"I've read Plato," he said, with a gratifying degree of defensiveness.

"In Greek?"

After that, they rode in silence until Daisy eventually dozed off. In her sleep, she searched for a comfortable pillow and found it on Alex's shoulder.

A stray lock of her hair flipped up in the breeze and grazed his lips. He let it play there for a while, brushing across his mouth and jaw. She smelled sweet and expensive, like wildflowers growing in the middle of a jewelry store.

She was right about last night. He'd acted like an ass. But the whole thing had taken him by surprise, and he didn't want any kind of public celebration of something he was trying his best to minimize. If he wasn't careful, she'd get it into her head to take this marriage seriously.

He didn't think he'd ever met a woman who was so much his opposite. She'd said he was like a robot, without any human feelings at all, but she was wrong. He had feelings, all right. Just not the ones she thought were important, the ones experience had taught him he was incapable of having.

Even though he told himself to keep his eyes on the road, he couldn't resist looking down at the small, slender body snuggled so warmly against him. She'd tucked one leg under the other, displaying the soft curve of her inner thigh, and his old T-shirt had lost the battle to keep her covered. His gaze fell on the meager strip of ice blue lace that passed between her legs. As the heat gathered in his groin, he looked away, angered by his self-inflicted torture. God, she was beautiful.

She was also silly and spoiled, vain beyond belief. He'd never seen a woman who could spend so much time looking into a mirror. But despite her faults, he had to admit that she wasn't quite the selfish, self-centered socialite he'd originally thought her to be. There was a sweetness about her that was as unexpected as it was disturbing because it made her so much more vulnerable than he wanted her to be.

As Daisy came out of the truck-stop rest room where she'd managed to bum a cigarette from a female driver, she saw that Alex was flirting with another waitress. Even though he'd made it plain that he had no intention of committing himself to their marriage, the sight depressed her. As she watched him nod at something the waitress said, she realized she had a perfectly good excuse to turn her back on the vows she'd taken. Between the awful scene with the wedding cake and what he'd said afterward, he'd made himself quite clear. He had no intention of upholding his vows, so why should she?

Because she had to. Her conscience wouldn't let her escape. Her conscience wouldn't let her escape.

She garnered her courage and, plastering a smile on her face, headed toward the orange vinyl booth. Neither the waitress nor Alex paid any attention to her as she slid into her seat. A name tag shaped like a teapot identified this particular woman as Tracy. She was overly made up but still undeniably attractive. And Alex was Mr. Charm, complete with a lazy grin and wandering eyes.

He finally pretended to notice her presence. "Back already, Sis?"

Sis!

He smiled, the glint of challenge in his eyes. "Tracy and I have been getting to know each other."

"I'm trying to talk your brother into hanging around for a while," Tracy said. "My shift ends in an hour."

Daisy knew if she didn't put a stop to this sort of thing right away, he'd think he could get away with it for the next six months. She reached over and patted the waitress's hand where she'd rested it on the edge of the table.

"You sweet, sweet girl. He's been so self-conscious around women since his medical problem was diagnosed. But I keep telling him-with the wonders of antibiotics, those pesky little sexually transmitted diseases are hardly a problem for anybody anymore."

Tracy's smile faltered. She stared at Daisy, then at Alex, and her tanned skin seemed to take on a faintly gray hue. "My boss gets mad if I talk to the customers too long. See ya." She hurried away from the table.

Alex's coffee cup clattered onto his saucer.

Daisy met his gaze dead on. "Don't mess with me, Alex. We took vows."

"I don't frigging believe this."

"You're a circumstanced man. And circumstanced men don't flirt with waitresses. Please try to remember that."

He yelled at her all the way back to the truck, throwing out words such as "immature," "grasping," and "conniving." Only after they were under way, did he finally give it a rest.

They had traveled in silence for less than a mile when she heard something that sounded very much like a chuckle, but when she looked over at him, she saw the same stern face and unsmiling mouth she'd seen from the beginning. Since she knew Alex Markov's dark Russian soul didn't possess more than a shred of a sense of humor, she decided she was mistaken.

By late afternoon, she was bleary with fatigue. Only by pressing herself to the limit had she been able to finish cleaning the trailer, shower, fix herself something to eat, and still make it to the red wagon on time to take over at the ticket window. The job would have lasted even longer if Alex hadn't cleaned up the wedding cake last night. Since she was the one who'd thrown it, his help had been unexpected.

