All her uneasiness vanished in an instant, lost in the wonder of his touch. She let her head yield back under the searching kiss, the taste of him. She knew this-he had taught her. She lifted her arms in answer, clinging to him in spite of herself, or because of herself, because she wanted to feel him close to her so badly, and time was so short.

"Callie," he breathed against her skin. He held her cheeks between his palms. "Callie." He kissed her again. "I do look forward to this."

She gathered her wits enough to pull back a little. "You don't-I mean-we needn't pretend here, you know."

He laughed under his breath. "And decline the opportunity?" He held his hands at her waist and rocked her. "I have you in my evil clutches now, my lady. You may consider yourself lured to your doom."

It was only too true that he had her in his power. She seemed helpless to say or think a sensible thing. A part of her was looking on, warning her of peril in her father's troubled voice, but the most of her was simply full of joy at being here, at touching him, at being free to look up and return his smile without fear that anyone might notice.

It was only three days. It was a lark. Whatever Trev was-wild and a rogue and a teller of lies and tales-he had never abandoned her or allowed her to be hurt on one of their adventures. He'd always played the mother hen, constantly making certain she was safe and warning her of jeopardy, insisting that she remain in the background, so that it was all rather like a game in which she participated from within a cradle of his protection.

They were friends. There was nothing more to it, of course. Merely very dear friends.

But she had three days to live in the one daydream she had never dared to indulge.

She felt the corners of her lips turn upward. She lifted her face and forgot herself, put aside the thought that she was a wallf lower and a spinster lady of advancing years, forgot she wasn't beautiful, forgot anything but that she was standing in Trev's arms and he was holding her tight and close as he bent to taste her lips again. He slid his hands up the curve of her waist, taking her face between his palms. With slow deliberation, he kissed the corner of her mouth, and then her chin, and her nose, and her temple. Then he stood back and looked down at her.

Callie met his eyes. They both smiled at once, as if it were a conspiracy between them.

She pressed her palms together and held them over her mouth in excitement. She giggled. "Oh my!" she said in a muff led voice.

Trev's smile turned into a grin. His dark lashes lowered. "Do you know," he said, "when you smile at me that way, I'd like to…" He broke off his sentence and cleared his throat. "Well. Slay dragons, or some thing along that line."

"Mere dragons?" she inquired. "I was hoping it would be giant squids."

"Take care, wicked Callie, or I shall stop hedging and tell you what I'd like to do in fact."

"Is it something very wicked?" she asked expectantly.

"Very," he murmured, pulling her close at the waist. "You know I have a particular talent for that."

She moved her hips in a daring way and had the pleasure of seeing him close his eyes and draw in his breath. It felt a bold thing to do, but not entirely unfamiliar to her. And the look on his face was reward enough; he had that dreamy, hot expression, his lips parting in a slight smile. Callie put her arms around his neck, above the high collar of his coat. "Will you show me?" she whispered.

He gave a low groan. "Ah, a little, perhaps." His fingers toyed with the single button that held the upswept folds of the dress at her back. "Maybe just a little."

That was a familiar thing too. He had said it before-just a kiss, just a touch, he always said-like a promise between them that they could never keep. Each time it had gone a bit further, a little more dangerous, until that moment in her father's carriage that halted everything for good.

Callie held her breath as he worked the button. One layer at a time, her dress loosened. His fingers slid down into the open seam. Her father wasn't here now. There was no one to interfere, nothing to hold back the cascade of sensation as the gauze slipped and the dress fell from her shoulder. She tilted her head aside as he kissed the curve of her throat and pulled her hips up against him.

With a light direction, he urged her toward a chaise longue and drew her down with him. He didn't look at her; he kissed her shoulder while he unfastened the dress and pulled at all the pins that the modiste had so lovingly inserted to set her hat.

The headpiece swept to the f loor, along with the gauzy veil and shawl. He pressed her back down on the sofa, both of them breathing quickly. Callie held on to his lapels. As she laid her head back, she moved her hands inside his coat, feeling the solid shape of his chest under a satin waistcoat.

He made a fervent sound and sat back a little, yanking his waistcoat open and his shirt free, so that she could spread her palms against his bare skin. He closed his eyes as she stroked her hands up and down. His chest rose and fell under her touch. He swore roughly under his breath. When she ran her fingers along the edge of his trousers, slipping them between the fabric and his skin, he opened his eyes, putting his hand over hers, stilling her.

Callie gave him a naughty look. She knew-she remembered what he liked, what he had taught her, though she had hidden it away in the darkest corners of her recollections until now. It was something she had only allowed herself to remember in the deepest black of night, alone in her bed, dreaming.

He growled and leaned over her, brushing her chemise down off her shoulder, pulling it down until she felt her breasts exposed, pressed upward as they were by the corset. He bent his head, kissing and licking at the edge of the stiff garment until he teased her nipple free.

Callie gasped and clutched at him as the sensation shot through her. His tongue on her was hot and sweet, tugging gently, then harder as she arched up to him. She heard small sounds of delight working in her own throat, impossible to smother.

She lost herself in it, this stolen moment. It was bliss. Everything around her was him: his weight on her and his hair brushing her chin, his skin warm beneath her hands. All modesty deserted her, discarded as freely as her hat had been tossed to the f loor. She spread her legs and pressed her body up to his. The air seemed to leave her lungs. Waves of sensation made her breasts seem to swell and rise to the delicious pull.

When he broke away, she could hardly gather her wits and recall who and where she was. He turned from her, sitting up and leaning back against the wall, staring at the tea table. He released a deep exhalation and closed his eyes. "I think-we had best stop there," he said.

"Oh," she said, vastly disappointed. "Gooseberries."

He laughed, turning to lean down to her again, his face close to hers. "I want you far too much," he said. "Miss Gooseberry."

Her eyes widened. "You do?"

"Oh no, I'm just about to have an apoplexy, that's all."

"An apoplexy!" She stuck out the tip of her tongue at him. "I suppose we don't want that."

"No indeed. Where would Hubert be if I fell dead on the f loor?"

"I expect I should have to call in Major Sturgeon," she said airily.

He nipped her shoulder hard enough to make her yelp. Then he nuzzled her throat. "That pompous f latfish? What would you want with him?"

Callie giggled. "If you must know, he said he would do anything for me," she informed him in an arch voice.

Trev drew back a little. "He did, did he? And just when did he make this satisfying offer?"

"He has called several times," she said. "He was most obliging."

She expected that Trev would laugh, but his face changed subtly, grew cooler. "Several times!" he said. "I suppose one can guess what his object is." He pushed away from her, leaning on one elbow, his back propped against the wall. "Has he proposed to you yet?"