CHAPTER 13
Perhaps this was a mistake.
No, itdefinitelywas a mistake.
The seamstress’s little shop was small, with a tiny front parlor showcasing her designs and a slightly larger room at the back in which they sewed up the dresses themselves. The space certainly wasn’t built to accommodate a man of Evander’s size.
He’d been given a comically low stool, which creaked warningly under his weight, and the seamstress and her assistant shuffled around him.
The seamstress, a woman of indeterminate age and hair that should probably have gone gray years ago, strode to and fro, barking at her assistant. Fabrics appeared as if by magic: lace, silk, fur, even a few paste jewels. They all fluttered around the central figure like a whirlwind.
The central figure, of course, was Skye. She’d been placed on a low pedestal in the center of the room, looking a little shocked.
“What do ye think, then?” the seamstress asked, taking a step back and tapping her chin. “The blue suits ye.”
Evander’s opinion was not asked for. He wasn’t sure if he’d have offered it even if it had been. This world of fashion and fabric did not suit him, not one bit. He couldn’t understand why the seamstress had sniffed and turned her nose up at some bright orange fabric and glowered at the assistant when she suggested yellow.
“Look in the mirror,” the seamstress added, gesturing.
Skye turned uncertainly to see her own reflection.
The mirror, a long, highly polished thing, showed a thin young woman with long, glossy dark hair and crisp, clear eyes, draped in a midnight blue fabric that seemed to make her glow.
“I like it,” she admitted.
That was an understatement. Evander’s mouth dried out as he took in her form.
Stop it!
“There are pearls sewn into the cuffs and hem,” the assistant added, brightening.
“I… I like it,” Skye said again, casting a tentative look at Evander. “But it must be expensive.”
“Aye, well, pearls are sewn into it,” the seamstress responded, business-like. “If ye would prefer something else, I can?—”
“Let her have the dress she wants,” Evander spoke up, leaning back. He kept his voice as low and disinterested as he could.
Skye shot him a quick look out of the corner of her eye, but he didn’t quite manage to catch her gaze.
“Take her to change,” the seamstress instructed.
With a nod, the assistant helped Skye down from the pedestal and over to a curtained alcove. She pulled the curtain across, but the material was thin. With daylight streaming into the room, it was almost transparent.
A shadowy curve hinted at Skye lifting her arms, letting the assistant unlace her kirtle. The material came loose, and she gave a small sigh, splaying her hands across her ribcage.
Evander swallowed dryly and shot to his feet.
Air. I need air.
“If ye want her all kitted out,” the seamstress observed, “I’d recommend the dress, a cloak in a matching shade of blue—no pearls, they’ll only get ruined—and some linens.”
“Aye, that sounds fine,” Evander managed weakly. “And perhaps a nightdress.”
“Certainly.” The seamstress strode over to a cupboard, pulled open a drawer, and withdrew a thin, snow-white nightdress with a wide neckline. “Will this suit?”
Evander stared at it, wide-eyed. The neckline would skim the tips of Skye’s shoulders, baring her white collarbones and slim throat.
He could imagine how it would look on her, the thin material just translucent enough to reveal the pinkish tips of her nipples and the softness of her skin, just thin enough to suggest?—