It was Saturday, and she understood from overhearing brief snatches of conversation that the workmen were looking forward to getting their pay envelopes that night. Alex had told her that some of the workmen who handled the canvas and moved the equipment were alcoholics and drug addicts, since the circus's low wages and poor working conditions didn't attract the most stable employees. A few had been with the circus for years, simply because they didn't have anywhere else to go. Others were adventurers attracted by the romance of the circus, but they generally didn't last long.

Alex glanced up from the battered desk as she stepped into the trailer, and his mouth set in what she was beginning to believe was a perpetual scowl. "There's a discrepancy in yesterday's receipts."

She'd been exceptionally careful as she'd made change, and she was certain she hadn't made any mistakes. Coming around behind him, she gazed at the neatly printed figures. "Show me."

He pointed toward the paper lying on the desk. "I've checked the ticket numbers against the receipts, and you're short.

It took her only a moment to figure out what was wrong. "That discrepancy came from the complimentary tickets I gave out. There were only twelve or thirteen."

"Complimentary tickets?"

"The families were so poor, Alex."

"And you took it upon yourself to comp them?"

"I could hardly take their money."

"Yes, you could, Daisy. And from now on you will. In most towns the circus is sponsored by a local organization. They handle comps unless something special comes up, in which case I handle it. But you don't. Understand?"

"But-"

"Understand?"

She gave him a grudging nod.

"Good. If you think someone needs comping, you come to me, and I'll take care of it."

"All right."

He stood and frowned. "Sheba'll be back today, and she'll see that you get a costume for spec. When she's ready to fit you, I'll send someone to take over the ticket window."

"But I'm not a performer."

"This is the circus, angel face. Everybody's a performer."

Her curiosity had grown about the mysterious Sheba whose name made her husband's face cloud. "Brady said she was a famous trapeze artist."

"Sheba's the last of the Cardozas. Her family used to be to trapeze what the Wallendas are to high-wire acts."

"But she doesn't perform anymore?"

"She could. She's only thirty-nine, and she keeps herself in top shape. But she's no longer the best, so she retired."

"She obviously takes it seriously."

"Too seriously. Stay out of her way as much as you can." He walked to the door. "Remember what I told you about the cash box. Keep your eye on it."

"I remember."

With a brusque nod, he disappeared.

She handled the ticket sales for the first performance without difficulty. Things quieted down after the show was under way, and she sat down on the trailer step to enjoy the evening breeze.

Her gaze fell on the menagerie tent, and she remembered that Sinjun, the tiger, was inside. Today, while she'd been trying to scrub the worst of the stains from the carpet, she'd thought about him, maybe because thinking about the tiger was simpler than trying to sort out her troubled feelings about Alex. She felt a disturbing urge to take another look at the ferocious animal, but only from a safe distance.

A late-model Cadillac pulled into the lot accompanied by a rooster tail of dust. An exotic-looking woman with a mane of bright auburn hair stepped out. She wore a figure-hugging chartreuse tank top tucked into a printed sarong skirt that revealed long bare legs and a pair of jeweled sandals. Big gold hoops glimmered through her tousled hair, and a set of matching bangles decorated her slender wrists.

As the woman headed toward the entrance to the big top, Daisy caught a glimpse of her face: pale skin, sharp features, full lips emphasized with crimson lipstick. She had a proprietary air about her that set her apart from a casual visitor, and Daisy decided this could only be Bathsheba Quest.

A customer approached to buy tickets to the second show. Daisy chatted with him for a few minutes and by the time he left, Sheba had disappeared. When no one was at the window, she began reading through the contents of an accordion envelope stuffed with old newspaper clippings taken from a variety of local papers.

Alex's performances with the bullwhip were mentioned in several articles dated two years ago, but not again until last month. She knew that circuses rotated their acts from one show to another, and she wondered where he'd been performing when he wasn't traveling with Quest Brothers.

As the first show ended, one of the barkers appeared, a wizened-looking old man with a large mole on his cheek. "I'm Pete. Alex told me to take over for a while. You're supposed to go back to your trailer for a costume fitting."

Daisy thanked him and made her way to the trailer. As she entered, she was startled to see Sheba Quest standing at her sink washing up the dishes from the quick snacks Alex and Daisy had grabbed that afternoon.

"You don't have to do that."

Sheba turned and shrugged. "I don't like sitting around waiting."

Daisy felt doubly chastised: first for keeping a sloppy kitchen, then for tardiness. She wouldn't add to those sins by being inhospitable. "Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps a soft drink."

