Page 58 of The Siren of Sussex

Evelyn sighed. “Very well.” She moved to stand in front of the fire. “You may show him in.”

Mrs. Quick returned promptly. “Mr. Malik, miss.”

Mr. Malik strode into the room. He was wearing a dark wool coat and trousers, his shoulders squared and his expression intent, looking for all the world like a man resolved to face down an implacable foe. He held a dented dress box in his arms. “Miss Maltravers.” He bowed to her.

Evelyn’s heart beat swiftly. “Mr. Malik. This is an unexpected pleasure.” She turned to Mrs. Quick. “Thank you, Mrs. Quick. That will be all.”

The housekeeper departed without so much as a look of curiosity.

Evelyn didn’t wonder. Goodness only knew what sorts of bizarre things Mrs. Quick had witnessed while employed by Uncle Harris. A late-in-the-day call by an Indian habit-maker was likely the least of her concerns.

“Forgive the interruption,” Mr. Malik said.

“You aren’t interrupting anything.” Evelyn’s attention fell to the box he was carrying. “Is that my new habit?” She moved toward him, excitement briefly overshadowing her anxiety. “I thought it required another fitting?”

“It does. This isn’t your habit. It’s something else.” He offered the box to her. “I can explain better once you’ve opened it.”

She set the box down on the sofa, flashing him an uncertain glance as she lifted the lid and parted the cloud of tissue paper within. What she found inside fairly took her breath away. “Oh,” she said softly. “Heavens.”

It was an evening dress. A stunning confection of flawless silvery-blue muslin. She carefully withdrew it from the box, marveling at the shimmering spill of the skirts and the daring cut of the bodice. A fall of artfully draped point appliqué lace adorned the delicate sleeves and the scandalously low décolletage.

She looked at Mr. Malik. He was watching her closely. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” he said. “Quite recently.”

“But not for me?”

“No. It wouldn’t suit you.”

She inwardly flinched. It was a fact, not an insult. The evening dress was made for a fairy princess of a woman. A lady who was slim and fragile—and who didn’t have auburn hair. Mr. Malik’s words nevertheless left Evelyn feeling vaguely unworthy. Just as she’d felt ever since leaving the park.

Seeing Stephen had bruised her confidence. And she needed her confidence now, more than ever.

“I expect not,” she said, managing a smile. “I have it on good authority that pale blue is not my color.”

Some of the tension left Mr. Malik’s face. “No, it isn’t. I envision you in something rather different.”

“You envision me in a ball gown?”

“I do,” he said. “One of mine.”

She hesitated for an instant, caught by the intensity in his obsidian eyes. This was important to him, that much was plain. Whatever this was. “I didn’t realize you made anything for ladies other than riding habits.”

“Not for society ladies, no. But I had planned to this season.” A shadow passed over his countenance. “That is, I had a commission from a titled lady. The dress you see here, and two others like it. She’s since decided she doesn’t want them.”

“I can’t imagine why. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” Evelyn carefully folded the evening dress back into its box. “Did your dresses not suit her?”

“They suited her,” he said. “Too well.”

“Yet she refused them?”

“She’s a lady of many moods.”

Evelyn waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more. And there was more, she sensed it. Something had happened to make his expression so grave. To harden his jaw and cause his gaze to darken with intensity. As if the whole of his future hinged on this moment.

She gestured to the sofa. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Mr. Malik remained standing, only sitting down after she took a seat in the armchair across from him.