Ensconced in the chair nearest a window, Isabella completed the last small stitches in a seam before knotting the thread. When she shook out the garment, she stood and held it up in front of her body.
She wished there was a looking glass large enough to reflect the entirety of the sapphire silk ballgown. Madame Laurent’s design was exquisite, the choice of fabric perfect for an aristocratic lady. Both puffy sleeves were finished, their gathers evenly spaced where they met the long cuffs, and were ready to be sewn onto the gown’s armholes. If the light held, she might finish it this afternoon.
She was about to pin the sleeves to the gown when a knock at the door had her giving a start. Before she had a thought she should hang the gown on a peg, she hurried to the door. She used her slippered foot to coax a rolled rug into place a few inches from the bottom of the wood panel. Should whoever was on the other side attempt to force it open, the rug would prevent the door from swinging open more than a few inches.
Opening the door until it hit the rug, she peeked out the thin opening. She blinked and inhaled sharply.
Isabella wasn’t sure why her first thought was to shut the door.
Daniel Sinclair was here. In her building. At her door. Looking every bit as handsome and—dare she think it?—kissable—as the day she had interrupted his work and kissed him.
“Hello, Daniel.” She sighed, immediately understanding why he was there. “You must have received my note of apology.”
Before she could think of what else to say, Daniel nervously glanced both left and right before saying, “I did. Either you must come out here, or you must invite me in there.” His words were said in a quiet voice. “We need to talk.”
Recovering from her moment of shock, Isabella stepped back and remembered too late she still held the ball gown in front of her body.
“That’s a rather gorgeous gown,” he whispered, ducking his head from side to side so he could see all of it despite the small opening.
“Thank you. I made it,” she said, before hanging it on a nearby peg. “Well, most of it. The pieces were already cut out. I’ve just had to stitch it together.”
“Is it for you? Or?—?”
“A client,” she replied, wondering at the awe she heard in his voice. “A judge’s wife. One of the modistes here in town has hired me to sew for her,” she added, grabbing her shawl and reticule from another peg next to the door. “Although I’m not afraid of you coming in—for myself or for my reputation—I fear for yours should anyone see you,” she said, pushing the rolled rug out of the way so she could open the door wider. She stepped out and turned around to lock the door, a metal key held in one hand.
“It’s a bit too late for that,” he said, offering his arm when she was beside him.
She glanced up, her eyes rounding. “Oh, dear. What’s happened?”
Of course she hadn’t considered the ramifications of being seen kissing him at his place of business, because truth be told, she hadn’t intended to kiss him on the lips.
She had thought to only kiss him on the cheek. A kiss of friendship, much like how the French greeted one another.
Instructing his secretary to share the news of what he was about to witness ensured others would learn of it, but she hadn’t planned to kiss Daniel the way she had. It had just...happened. She had merely wished others to learn of her call on him. Some would assume she was securing his services as an architect while others would think there was more to it and probably tease Daniel. Prod him a bit. Encourage him to consider marriage.
It wasn’t supposed to lead to widespread gossip or a stain on his good name.
Daniel led her down the corridor to the stairs. “I seem to have acquired a reputation as a rake,” he said. “Through no fault of my own.”
Isabella didn’t bother hiding her look of guilt. “I’m so sorry. I... I couldn’t help myself,” she claimed.
“Oh?” He seemed surprised by her comment as he opened the outer door to the building.
“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?” she asked playfully.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I cannot help how I appear to others,” he claimed, annoyance sounding in his voice.
Undaunted by his poor mood, Isabella displayed a grin of delight. “I don’t know how the ladies here in Edinburgh are able to control themselves around you,” she said. “Unless they’re blind. I see you, and all I want to do is throw myself into your arms and kiss you senseless.” She blinked and turned to find him staring down at her with an expression of disbelief.
Then he suddenly barked a laugh. “Really, Izzy. I assure you, every woman I have come across has been able to...” Here he stopped, remembering what Lord McDonald had said only the hour before in his office. Remembering all the times he had noticed women staring at him. Gawking at him. Waving their fans in front of their faces as if they were suddenly rather warm. “Well, that is, none ofthemhave kissed me,” he finished.
“But theywantedto,” she countered, directing a teasing grin at him. She could feel the heat of a blush on her cheeks, stunned at how forward she was being with him. But what had she to lose? She had already kissed him. Already admitted she wanted to do it again.
“If you say so,” he murmured, his hurried steps forcing her to nearly run to keep up.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere private,” he replied curtly, although he slowed his pace. After a short pause, he added, “Callum said your father has died.”
