To her despair, he turned with her, persisting in walking alongside. "And where do you stay in Hereford, Madame? I would be pleased to return your hospitality, if you and your husband would do me the honor of joining me for dinner."

"I must regret," she said. "Monsieur Malempré is resting."

"I am devastated." He sounded truly sorry. "I would wish to make some return of your kindness. I have never forgot that sunny day in your gardens."

"Have you not, Monsieur?" Callie walked quickly, but he kept pace.

"Madame." He put his hand on her elbow as she turned the corner. He seemed to have no qualms about touching her. "Never," he said intensely. "My God, how could I?"

She cast a look aside at him, startled by the fierce note in his voice. He stopped, holding her, and then let her go as if he realized what he was doing. Callie took advantage of that to turn away in the direction of the dressmaker's shop. She thought that surely he would not follow her that far. But he came with her, keeping up easily with his longer stride. She began to feel hunted, frightened that he had recognized her and was playing some sly game. For the whole distance of the street he walked alongside her, saying nothing.

As they approached the shop, she debated with herself furiously. He appeared determined to keep company with her in spite of any rudeness she could summon. She had intended to go into the shop to change and emerge as herself, but she was afraid now that he would even try to accompany her in, or linger outside. She did not dare to go in as Madame Malempré and come out as Lady Callista Taillefaire.

She slowed her steps as she neared the door. She saw Lilly lingering across the street. Trev's footman trailed at a respectful distance. Lilly stared a moment toward them with an uncertain look, then turned quickly away, giving a coy smile to a pair of large young fellows lounging in a tailor's door.

Callie paused. The dressmaker's shop was impos sible. He could see inside it. She nodded shortly and said, "I will leave you here, Monsieur. I must go to our hotel."

"Sofie!" he said under his breath. "Don't do this to me, I beg you!"

She stared at him through the veil. An astonishing suspicion came to her. He could not mean—surely he did not mean—it was shocking enough that there seemed to be a real Madame Malempré 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."