“You what?” she interrupted.

  He immediately regretted his words. “I thought Watson was playing a trick on me. I thought he hired an actress as a sort of prank,” he explained.

  “Well, that wasn’t very smart of you. Everyone knows Watson hasn’t a shilling to his name most days,” she countered.

  “I was reminded of that by the young woman,” he murmured. “Which means she knows him,” he said thoughtfully. “But I’m still left wondering who she was.”

  Madeline angled her head to one side. “How old is she?”

  He shrugged. “Uh... not a matron. Not fresh out of the schoolroom, either. Mayhap... seven-and-twenty?” he guessed.

  “Was she dressed well?”

  Daniel winced. “If you can call examples of the current fashion ‘dressing well’, then yes, I suppose,” he hedged. “Big sleeves, bell skirt, jonquil muslin, white shawl... with lace edging,” he said, knowing she would press him for the details if he didn’t give them up front. “Straw hat, silk flowers on the brim.”

  She grinned in delight. “You should write for The Scotsman’s society page,” she teased, referring to Edinburgh’s weekly newspaper. “As you said, she has obviously met Mr. Watson. What else do you remember about her?”

  Frowning, Daniel closed his eyes in an attempt to recall any other details about the woman who had haunted his dreams the night before. The memory of her brought back the new sensations of kissing and his body’s reaction to what she had done with her gloved hand.

  The tart.

  He had been so hard when he awoke in the middle of the night, he had been forced to take his member in hand, shocked that it took only a few seconds for the blessed release that finally allowed him to return to slumber—and more dreams about her.

  “Lemons,” he murmured. “She smelled of lemons.”

  Madeline sipped her tea before saying, “Most do these days, dear. It’s a popular scent for soaps and such.”

  “From Derbyshire,” he added.

  Her eyes widening at hearing this last, his mother grinned. “So... someone you knew from Brookshire Hall,” she guessed, referring to her parents’ estate. “We spent all our summers there when your father was off on all those building projects,” she added.

  Daniel nodded. At the time, he had hated what his father did for his living, acting as a contractor for the various canal projects that allowed for goods to be shipped by water rather than by land. The jobs required he be gone for months at a time—the same months Daniel wasn’t off at Repton School—but his father had taught him a good deal about construction when he was home. Although Daniel could have easily worked in a building trades, he had opted for the other side of the business—designing the projects.

  “A neighbor’s daughter, perhaps?”

  He shook his head. “Surely I would recognize her,” he reasoned. “Not that I recall playing with any girls.”

  She tittered softly. “Oh, but you did. You attracted them like bees to honey. Still do, I’m quite sure, you handsome beast.”

  “Mother,” he scolded, knowing what she was really thinking. “I’m not going to court anyone, at least, not until I’ve saved enough to build a house on the outer edge of New Town.” He had already designed the villa, a two-story Gothic Revival structure with gardens on three sides and a carriage house and drive on the other. He had purchased the land as soon as he had enough blunt to do so, knowing it would continue to go up in price as Edinburgh expanded northward.

  “I know, dear. Now, some girls grow up to appear much prettier than they were in their youth.” When he didn’t respond right away, she added, “Was she a servant’s daughter?”

  He pretended to consider it, but thoughts of what it had been like to be kissed had him wishing the woman would make another appearance. Not at his office, though. Somewhere private. Somewhere they wouldn’t be seen. The botanic gardens in Inverleith Park, perhaps. Or maybe in one of those tiny squares in Old Town.

  Perhaps she would accept his apology for having forgotten her, and he could prove his sincerity by kissing her. Or allowing her to kiss him.

  “Did you say jonquil?” Madeline asked suddenly.

  Pulled from his reverie, Daniel nodded. “Uh, yes. The color of her gown.” The color of daffodils and lemons and the sun, if he could ever actually look at it when it was high in the sky.

  Madeline’s expression of surprise slowly transformed into one of delight. “Oh, Daniel. How could you not recognize Isabella?”

  Daniel blinked. And blinked again. “Isabella?” he repeated.

  She made a ‘tsking’ sound and leaned back in her chair, her face displaying a look of self-satisfaction, as if she had solved the world’s greatest mystery. “Isabella Farnsworth. Her father owned the mercantile in Tideswell,” she stated, referring to the town nearest Brookshire Hall. “Still does, I think. Her mother...” Here Madeline furrowed her brows and sighed sadly. “Well, it’s a wonder Isabella survived childbirth given Mrs. Farnsworth’s poor health. It was no surprise she died giving birth to the boy.”

  His tea forgotten, Daniel stared at his mother. “Was his name Charlie? The boy who always looked as if he’d rolled in the dirt?”

  Madeline allowed a wan grin. “As did Isabella. You probably didn’t even know she was a girl,” she teased. “I’m afraid Mr. Farnsworth wasn’t the best at raising his children on his own,” she went on. She watched as her son seemed to struggle with his memories. “They were frequently on the grounds of Brookshire Hall when you were there for the summers,” she explained. “You used to play in the gardens. Hide and seek. Pall mall when you were older,” she continued. “She wore a yellow gown, although it was always filthy, as I recall. You would have thought a father in the mercantile business would have done better at clothing his children, but...” She allowed the sentence to trail off.

