At least the judge was on his side.

  Seven

  DISCUSSING A PROPOSITION

  A half-hour later

  Ensconced in the chair nearest a window, Isabella completed the last small stitches in a seam before knotting the thread. When she shook out the garment, she stood and held it up in front of her body.

  She wished there was a looking glass large enough to reflect the entirety of the sapphire silk ballgown. Madame Laurent’s design was exquisite, the choice of fabric perfect for an aristocratic lady. Both puffy sleeves were finished, their gathers evenly spaced where they met the long cuffs, and were ready to be sewn onto the gown’s armholes. If the light held, she might finish it this afternoon.

  She was about to pin the sleeves to the gown when a knock at the door had her giving a start. Before she had a thought she should hang the gown on a peg, she hurried to the door. She used her slippered foot to coax a rolled rug into place a few inches from the bottom of the wood panel. Should whoever was on the other side attempt to force it open, the rug would prevent the door from swinging open more than a few inches.

  Opening the door until it hit the rug, she peeked out the thin opening. She blinked and inhaled sharply.

  Isabella wasn’t sure why her first thought was to shut the door.

  Daniel Sinclair was here. In her building. At her door. Looking every bit as handsome and—dare she think it?—kissable—as the day she had interrupted his work and kissed him.

  “Hello, Daniel.” She sighed, immediately understanding why he was there. “You must have received my note of apology.”

  Before she could think of what else to say, Daniel nervously glanced both left and right before saying, “I did. Either you must come out here, or you must invite me in there.” His words were said in a quiet voice. “We need to talk.”

  Recovering from her moment of shock, Isabella stepped back and remembered too late she still held the ball gown in front of her body.

  “That’s a rather gorgeous gown,” he whispered, ducking his head from side to side so he could see all of it despite the small opening.

  “Thank you. I made it,” she said, before hanging it on a nearby peg. “Well, most of it. The pieces were already cut out. I’ve just had to stitch it together.”

  “Is it for you? Or⁠—?”

  “A client,” she replied, wondering at the awe she heard in his voice. “A judge’s wife. One of the modistes here in town has hired me to sew for her,” she added, grabbing her shawl and reticule from another peg next to the door. “Although I’m not afraid of you coming in—for myself or for my reputation—I fear for yours should anyone see you,” she said, pushing the rolled rug out of the way so she could open the door wider. She stepped out and turned around to lock the door, a metal key held in one hand.

  “It’s a bit too late for that,” he said, offering his arm when she was beside him.

  She glanced up, her eyes rounding. “Oh, dear. What’s happened?”

  Of course she hadn’t considered the ramifications of being seen kissing him at his place of business, because truth be told, she hadn’t intended to kiss him on the lips.

  She had thought to only kiss him on the cheek. A kiss of friendship, much like how the French greeted one another.

  Instructing his secretary to share the news of what he was about to witness ensured others would learn of it, but she hadn’t planned to kiss Daniel the way she had. It had just... happened. She had merely wished others to learn of her call on him. Some would assume she was securing his services as an architect while others would think there was more to it and probably tease Daniel. Prod him a bit. Encourage him to consider marriage.

  It wasn’t supposed to lead to widespread gossip or a stain on his good name.

  Daniel led her down the corridor to the stairs. “I seem to have acquired a reputation as a rake,” he said. “Through no fault of my own.”

  Isabella didn’t bother hiding her look of guilt. “I’m so sorry. I... I couldn’t help myself,” she claimed.

  “Oh?” He seemed surprised by her comment as he opened the outer door to the building.

  “Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?” she asked playfully.

  He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I cannot help how I appear to others,” he claimed, annoyance sounding in his voice.

  Undaunted by his poor mood, Isabella displayed a grin of delight. “I don’t know how the ladies here in Edinburgh are able to control themselves around you,” she said. “Unless they’re blind. I see you, and all I want to do is throw myself into your arms and kiss you senseless.” She blinked and turned to find him staring down at her with an expression of disbelief.

  Then he suddenly barked a laugh. “Really, Izzy. I assure you, every woman I have come across has been able to...” Here he stopped, remembering what Lord McDonald had said only the hour before in his office. Remembering all the times he had noticed women staring at him. Gawking at him. Waving their fans in front of their faces as if they were suddenly rather warm. “Well, that is, none of them have kissed me,” he finished.

  “But they wanted to,” she countered, directing a teasing grin at him. She could feel the heat of a blush on her cheeks, stunned at how forward she was being with him. But what had she to lose? She had already kissed him. Already admitted she wanted to do it again.

  “If you say so,” he murmured, his hurried steps forcing her to nearly run to keep up.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Somewhere private,” he replied curtly, although he slowed his pace. After a short pause, he added, “Callum said your father has died.”

