Laura Kinsale: Lessons in French

He did not reply. He looked down at her, his mouth grim below the black mask tied across his eyes. The first notes of a waltz drifted above the crowd of guests. He caught her about the waist and swept her into the dance.

"I thought you were going elsewhere," she said, blowing the plume from her face as they turned.

Still he did not speak. Resentment began to rise in her, that he would come back again. Again! How many times was she to be teased and mocked? If he said again that he loved her, and that he must go away, she would scream. Perversely, she suddenly wanted to keep her hard-gained victory on his behalf to herself.

"To the devil, in fact," she added, lifting her chin.

"Oh yes," he murmured. "And this time I'm taking you with me."

Callie glanced up at him, tripping a little. He held her up in balance, turning them both to the music. Through the mask, his eyes glinted. She was already f lushed from the dance, but these words caused her to lose her breath for an instant.

Her agitation increased as she noticed Major Sturgeon coming toward them across the f loor. Her fingers tightened on Trev's shoulder. He glanced over her head and then gave a smile that was most piratical under the mask.

"Oh dear," she whispered. "Don't make a scene."

The smile vanished. He gazed down at her steadily. "Is that what you want? No scenes?"

As they swung and whirled to the music, his arms held her firmly but lightly, like a question. Another turn, and Callie saw the major again. He had stopped to let another couple dance past. She was having trouble finding her breath. Dolly and Hermey and Sir Thomas were standing along the edge of the f loor, all looking toward her. Lord Sidmouth also watched, tall and grave, without a mask to hide his stern features and f lyaway hair. With each circle, she realized that the audience to her waltz was growing, speculative glances and whispers behind fans. Callie felt herself shrinking. She was what she had dreaded to be all her life: the center of attention.

The music began to sweep to a close. Major Sturgeon reached them just as the orchestra ceased to play and a gong started to toll midnight. It was the signal for everyone to unmask, but instead, when the bell fell silent there was a frozen stillness; everyone paused and turned to look at Callie and her partner.

"Unhand my betrothed," the major said, his voice low but carrying in the weird quietness of the ballroom.

Trev ignored him. Instead he stood looking down at Callie. She was aware of her costume all disordered, her mask askew from the dance and her feathers fallen down. She must appear a ridiculous figure. But Trev tilted his head a little, an inquiry. "Make your choice, my lady," he murmured.

Her fingers rested on his open palm. The answer was hers to make: he would let her go in a moment.

Callie took a deep breath, in hopes of preventing herself from swooning on the spot. She turned to Major Sturgeon. He wasn't even looking at her; he was glaring through his mask at Trev, reaching for the weapon at his side. He appeared to have forgot that it was a scimitar of pasteboard.

"I beg your pardon," she said. Her voice seemed to catch, but she cleared her throat and pushed her mask up above her face as he glanced at her. "I beg your pardon, Major," she said, so much more strongly that her voice made an echo in the hushed room.

He turned to her, making a slight bow of acknowl edgment. "My lady. I must ask you to allow me the honor of escorting you to the refreshments."

"Thank you," she said, "but I wish-"

"Pray consider what you say, ma'am," he said in a warning tone.

"Major-"

"Do you not see where we are?"

"Major, I-"

His face was turning red. "Do not speak!" he hissed under his breath, so viciously that she drew back a little.

Trev's hand closed over hers. He stood beside her, regarding Callie with a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth. Then through the eyehole of his mask, he positively winked at her.

She gathered herself, giving one look around her at all the staring faces.

"Major Sturgeon," she said in a level, carrying voice, "I'm sorry to say that after all we should not suit. My affections are previously engaged."

In the silence that met her words, she bit her lip and brushed the feather back out of her eyes. Major Sturgeon stared at her, his mouth a hard, set line.

Trev pulled his mask down from his face. A ripple of sound went about the ballroom, faint murmurs of surprise and wonder.

With a slight, ugly laugh, the major said, "As you will, then, madam. I wish you joy of your bargain." He gave a short bow and turned his back on them, striding away with the crowd parting before him.

Someone began to clap enthusiastically. It was Hermey. Her fiancé joined her. Another took it up. Callie blinked around her, realizing with bewilder ment that everyone was applauding. Trev grinned and took her hand, bending deeply to kiss it. Then he pulled her close to him, as if to kiss her cheek, but instead he whispered fiercely in her ear, "We must go. No farewells, I'm sorry."

She let him lead her-if not quite drag her-past Hermey and Dolly and the other clapping guests, who seemed to be taking it all as part of the entertain ment. Even Dolly was applauding with a rather wild enthusiasm. She gave a frenzied wave toward the conductor, and the orchestra started up again, so that Callie and Trev made a grand exit to the rising strains of an Austrian galop.

He still had her by the hand when they reached the archway to the stable range. There he stopped and pulled her into his arms and kissed her until Callie was in danger of losing not only her feathers but her wits.

"We'll have to steal a horse, I fear," he said, letting go. "You've cast in your lot with me now; I hope you won't shy away from a felony here and there."

Callie lifted her foot to worry at a piece of gravel that had found its way into her slipper as they'd run pell-mell across the drive. "Steal a horse? Why?" She hopped on one leg, holding onto him for balance.

"We're in a great hurry, ma mie. You'll have to become accustomed to it, at least until we're out of England. Sit down." He pushed her onto the mounting block and reached down to pull her slipper free, shaking it out. But he paused in his great hurry long enough to slide his hand up her ankle. He lifted her stockinged foot and kissed the arch of it. "I adore your petticoats and bells, my love, but this is the last time you show them in public."

Callie retrieved her shoe from him. "Let's steal my horse," she suggested.

He gave a nod, rising. "A good notion," he said approvingly. "Strictly speaking, it won't be a crime, eh?"

She followed him into the shadow of the stable yard. "Where are we going?" she asked curiously.

"We're for Liverpool and the Boston packet," he answered, keeping his voice low. "I'm sorry you had no time to say your good-byes, but you can write from there."

"Very true," she agreed. "Hubert will want to know where I've gone."

He pulled her close to him again, holding her tightly. "I'm sorry. We'll find someplace for your cattle-some land. There's a great deal of land in America."

"So I understand," she said in an equitable voice. "Let me have the groom harness my mare to the gig. I'll drive out and pick you up at the archway.

He gave her a squeeze. "Intrepid girl."

"Certainly," she said. "I collect we're eloping?"

"We are," he said. "Unless you'd prefer it to be a forcible seizure. I don't know when we'll find a proper parson."

"Kidnapped from a masquerade!" she said with relish. "After I jilted my betrothed in front of a great crowd of people. On behalf of the editors of The Lady's Spectator , I thank you."

He laughed and straightened her feather. "Bring out our escape vehicle, you notorious female"-he kissed her on both of her eyelids-"before the Home Secretary remembers where he saw me last."