She circled around him, prowling like a lioness, lifting his suit jacket from all angles and peering beneath. Finally, after so long that his shoulders ached, there was a tug near his armpit.
“Got it. Shouldn’t be too hard to fix.”
“Are you about done?” he asked. The evening was taking a boring turn, something he would not tolerate for long. He rarely enjoyed being poked and prodded. Kitty’s touch was more pleasant, but he had more interesting distractions planned that required her presence.
She returned to stand in front of him. “Yes, that should be all.”
“Excellent.” He rested his forearms on her shoulders. “The masquerade is tomorrow. Will you be able to finish the costumes?”
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
“Excellent. I cannot wait to see them.”
She tilted her head. He could practically see the blood flowing through her neck and filling her cheeks. More than anything, he wanted to taste her again, but that would come later. He could heal minor wounds with his saliva, but the only way to distract her into not noticing his bite was to make her come apart, as he had at the opera. He was skilled in pleasure, but not so skilled he could accomplish such a task in her shop when her assistant was lurking around the corner.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Alyssa creaked open the door.
Kitty leaped out of his embrace. “Yes, Alyssa?”
Was it his imagination, or was there a touch of huskiness in her voice?
“A letter for you,” Alyssa said. “I told the messenger you were busy, but he insisted it couldn’t wait.” She held out a red envelope.
Kitty accepted it and turned it around in her hands as Alyssa scurried off.
“Who is it from?” he asked, louder than he’d intended. He did not like the idea of an unknown gentleman corresponding with his mistress. “Do not set it aside on my account. I cannot abide a mystery.”
She cracked open the wax seal. He could not read the slanted writing from where he stood, but the sudden souring of her scent told him it was not good news.
“Blackguard,” she whispered.
“What is it?” he asked.
She crumpled the envelope and threw it into the corner. It hit the wall and rolled toward him.
He bent down, picked it up, and tossed it from hand to hand like a ball. “That bad?”
He dearly wanted to smooth out the wrinkles and read it, but he would not do so without her permission, no matter how intense his curiosity.
“My father,” she whispered. “I told him I would take care of it, but apparently, that wasn’t enough.”
She was all but vibrating with anger. It wafted from her shuddering shoulders like a rancid miasma and before he knew it, he was standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “Can I help?”
She laughed, a sharp sound. “Not unless you can convince my parents to give up a lifetime of social ambition.” Then she rushed out of the dressing room, picked up a bolt of white cotton, and slammed it onto her worktable next to a pile of boxes. “I told my father I’d find some other way to get the money.” She picked up another bolt, aggressively wound the fabric back onto the roll, then added it next to the other one. “He insisted, said he’d been carefully setting aside money since I’d started my apprenticeship, and it was mine as long as I could pay it back within a year. I should have known better.”
His heart ached. He didn’t have the full context, but he understood the general idea of familial responsibility. During his original life, he hadn’t been close to his biological siblings, but there was no limit to the lengths he would go to protect his nest. He picked up a box of spooled lace and began sorting them by size while he listened.
“My mother just visited,” she said, her voice still rising in volume. “She could have said something, warned me that my father had indebted himself again.” The pile on the workbench was now a mountain, the boxes beside the bolts teetering precariously.
“Kitty,” he said. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“But no, all she did was ask me to come home, probably so she could continue her begging where it would be that much harder for me to refuse. Ugh!” She slammed another bolt on the worktable. “I cannot believe I am related to them.”
The topmost box tilted over, then slid toward her, taking the entire stack with it.
“Kitty!”
It was too late. The mountain tumbled toward her with the inevitability of a train barreling down its tracks. Instead of running or holding out her hands to shield herself, she stoodwith her eyes wide and mouth open. She was going to get herself killed.