"No." The woman picked up a dish towel and dried her hands. "I'm Sheba Quest, but I guess you already know that."

On closer inspection, Daisy saw that the circus owner wore her makeup in brighter shades than Daisy would have chosen to use herself. Not that she looked gaudy. Instead, her colorful and somewhat provocative clothing, combined with her rather flamboyant accessories, simply made it apparent that her beauty standards had been influenced by a lifetime as a performer.

"I'm Daisy Devreaux. Or rather Daisy Markov. I haven't gotten used to the change."

Some profound emotion flickered across Sheba's face, a deep revulsion combined with a hostility that was almost palpable. Instantly, Daisy knew she had found no friend in Sheba Quest.

She forced herself to remain still under Sheba's cold scrutiny. "Alex likes to eat. You hardly have anything in the refrigerator."

"I know. I'm really not very well organized." She didn't have the courage to point out that Sheba shouldn't be snooping in her kitchen.

"He likes spaghetti and lasagna, and he loves Mexican food. But don't waste your time making him big desserts. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, except at breakfast."

"Thank you for telling me." Daisy felt slightly ill.

Sheba flicked her hand over the chipped counter. "This place is terrible. Alex started out with a newer trailer, but last week he got rid of it and picked up this one even though I offered to get him something better."

Daisy couldn't quite hide her dismay. Why had Alex insisted they live like this if they didn't have to? "I'm planning to fix it up," she said, although until that moment, the idea hadn't occurred to her.

"Most men want to bring their brides to someplace nice. I'm surprised Alex didn't take advantage of my offer."

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

Sheba surveyed Daisy's small figure. "You don't have any idea what you've gotten into with him, do you?"

Sheba seemed eager to prod her into a catfight, but since Daisy was fairly certain she'd come out the loser, she tilted her head toward the two costumes draped over the back of the chair. "Am I supposed to try those on?"

Sheba nodded.

Daisy picked up the top one and found that it made little more than a puddle of midnight blue spangles in her hand. "It seems awfully skimpy."

"That's the general idea. This is the circus. The audience expects to see a lot of skin."

"Does it have to be mine?"

"You're not fat. I don't see what the problem is."

"I'm not exactly a hard-body. I've never been very good about following an exercise program for more than a few minutes."

"You just have to learn some self-discipline."

"Yes, well, I've never been very good at that, either."

Sheba regarded her critically, obviously expecting Alex Markov's wife to display a little more backbone. But from having lived with her mother, Daisy knew not to engage in gamesmanship with a master player. Honesty was the only defense against experts at guile.

She went into the bathroom and removed her clothes down to her panties, but as she dressed in the scanty costume, she realized that the leg was cut so high they showed. She stripped them off and started all over.

With the costume finally in place, she looked at herself in the mirror and felt like a trollop. Two blue spangled scallops covered her breasts while a larger scallop covered her below. The body of the costume was made up of nothing more than a thin veil of tacky silver net. Sheba hadn't even included a pair of tights.

"I don't think I can wear this," she called out through the door.

"Let's see."

She stepped out. "It's a bit too-" Her words broke off as she saw Alex standing by the sink in his Cossack costume. She wanted to run back into the bathroom, and if Sheba hadn't been standing there she would have. Why did he have to show up now when she looked like this?

"Step out so we can see you," he said.

Daisy moved forward unwillingly. Sheba walked over to stand next to him, wordlessly uniting the two of them and making Daisy the outsider.

Alex said nothing, but the way he studied her made Daisy feel as exposed as if she were entirely naked.

"Turn around." Sheba ordered.

Daisy felt like a prostitute being put on display by the madam for a favorite customer. Although the mirror in the bathroom was too small for her to observe what she looked like from the back, she had a good idea what they were seeing: two round, bare cheeks with a small scallop camouflaging the place where they met. Her skin was flushed as she once again faced them.

"We're a family show," Alex said. "I don't like it."

Sheba walked toward her and began fussing with the bodice. "I suppose you're right. She's really not big enough to fill it out properly. It's gaping." Daisy felt the woman's hands on her neck. "Let's see if the other one works better."

Without warning, Sheba opened the costume and pushed it down, leaving Daisy naked from the waist up. With a startled exclamation, Daisy grabbed at the puddle of spangles and net that had tangled low on her belly, but her fingers were clumsy, and it was like trying to unravel vapor. Her gaze flew to Alex.