  “Izzy. She smelled of lemons,” Daniel murmured.

  Madeline sipped her tea, a lip quirking at seeing her son so perplexed. “And honeysuckle?” she prompted.

  Daniel’s eyes rounded. “How did you know?”

  “The garden was filled with them,” she replied.

  “They were always full of bees,” he whispered.

  “The birds would eat the berries,” she offered, angling her head as she watched him remember his summers as a youth.

  He nodded absently and finally straightened in his chair. “Well, that mystery is solved, I suppose,” he said, although his expression suggested he was still vexed.

  Madeline leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing to do,” he responded. When he noticed his mother’s look of disappointment, he added, “It’s not as if she left a calling card, Mother.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Blinking, he settled back in his chair and took a sip of tea as a means to delay his response.

  Had the woman given Arthur Peabody her card before she was escorted into the office? If so, Peabody hadn’t offered it after she had taken her leave.

  “Mayhap she gave a calling card to Peabody,” his mother suggested.

  The thought that Peabody might know her identity rankled. Daniel was also reminded that only Peabody knew of her visit, which meant he was the one who had been sharing the information as gossip, who knew to how many people?

  The fact that his mother’s neighbor had been told was probably only a coincidence. Which meant far more people had already heard what had happened in his office, and the gossip was spreading like wildfire.

  The details were probably changing with every exchange of the story, too. Her kissing him had probably become him kissing her, which meant his reputation as a perfect gentleman was at risk. His business might even suffer as a result.

  Isabella Farnsworth, what have you done? he wondered in dismay.

  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” his mother said, interrupting his reverie.

  Daniel shook his head. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m due to meet Watson. We’re going to try that new pub on the George the Fourth Bridge.”

  “Ah, perhaps he’ll have some answers for you,” she replied.

  “Perhaps,” he agreed.

  Four

  A BEST FRIEND CONFESSES

  Later that night, George IV Bar

  Standing at the New Town end of George IV Bridge, Daniel winced at the reminder that two of Old Town’s traditional streets, Old Bank Close and Liberton’s Wynd, had to be demolished in order to make way for the elevated street that connected New Town to South Side. The George IV Bar was located where the bridge crossed the Cowgate—right in the middle. At the south end was Candlemaker Row.

  “Can I afford this?” Callum Watson asked when he joined his friend.

  Daniel glanced at the clerk and shrugged. “It’s a pub,” he replied, before leading them to the new limestone building, it’s exterior decorated with columns and corbels. Inside they found a gleaming wood bar lit by hanging lamps and new tables and chairs not yet marred from repeated use.

  They both ordered ales and studied the menu board before placing their orders for Scotch pie. Before Daniel could bring up the topic of Isabella Farnsworth, Callum beat him to it.

  “I ran into an old friend a couple of days ago,” Callum said.

  “Oh?” Daniel replied, settling back into his chair, his mug of ale nearly to his lips. He took a sip as Callum nodded and seemed torn as to what he would say next. “Was her name Isabella Farnsworth, by chance?” Daniel asked, leaning forward to place his elbows against the edge of the table.

  Callum’s eyes rounded. “How did you know?”

  Daniel scoffed softly. “She paid a call on me at my office. But you already knew that.”

  Pretending ignorance, Callum set his mug on the table. “She mentioned she wished to see you again,” he hedged.

  “Everyone in Edinburgh knows she paid a call,” Daniel said on a sigh. “Everyone knows kissing was involved, although I have yet to learn if I am the rake or she is a tart.”

  “Izzy is not a tart,” Callum whispered hoarsely. “How can you say such a thing?”

  “She kissed me.” Daniel pointed to his cheek. “Here, and then...” He pointed to his lips. “Here. It was... quite passionate.” This last was said in a whisper.

  “Did you return the kiss?” Callum asked, his manner suggesting he had been waiting for the answer for days and could no longer abide the suspense of not knowing.

  Daniel blinked. “Uh, I suppose I did.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Uh, I suppose I did.”

  “So... you would do it it again?”

  Daniel rolled his eyes. “In private perhaps, but not right out in the open for my secretary—or anyone else—to see.”

  The two clammed up when the server appeared with their order and set the plates of food in front of them.

  “I know where she lives,” Callum said before he lifted his fork to stab at the crust covering the Scotch pie.

  “Oh, do you?” Daniel countered, deciding he needed to ask Peabody for Isabella’s calling card when he was next in the office. He fished in his waistcoat pocket for his small note pad and pencil to make a note of it when the move reminded him of the hole in the side seam.

  He had discovered it earlier that morning, immediately reminded of how Isabella’s finger had felt when she had been touching him during their kiss. For a brief moment, he had a thought she might have created the tear as a means of ensuring he pay her a call or send a missive about its repair, but then Arthur had made mention of having seen the tear the week before.

  Tempted to scold his secretary for not sharing what he had noticed, Daniel had instead decided he could stitch the seam once he was back in his bachelor rooms.

  Callum regarded him with surprise. “Have you paid a call on her?”

