From her vantage point above, Callie could see the doors opened, but she caught only a limited sight of horns and dark shoulders as the ramp thundered hollowly under the hooves of something obviously huge. It was Hubert, without a doubt. She stood holding her breath to see how he would accept the pen and tarps. But whoever handled him seemed to have him in control, no doubt aided by a number of Bath buns. The hanging tarps shook and shivered, waves passing over the coat of arms. Then they settled, showing only the pokes of elbows and occasional tug to keep the corners firmly closed.

Behind her, at a scratch on the door, Lilly entered with a bandbox on her arm. "You're desired to go to the dressmaker's shop in High Town, my lady," she said with a slight curtsy, her eyes dancing. "And here is a new bonnet for you to wear after you go there."

Lilly was clearly privy to a good deal more of the scheme than Callie yet knew, but the maid pressed her lips together and became provokingly mute about anything she had not been instructed to impart. Trev's charm had taken full effect on "Miss Lilly." Callie had already discovered that there was little hope of prying more out of her than she was willing to say.

Drawing a deep breath to fortify herself, Callie allowed the maid to help her with her cloak. Trev's plan was in full motion, and like someone caught in a rising f lood, she would be swimming as fast as she could to keep her head above water now.

The dress was a deep gentian blue, with a high-waisted satin ribbon over a corset that cupped and prominently lifted Callie's breasts. From the puffy f lounces at her shoulders, the neckline swept so low, she hardly dared look down. This expanse of her skin was covered, in a hypothetical sort of way, by a wisp of gauzy white scarf that seemed to want to work its way free with every move. Callie feared that this was no more than a false hope for modesty.

"Magnifique!" the dressmaker kept muttering to herself as she pinned and tucked and then placed the hat on Callie's head. She drew the sweeping front of the brim down over Callie's eyes and f luffed out the glittery blue veil that covered her face and the mass of red hair that was displayed behind. When Callie looked in the mirror through the veil, she saw a figure of mysterious fashion, slender and formidably stylish, perfectly dressed from the tight blue sleeves to the raking plume of the pale ostrich feather in her hat. "Magnifique!" The modiste congratu lated herself again. "Vous l'aimez, madame?"

Callie could hardly breathe in the tight corset. She swallowed and gave a slight nod. Indeed, it was impos sible to say she didn't like the dress-since she didn't even recognize the lady she saw in the mirror, she could only agree that it was a splendid costume. The modiste laid a soft cream-colored cashmere shawl over her shoulders, and Callie pulled it round herself, trying to hold it over her exposed breasts. But the dressmaker would have none of that.

"Non, non, madame," she said in French, fussing with the shawl. "You will allow the drape, eh? There. Perfect. If you will be so good…?" She gave a curtsy and opened her hand toward the door.

Callie had been informed by Lilly that she was now a Belgian lady of some wealth, who spoke both French and English, but she was to prefer French. Since Callie's French was only as polished as her ancient weekly lessons with Madame de Monceaux-and Trev's long-ago tutorials of quite another sort-she said nothing at all but did a great deal of nodding and murmuring wordlessly.

She emerged from the fitting room, looking about for Lilly. But the maid had vanished from the shop. Instead, against the light from the window, a tall figure turned toward her. Trev held his hat and a polished walking stick together in one gloved hand, looking extremely handsome and utterly continental. He smiled as he took her hand to his lips, raising his brows in a glance of pure masculine appreciation.

Callie felt the color rush up into her cheeks. She lowered her face quickly, but he lifted her chin on his fingers. "Magnifique, I must agree," he said softly. He also used French, which only reminded her more strongly of those long-ago days of ardent secrets between them. "Hold your head up, ma chérie. You're beautiful."

She raised her chin. She wasn't, of course, but she supposed that behind a dark veil she could play the part. As he stood close to her, he bent his head and let his lips drift over hers, with the gauze between them, while the dressmaker made little clucks of approving delight. Callie's heart felt as if it were beating too fast for her to breathe.

He took her arm and nodded to the modiste as he escorted Callie from the shop. Once on the street, she said, "Am I meant to be your… your-" She could not quite put into words the scandalous role it seemed she was to play.

"You are my wife, and I am so much in love with you that I can't keep my eyes away," he said, still insisting on French. "Do you object?"

She really felt quite unable to reply. She managed to shake her head and give a small shrug.

"We're come over from a small corner of Belgium near Luxembourg. You need not say much, as you have little English. Are you comfortable in the French?"

"I will do my best." Her spoken French was only fair, she felt, but she could understand it quite well after years of listening to Madame de Monceaux and her late daughter.

"Good," he said, as they strolled leisurely along. "I think it's safest. I wouldn't suppose too many of your stockmen and farmers would understand us."

"No," Callie agreed. "But of course the gentry will. And I'm afraid Colonel Davenport will know you by your face."

"I'll take care to avoid Colonel Davenport," he assured her. He paused to allow a carriage to go by, the sleek team of matched bays swinging in under the sign of Gerard's Hotel. "I've taken rooms here in the High Town. You'll be with me most of the day while the show is on, but from time to time we'll see that you make an appearance as yourself with your cattle. And at night, of course, you'll go back to the Green Dragon with Lilly."

This plan sounded both extremely alarming and enormously attractive at the same time. She was not at all looking forward to impersonating a Belgian lady, but the thought of three entire days in Trev's company, cast in the role of his adored wife, was… impossibly wonderful, to put a point on it.

"We are newly wed," he said, as he touched her waist, guiding her up the marble steps of Gerard's. "That will excuse a good deal."

Callie glanced through her veil at the footman who held the door, trying to swallow her agitation. Gerard's was one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, but Callie had never stayed there. She and her father had preferred the shabbier comfort of the Green Dragon, where they were close to the fair and sales.

Seeing the world through the gauze made it all the more like a dream. She was with Trev. They were going to his rooms. They would be alone together there, while everyone outside thought they were newlyweds. She lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs, preceding him into the chamber. The door closed behind them.

Callie stood looking at the gilded curves of the French chairs and reclining sofas, the draperies held back by golden tassels. It might have been any smart drawing room in Mayfair, with a silver tea tray and paper-thin slices of cake laid out on china and crisp linen. Lady Shelford would have felt quite at home at Gerard's, but Callie felt anxious, as if at any moment she might be called upon to make conversation at some tonnish party.

Trev tossed his hat and stick aside. He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and pulled the veil free. She blinked and tried to smile, to show that she was primed for this adventure. He looked down at her a moment, his head tilted quizzically. Then he drew her close and kissed her.