Through a gap in the screen, Ariella caught sight of Maxwell.
He stood facing away at first, jaw shadowed with stubble. Then something drew his gaze to the side. For a heartbeat, his eyes landed on the faint outline of her through the fabric of the screen.
His gaze darkened.
He looked away at once, as if burned.
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
“All done,” Mistress Kinnaird declared. “Ye may dress.”
Ariella hurried back into her gown, fingers clumsy at the laces. She emerged, hair slightly mussed, cheeks too warm, laughing with Mistress Kinnaird about lace.
“I do not need frills at every edge,” she said. “If ye put lace on the sleeves and the hem and the neckline, I will trip over myself trying to be dainty.”
“Ye would wear it well,” the modiste teased.
“I would spill stew on it in an hour,” Ariella replied.
Her laughter felt like it filled the shop. To her horror and secret delight, Maxwell’s lips curved.
He was smiling.
In public.
She gasped theatrically. “He smiles after all.”
His gaze snapped to hers, heat flashing there. “Careful,” he said in a low, warning tone that did very little to stop her heart from racing.
Her own grin only widened. “Should I be afraid?”
“Probably,” he said.
The way he said it made her toes curl in her boots.
They chose fabrics. Green wool. Soft brown. A pale cream for a lighter gown. Discussions of sleeves and hems and how many ribbons a grown woman could reasonably wear without looking like a maypole.
Through it all, Maxwell gave few words, but when Mistress Kinnaird pressed him, he gave quiet nods that somehow felt heavier than lavish praise.
Before they left, the modiste excused herself to fetch a book from the back room.
Ariella turned, fingertips trailing over the stack of chosen fabrics, heart light.
Then she heard Maxwell’s voice.
“Use the blue silk as well,” he said.
She froze.
Mistress Kinnaird paused in the doorway to the back. “The blue, me Laird?”
“Aye,” he said. “The one she touched first. Ye have her measurements. Make a gown from that. The cost is nay matter.”
Ariella’s heart lurched up into her throat.
He had noticed.
Heat flooded her chest, shimmering and fragile. No one had ever done that. Seen something she liked, watched her give it up without complaint, and quietly decided to give it to her anyway.