  “Of course not,” Daniel said, using his fork to lift the crust from the top of the pie. He set aside the pastry and took a bite of the filling. After he swallowed, he added, “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “It would be if you were courting her.”

  Having taken a drink from his mug of ale, Daniel nearly sprayed the liquid over the table. He choked and sputtered before saying, “You of all people know I have every intention of building a house before I even think about courting. Anyone.” Although he didn’t have any young women in mind for the position of his wife, his brief time with Isabella had awakened something inside him.

  The desire for a woman.

  He wished he hadn’t been so addled by her kiss. If he’d had his wits about him, he would have wrapped his arms around her. Pulled her hard against the front of his body. Felt how her soft curves might fill his voids.

  He already knew what it felt like to have her palm pressed against his arousal. His manhood hardened, forcing him to shift in his chair to give it more space at the top of his pantaloons.

  Unconsciously, his hand moved to the side seam of his waistcoat, and he poked his finger through the hole. Although he was sure he could see to the repair, he decided he could afford to hire Isabella to do it.

  He wanted to hire Isabella.

  He wanted to see her again.

  She was a reminder of simpler times. Of summers in Derbyshire. Of yellow and sunshine and the scents of lemon and honeysuckle.

  He also wanted to scold her for what she had done.

  “Her father left her a dowry.”

  The simple statement brought Daniel out of his brief reverie, and he furrowed his brows. “So that’s how she can afford a room in New Town,” he murmured, glad she wasn’t in one of the crowded buildings in Old Town.

  “Well, she is a seamstress,” Callum reminded him. “But that’s not why I mentioned it.”

  Daniel took another bite of pie. “Oh? Why then?”

  “You wish to build a house. Perhaps her dowry would be enough to pay for it.”

  Scoffing softly, Daniel considered the suggestion. “I would have to marry her to gain the dowry,” he reasoned.

  “You’re going to marry her anyway,” Callum replied, shrugging before he took another swallow of his ale.

  Chuckling softly, Daniel said, “You sound terribly sure of yourself.”

  “That’s because I am.”

  Although Callum continued to eat his pie, Daniel set his fork on his plate and stared at his friend. “What do you know?”

  Callum finished the last bite and used his napkin to dab the corners of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve heard the gossip about you. She may have been the one to initiate the kiss, but it’s you everyone thinks is the rogue.”

  Daniel sighed in response, wishing there was a way to turn back time. Since it was unlikely he would be able to do that, he pondered hiding for a week or two.

  Surely the gossip would die down. It would simply take time, and hopefully not too much of it.

  He had a business he wished to keep free from scandal.

  Five

  A VICTIM OF GOSSIP

  The following morning

  Opting to take his breakfast at the Tolbooth Tavern, Daniel ducked into the ancient building and inhaled the scents of bacon and freshly baked bread. Located in the Royal Mile in Old Town, the pub offered hearty fare as well as an opportunity to meet with potential clients.

  He opted for a small table near the front, the latest copy of The Scotsman tucked under his arm. A waiter delivered his usual order only a few minutes later, but before he had a chance to lift his fork, he heard his name and glanced to up to see a middle-aged man in uniform approaching him. “Morning, Colonel Robertson,” he said, giving the man a nod.

  “Sinclair, so good to see you again. What’s this I hear about you and a young lady?” Robertson asked, waggling his bushy brows as he was about to pass by his table.

  The officer was in charge of the upkeep of some of the buildings at Edinburgh Castle, and he had hired Daniel in the past to provide his opinion on the fortifications necessary for the older structures. He had been most dismayed by the military’s use of St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest building in all of Scotland, to store gunpowder and other provisions for the personnel barracked at the castle.

  “Uh, what have you heard?” Daniel countered, attempting to act as if it was news to him.

  “That you kissed her in front of your place of business,” Robertson replied, punching Daniel’s shoulder. “Right out in the open for anyone to see?” He sighed dramatically. “I had quite forgotten how young love makes a man behave. Been thirty years since I did that with me wife.”

  Daniel blinked. “I, uh⁠—”

  “Courting her, are you?” Robertson interrupted, as if he wished to learn more so he would have first-hand information to share with his garrison.

  Dipping his head, Daniel realized two things at the same time. If he denied courting the girl, his kiss would be seen as the socially unacceptable behavior of a rake. His business would no doubt suffer. Who would wish to hire an architect with a reputation as a rogue?

  However, if he agreed, at least he would have an acceptable excuse for having participated in the kiss.

  “You’ve sorted it perfectly, Colonel,” he replied, glad for the darkened interior that hid his reddening face. “Have you any other buildings requiring my expert evaluation?” he added, hoping to steer the conversation to work. “I’m drafting a house on a commission now, but I should have some time in a few weeks.”

  “Not yet, but perhaps next year,” Robertson replied. “Why, you’ll probably be a married man by then,” he said happily. “Best wishes.”

  “Uh, if she says ‘yes’,” Daniel hedged, relieved he remembered he had an easy out should the topic come up again.

  “No young lady would be fool enough to turn down marriage to a handsome bloke like you,” Robertson said, chuckling as he took his leave of the tavern.