Page 17 of The Siren of Sussex

“In essentials, no. But in every other respect, yes.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

It seemed simple enough to him. Simpler still now that he’d seen her—truly seen her. “You wanted a riding habit that would transform you. I believe I can design something better. Something that will reveal who you really are.”

She was silent a moment. And then she smiled. “I hesitate to ask what that might be. I’ve already been accused of being a bluestocking.”

“Indeed, you hide it well. I didn’t recognize it myself until I saw you ride this morning.”

“Recognize what?”

“You’re a singular beauty, Miss Maltravers. A diamond of the first water, I suspect. All you lack is the proper setting.” Ahmad went to the table and retrieved the bolt of dark cloth he’d purchased at Phillotson’s. “What do you think of this shade?” he asked, returning to her side.

She was staring at him, stunned. It took her a moment to register the fabric in his hand. When she did, her brows knit. “Black?”

“Not black.” He came closer, moving into the halo of light cast from the wall sconce. “Look again.”

She squinted down at the fabric through her spectacles. Her eyes widened. “It’s green!”

“It is. A shade so dark it appears black, unless one views it in the sun.” He tilted the bolt of cloth in the gaslight.

“My goodness,” she breathed. “It shimmers.”

“An illusion. The wool is woven so finely that it has a sheen to it.” A luscious sheen, as elegant as it was seductive. He draped a length of the fabric over her shoulder. “May I?” he asked, reaching for her spectacles.

Her lashes fluttered. “Oh . . . yes. Of course.”

He gently removed them from her face. Her eyes met his, a little shyly, catching the subtle color of the cloth, absorbing and reflecting it like twin jewels. A surge of satisfaction went through him. He turned her to face the glass. “Look at yourself.”

A flush seeped from her throat into her face, turning her cheeks the shade of a damask rose petal. Her bosom rose and fell on an unsteady breath. “The color is very flattering.”

An understatement.

It made her auburn hair glow with fiery warmth and her skin appear as creamy as unblemished ivory.

“Very flattering,” he said. “And that’s just the beginning.”

She touched the fabric with her fingertips. “There’s more? You begin to frighten me.”

He returned her spectacles. “You prefer hiding?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was hiding.” She settled her spectacles back onto her nose. “I commissioned a habit from you, didn’t I?”

“For a reason. You wanted a bit of my magic. And you can have it. All I ask is that you put yourself entirely in my hands.”

She lifted her gaze to his. Her soft hazel eyes were thoughtful behind her spectacles. “Very well,” she said at last. “I shall.”

Four

Evelyn stood still as a statue as Mr. Malik applied his cloth measuring tape to her waist, hips, and bust. Any embarrassment she felt at the intimacy of his touch was overshadowed by the memory of his words; phrases that still circled merrily in her dumbfounded brain.

“A singular beauty,” he’d called her. “A diamond of the first water.”

No one had ever called her anything resembling a beauty or thought of her as one, she was convinced. She didn’t even think of herself in such terms.

It wasn’t that she rated herself so meanly. It was only that she’d spent the majority of her life standing in Fenny’s shadow. And Fenny was beautiful. The most beautiful young lady in Sussex. All refined feminine fragility, with a wilting figure and a laugh as delicate as a silver bell.

Evelyn had never been that. Had never wanted to be that. And there had been no need, not with Fenny around. Instead, Evelyn had developed into something else. An athlete. A sportswoman. An equestrienne to rival any man in Sussex. Or so she liked to think.