Page 77 of The Siren of Sussex

“They’re not here now?”

Mr. Malik shook his head. “Doyle refuses to allow women in the workroom.” He inserted another pin to mark her hem. “Until he relents, Mira and Becky will be working out of my lodgings.”

Mira and Becky.

Evelyn wondered if they were young and pretty. If they conversed with Mr. Malik on equal terms. She suspected they did. And now they were at his lodgings, privileged to see a side of him that Evelyn never would. “Do you live nearby?”

“I have rooms above a tea dealer’s shop in King William Street. Pity we can’t do your fittings there. I’ll need an extra pair of hands for your ball gown.”

“You could come to Russell Square,” she suggested. “My uncle wouldn’t object. Not when your dressmaking is to his benefit.”

Mr. Malik flashed her a questioning look.

“The sooner I make a match, the sooner Uncle Harris will be free of me,” she explained.

A frown darkened Mr. Malik’s brow. He seemed to hesitate for an instant. “Very well. We might as well make the most of Mira’s and Becky’s services while we have them.”

“You’re not employing them permanently?”

“Mira is my cousin. She helps whenever she can.”

His cousin.

Evelyn felt a distinct flicker of relief. “And Becky? Is she another relation of yours?”

“No. She’s someone I knew long ago. A competent seamstress in need of work. Her employment depends on what happens this season. On how many more orders I receive.”

“In other words,” she said, “it depends on me.”

His fingers stilled on her hem. He glanced up at her again. “Nervous?”

“A little.” Her mouth curved in a bleak smile. “More than a little.”

He stood. “I have something that might help.” He exited the fitting room, only to return seconds later with yards of luminous creamy white silk draped over his arm.

Evelyn sat up taller. “Is that my ball gown?”

“Part of it.” He brought it closer to her. The delicate pearl hue of the fabric was as softly seductive as moonlight.

She ran her fingers over it. Anne and Lady Arundell were likely wearing black to the ball, but Evelyn had no restrictions on the color of her own costume. She’d left the selection of it completely up to Mr. Malik.

“Do you see how it complements your complexion?” His head was bent close to hers as he showed the fabric to her, their shoulders almost touching. “It will look even better in the ballroom. Mira is embroidering the upper skirt with glass beads—just enough to catch the gaslight as you dance.”

“Goodness,” she murmured.

“Embroidery is her particular gift. No one at the ball will have anything to compare.”

“It sounds as if it will be very grand. I pray I’m equal to it.”

“You are,” he said. “Trust me.”

She lifted her gaze. Their eyes met and held.

A tremor of longing went through her.

They’d been facing each other in just such a way when her lips had brushed against his. Was he thinking of it, too? Remembering how it had felt to almost kiss her?

Or perhaps he didn’t view it as a kiss. Perhaps, to a man of his vast experience, it was nothing more than an awkward fumble. The intimate equivalent of someone accidentally bumping into him in a crowd.