Page 44 of The Siren of Sussex

“Good morning,” Miss Maltravers said. “You did say ten, didn’t you?”

“I did.” He showed her into the fitting room. “Your habit is just there.”

She went to it immediately, picking up the pieces to examine them. “Shall I change into it?”

“If you please. I’ll return momentarily.” He withdrew back to the workroom, where he paced, restlessly, until a decent amount of time had passed.

Beamish and Pennyfeather eyed him as they worked. Ahmad rarely interacted with them, not trusting them with his commissions. They didn’t trust him, either, seeming to regard him with an equal measure of awe and contempt, never truly certain of his position in the hierarchy of the shop.

Ahmad saw no need to explain it to them. Glancing once more at the clock, he returned to the fitting room. Entering, he found Miss Maltravers standing in front of the cheval glass, staring at her reflection.

She was alone, her spectacles hanging loose in her hand.

His pulse quickened. “What’s happened to your maid?”

“She’s gone to fetch a package from the milliner.” Miss Maltravers continued looking into the glass. She seemed transfixed.

Ahmad couldn’t blame her. He took in the fit and drape of her dark green riding habit in one comprehensive glance.

Pride rose within him.

The habit was as flattering to her figure as he’d intended.

Slightly sprung over her hips, the jacket bodice was made with a blunt point in front and short basque behind, trimmed at the top with gilt buttons. Artfully placed darts lent a fullness to her bust, and the waist was gracefully curved, giving her a pronounced hourglass shape as the jacket gave way to the voluminous swell of her trailing bell-shaped skirts.

When combined with the singular loveliness of her face and the warm vibrance of her thick auburn hair, the finished picture was one of sensual elegance. Of a lady—undoubtedly a lady—but one of beauty, mystery, and bountiful charms.

Miss Maltravers turned faintly to the right to examine herself. A peculiar shimmer glinted in her wide, doe-like gaze.

A jolt of alarm went through him. Good lord, there were tears in her eyes. He moved toward her, only to stop short, uncertain what he should do. “You’re upset.”

“No. Not at all.” She dashed a tear from her cheek. “Rather the opposite.” A rueful smile curved her mouth. “You see, the day we met, I meant it when I said that I loved fashion. The problem is, it’s never seemed to love me back. Not until this moment.”

Understanding dawned. With it came a swell of affection for her so powerful that it closed Ahmad’s throat. “Then you approve.”

“It’s perfect.” She resumed looking at her reflection. “It’s . . . it’s beautiful.”

He came to stand behind her. “You’re beautiful.”

A delicate flush tinted her cheeks. “If I appear that way, it’s only because you’ve made me so.”

“I’m not a magician.”

“You are. I believe you must be able to turn lead into gold.”

“It wasn’t any kind of alchemy. You gave me a great deal to work with.”

She looked at him in the glass, her eyes glistening. “Thank you for this, Mr. Malik. I knew you would amaze me.”

His chest tightened. He felt the sudden urge to touch her. Not as a habit-maker but as a man. To cup her face in his hands and kiss her soft, voluptuous mouth.

Heat crept up his neck.

“Come,” he said, “before you put me to the blush.” Taking her arm, he guided her to the wooden horse that stood in the corner. “If I may?”

She nodded, her color heightening by a slight degree. Likely no one else would have noticed. But he did. He was painfully conscious of her, registering the subtle changes in her mood and breath as keenly as a tuning fork.

It wouldn’t do. These burgeoning feelings, or whatever it was they were. It was one thing to be physically attracted to a customer. It was quite another to be developing some sort of tendre for her. Neither had ever happened to him before, but he was acutely aware that one was inherently more dangerous than the other.