"'Horse,' Maman," Trev said. "A horse of another color."
"A horse, then. What is this… scheme, mon chère?"
Trev paced to the window, looking out before he drew the curtains. Sturgeon's mount was still tied to the post. Jock and Barton seemed to have succeeded admirably in keeping the major and his minion at bay, but there was no saying when the reprieve would be over. Trev turned back to the darkened room. "We mean to get Hubert back to the colonel, yes? And I suggested that we pass him off as an imported animal and perhaps promote a contest as a diversionary course, which would do for a short time. Then-after it's been widely seen that she has no part in bringing him to the show, we'll have Lady Callista observe him there, 'recognize' him under the dye, and declare his true identity, with a suitable show of shock and dismay of course, at which time he can be handed over to his rightful owner, dye and all."
"Brilliant!" exclaimed his mother, overcoming a cough.
"Absurd!" Callie squeaked. "You mean for me to identify him? In front of everyone? I couldn't!"
"Why not? You'd only have to say the truth, that this is Hubert, and he's been dyed. You're in the clear. Let the others decide how he came to be that way. I'll make sure no one finds out."
"But-" She looked as if she might faint in her chair. "In front of everyone!"
"That would be best. It would make it convincing."
She gave a little moan, shaking her head. Trev couldn't help but smile as he watched her struggle with the idea. It appealed to him, this scheme, now that he had formed it in his mind-though he had the wit to keep some of the riskier details to himself until she was committed beyond recall. He resisted the urge to pull her up to him and kiss her into acquiescence, holding her cheeks between his hands and breathing his recklessness into her-a persuasion he'd used more than once in the past.
He would have kissed her now, but for his mother's presence. Not that it would shock his maman. Oh no-it was that she would be all too delighted.
"Come, you admitted to me that you've had no adventures lately," he said to Callie. "It'll be amusing."
She steepled her hands and pressed her fingertips to her chin, looking at him wide-eyed. In the dim light she was pretty and delicate, like a small white f lower peeking out from under the shade of showier plants. Trev felt such a rush of love that it was almost a pain in his chest and throat-he had to grip his bruised hand into a fist and drown the feeling in sharp physical hurt, mill it down like an opponent in a brutal match.
"A lark," he said with a smile and a shrug. "Like the old days."
"Oh, did you make larks with Lady Callista-in the old days?" his mother inquired, lifting her eyebrows.
"One or two," he said casually. "Long ago, Maman. Sometimes we took an outing. A-ah-a supplement to her lessons in French."
"That is alarming… news," she said, not appearing to be at all alarmed. "I must hope you did not lead my lady to… assist you in any of your regrettable… pranks."
"Regrettable! Come, do you call releasing a baboon amongst a crowd of spectators at a cockpit regrettable?"
"Trevelyan!" his mother said. "You didn't involve Lady Callista with… a cockpit, I pray!"
"I had no choice," he said gravely. "She was in charge of freeing the birds while everyone else was distracted."
Callie gave a stif led giggle behind her gloves. "Yes, I was, ma'am," she admitted, lowering her hands. "But no one noticed me, I assure you."
His mother looked at her with interest. "And what… became of the baboon?"
"Oh, Trevelyan made sure he was all right," Callie said. "They had been going to make the creature fight with a poor little monkey, but they both got away."
Trev chuckled. "A fine chase those two led us!"
"Oh yes. If not for that peculiar old gentleman you knew, no one would ever have caught them. But he was a marvelous handler of monkeys! It was quite astonishing, ma'am. He coaxed the baboon right down from a cottage roof!"
His mother nodded wisely. "How fortunate that my son… acquaints himself with marvelous… handlers of monkeys."
"Indeed it was, ma'am," Callie agreed. "But Trev was used to know all sorts of…" She trailed off suddenly, looking conscious.
"Riffraff?" his maman supplied in a helpful tone.
"The old fellow was perfectly respectable, I promise you." Trev gave Callie a wink. "For a gypsy, at any rate. I daresay they're dancing for coins to this day with him."
Callie smiled up at him warmly. He cleared his throat, having provided his maman with far more fodder for her impossible hopes than was prudent, and added regretfully, "But it's true, my lady-I suppose you could not consider such an unseemly trick now."
"Seigneur!" his mother chided. She leaned on the arm of her chair, looking less vigorous than she had a few moments earlier. But she said with staunch effort, "Lady Callista… is not… so poor-hearted… as that, I am sure."
Callie observed his mother with a worried expression. "But I am poor-hearted. Oh my. But I suppose…"
"It's in a humanitarian cause," Trev offered when she hesitated.
She glanced askance at him. "What humanitarian cause?"
"To save my skin."
"Ah," his mother said, breathing with difficulty. She was clearly losing strength. "I do hope you will… rescue his… shameless skin, my lady. As a particular favor… to me."
Callie sat still, an array of emotions passing in f leet succession across her face. Then she stood up. "Yes, ma'am. I'll do what I can. But will you give me permission to ring for the nurse and lie down now?"
The duchesse smiled feebly. "Yes, I think that might be… wise."
"I don't see how this can possibly succeed," Callie said, tossing more hay into Hubert's pile. She put down the pitchfork and dusted her gloves. "How is a drover to walk him to Hereford, out and about on the public roads where everyone can see?"
"You say he'll do anything for Bath buns?" Trev's voice came to her hollowly through the spaces between the boards in the loft.
She looked up, squinting against a little fall of straw. "I believe he would," she admitted. "Particularly if they're stuffed with white currants."
"Then I'll get him there."
She wished to argue, but now that she had agreed to this outlandish scheme he seemed to be exceptionally reticent about the particulars, a circumstance which only heightened her anxiety. "And when he arrives?" she asked. "What then?"
"That puts me in mind of something," he said, his disembodied voice still muff led. "Do you have a chamber bespoke in Hereford?"
"Yes. We always stay at the Green Dragon."
"Where is it?"
"It's just in the middle of Broad Street, where the show is held."
"Good. How many nights do you stay?" he asked.
"I'd intended to stay all three."
"And who goes with you?"
Callie hesitated and shrugged. "No one."
"No one?" He sounded surprised.
"My father and I used to go together every year." She ran her gloved hand over Hubert's poll, stroking him. "But no one else has very much interest in a cattle show. Lady Shelford doesn't like it, but she didn't forbid me. So… this is the first year I'll go alone."
The boards creaked. He came to the edge of the loft and knelt down. "You won't be alone," he said with a slight smile.
She lifted her lashes. In the dusky light of the stable, his rumpled neck cloth and open shirt points made him appear carelessly dashing, like a dark poet or some hero from a novel. She always felt as if she were living inside a story when she was with Trev, swept along on the excitement of some plot outside her own making.