'The little chick-a-biddy what's giving Monsieur's bruisers the chaffin' gammon up the tailor shop.'
She was entirely mystified by this description of Lilly's activities but decided not to inquire into it too deeply. 'Go down and tell her to wait for me at the dressmaker's,' she said, 'but she mustn't let the major see her. I'll stay here until he goes away, and then I'll be obliged to you if you'll take me to join her.'
'Now you just leave that officer nob to old Charlie, ma'am. We'll give him some proper pepper, me and Monsieur's lads. He'll bolt off right handy, or we'll dislodge some of his ivories for 'im.'
'Oh no. No, you must not start a fight-is that what you mean?'
He shrugged. 'Won't be much of a fight, ma'am,' he said with some regret. 'Not unless he's got a screw loose.'
'I don't want any sort of fight at all,' she said hastily.
'We'll just carry him out, then,' Charles offered.
'No no, nothing of that sort. We mustn't draw undue attention.'
The footman submitted to this, though he seemed disappointed. 'S'pec so, ma'am. It might blow the gaff, aye.'
Callie realized that under his powdered wig and formal coat, the muscular Charles was quite a 'bruiser' himself. Trev seemed in the habit of hiring very large menservants, for which she was rather grateful at the moment.
'I think it's best to wait quietly until he leaves,' she said. 'I'm sure he won't linger.' She only wanted be out of this disguise, to retreat into the safety of her own rooms to lick her wounds, but the chambers at the Gerard were at least a refuge for the moment. She was glad now that Trev was gone for the night, so that she wouldn't have to tell him of her encounter with the philandering major. Not, at least, until she had composed herself. 'Send word up to me when you're certain that he's gone away entirely. Make sure of it first. I don't dare to let him see me again.'
Fourteen
A FIRE BURNED GENTLY, WARMING THE ELEGANT PARLOR. The tea tray still stood waiting on the table set for two. If not for Major Sturgeon, she might have been sitting here cheerfully with Trev, celebrating the successful announcement of the Malempre Challenge. Instead she was feeling as if she had been soundly slapped. She took off the veil and sat down heavily.
She had not desired to marry the major, but with no other happy prospect before her, she had allowed herself to consider it as a practical possibility. A marriage of convenience merely, but at least she would have her own home. He was so eager to marry her fortune, she was sure that she could negotiate anything she pleased in terms of her livestock. She was not averse to a household with children in it. She had a talent with them, as she had a talent with animals.
Infidelity-she had assumed that she could tolerate that. It wasn't as if she hadn't known what sort of man he was already. If she had taken a moment to think it through, she wouldn't have been surprised to find him entangled with another woman again even as he courted her.
But knowing precisely what he thought of her, hearing it said so bluntly-she felt as if a miserable thick stone were lodged in her throat. He gave her pretty compliments to her face, while in fact he thought she was cold and plain and dull. And she was. It was the truth of it that made what he'd said so painful. She did not really care what Major Sturgeon thought of her, but he wasn't the only gentleman she knew who could tell a lie with convincing skill.
She sprang up, gripping her hands together as she paced to the fireplace and back again. A horrid notion began to possess her. It was mortifying to think of how much she must have revealed of herself to Trev. He meant to give her three days of happiness, in the best way that he could. Husband and wife, deep in love, a little pretense of what she longed to have.
How Lady Shelford and her friend would laugh at that! Dowdy Callie, wed to a man who might have a love affair with any woman he chose. And she would have to sit with her eyes fixed on the toes of her shoes and listen to the whispers about it. She would rather live in a ditch and eat worms.
