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I hazarded a guess. "Sixteen? No, seventeen by now."

"Seventeen." He blew out his breath. "That'll set Jehanne's teeth on edge, bear-witch or no." He lifted a length of my hair in one hand, letting it spill over his fingers. "Fine and glossy and healthy. Has it ever been cut?"

I shook my head.

"We'll trim the ends and celebrate its abundance." Benoit took a step backward. "Strip."

"Strip?" I echoed.

He grimaced, his face saturnine and mobile. "How else do you expect me to appraise you?" I stripped. "Ah." Benoit Vallon nodded in approval. "You've collarbones to die for, my dear."

"I do?" I looked down at myself.

"Oh, yes." He traced them with an impersonal touch. "This hollow? And this? Exquisite. Beauty and allure don't always lie in the obvious. Any tuppenny tailor can stitch together a gown to showcase your breasts. It takes an artist to see and highlight the body's more subtle charms." He twirled one finger in the air. "Turn for me."

I rotated obediently.

Benoit studied me with hooded eyes. "Slender and supple… I daresay you've led a more active life than most peers, eh?"

"I daresay," I agreed. "Messire Vallon, why did you suggest that Raphael's been hiding me?"

"Mmm." He turned away to rummage in his bag. "Quite apart from the fact that he swore me to secrecy about this visit? And like a fool, I agreed to it. Stand still, I'm going to take your measurements."

I stood without moving while he measured every part of me with a cloth tape. "He's only being discreet for my sake."

"Discreet!" Benoit snorted. "All it took was one witness, child. The entire City of Elua knows that Raphael de Mereliot's carriage struck a young woman in the street, and that he whisked her away to his town-house, where he's been hiding her ever since." He jotted some numbers on a piece of paper. "And he's being almighty close-mouthed about it, and it's piqued the Queen's curiosity somewhat fierce." He lifted my left arm and made one final measurement. "Is it true he turned her away yesterday evening?"

"I wouldn't know," I murmured.

"You may put your clothes on." He put away the measuring tape and pulled a case of colored sticks from his bag. "Very good. Now sit for me; I'm going to capture your palette."

I perched on the footstool, my chin in my hands, while Benoit rubbed his colored sticks on the paper.

"See here." He showed me. "Black for your hair, and this warm gold is your skin tone. A shocking jolt of green for the eyes. This will help me choose fabrics that will flatter your coloring. Autumnal hues will suit you best—bronzes, coppers, russets, and greens. Stay away from bright, vivid colors. If you must wear color, favor deep jewel tones. Never wear stark white; wear ivory instead. Do you understand?"

"I do," I said.

Benoit wasn't finished. "Now, selecting fabric will be of paramount importance, because I plan to keep my design simple." He gestured at me. "We want to play up that fascinating contrast."

I glanced down at myself again. "Oh?"

"You've got good bones," he said impatiently. "Very elegant lines. At the same time, there's somewhat… oh, a bit savage about your face. Wild and exotic. It's a face one might expect to see peering out of an enchanted forest."

"I see."

He gave me a doubtful look. "I'm not so sure of that. But I do, and that's what's important. Let me see your hands." He took them in his, examined them, and clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Name of Elua! What have you been doing?"

"Living," I said dryly.

"Your nails are a disgrace and you have calluses." Benoit uttered the word as though it disgusted him. He took a deep breath. "Don't worry. We'll have someone tend to your nails before you're seen in public. And I'll have a cream sent over. You're to slather your hands every night and sleep in cotton gloves."

I made a face. "Is that really necessary?"

"If it's your intention to be presented at Court without becoming a laughingstock, yes." Benoit Vallon gave me a shrewd look. "Is it?"

I shrugged.