  “Yes,” she responded, nearly breathless from struggling to keep up.

  “Charlie has the mercantile now?”

  “Yes, and he has married a woman from Buxton. She didn’t want me living with them, so I had to leave.” She watched as his expression softened, as if he had been annoyed with her but was no longer.

  “So you moved here of all places?”

  “I did. I wished to live in a city where I knew someone⁠—”

  “Me?” he interrupted, his gaze on her one of surprise.

  “And Callum. I’ve an ancient great aunt near here, too, but I’m not sure exactly where she lives.” She paused before adding, “This is a city where I can make my living as a seamstress and...” She let the sentence trail off.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “In Scotland, I don’t require a man to see to my money.”

  Daniel suddenly slowed his steps even more. “Your dowry?” he guessed.

  She nodded, her eyes widening when she noted how his expression had changed again. His entire manner had, in fact, changed. “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, instead leading her across the street and into a park. Crushed limestone crunched beneath their feet as they followed the path between leafy sycamores and cherry trees that had shed their spring blooms. The late afternoon sun had already painted the western sky in shades of peach and apricot, and a slight breeze rustled the leaves. “I have a proposition for you,” he said suddenly.

  “A proposition?” she repeated, thinking the term rather odd.

  “Indeed. Hear me out, and afterwards I’d like to learn what you think of it,” he said, his brows furrowing so he appeared far older than his seven-and-twenty years.

  Isabella nodded. “All right.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “I had a plan,” he stated. “If you had asked me last week what it was, I would have told you I needed to secure more clients so I could afford to build a house. I already have the land, you see,—”

  “Oh, where?” she asked with excitement.

  “Uh, over there,” he said, pointing to an area on the northern edge of New Town. “You can’t see the exact lot from here, but it’s in that general direction.”

  “You have it all designed, I suppose?” she asked, her gaze entirely on him. She trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t have them walking into a tree or a lamp post.

  “I do. I thought to build it, and then, after a few more projects—a few years later—I would be able to afford to take a wife.”

  She inhaled softly. “Do you have someone in mind? To be your wife?”

  “I don’t... I... I didn’t,” he stammered. “It’s always been a house first, then a wife. That was the plan.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, she said, “It sounds as if you haven’t taken the benefits of a dowry into consideration.”

  For a moment, Daniel looked as if he was suffering from indigestion. He dipped his head. “A dowry is supposed to be used for a woman’s future, especially if there are children,” he argued. “For when her husband dies, so she has the means to carry on,” he added.

  Isabella’s eyes rounded. “Really?”

  “What did you think it was for?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “To pay off gambling debts?”

  Daniel barked a laugh. “I suppose there are situations where that might be the case,” he hedged.

  “But you’re not a gambler?” she guessed.

  He shook his head. “I play cards on occasion, but not for money,” he admitted.

  She nodded, secretly glad he wasn’t in debt. “How much do you need? To build the house?” She prepared herself to hear an astronomical number, sure there were houses in Edinburgh that cost upwards of two-thousand pounds. She had seen the sales sheets in the windows of agents, read the postings in The Scotsman of estates for sale.

  He winced. “Two-hundred... two-hundred-and-thirty pounds,” he replied.

  She gasped. “I have it,” she said with excitement.

  Giving a start, Daniel furrowed his brows. “You have two-hundred-and thirty pounds?” he asked, obviously surprised.

  “More than that,” she said.

  Daniel stared at her in disbelief, his expression slowly changing until he seemed humbled by her claim. “I don’t wish to be in debt to you, Izzy,” he said. “But I do appreciate the offer. If... if that’s what it was?” The look of uncertainty on his face suggested he was at war with himself.

  Isabella couldn’t help the disappointment she felt. “I only mentioned my dowry because, well, it will go to whomever I marry.”

  Daniel inhaled sharply. “Are you betrothed to someone?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. You mentioned a proposition,” she reminded him.

  He nodded and displayed another wince. “I did, but now it seems terribly... unfair,” he murmured.

  “Unfair how?” she countered.

  Leading them to a park bench, he used his handkerchief to brush off the wood slats and waited for her to sit before he took the seat next to her. “Do you wish to be married?” he asked.

  She grinned. “I do, but only if I feel affection for the gentleman.”

  Daniel made an odd sound in his throat. “You kissed me, Izzy.”

  “I did,” she acknowledged, grinning as if the memory made her happy.

  He nodded slowly, although his brows showed his worry. “Have you kissed anyone else?”

  “Of course not.” When he still seemed uncertain, she asked, “What is it, Danny?”

  * * *

  The name Daniel had answered to as a child had him straightening on the bench, memories from their youth reminding him of how happy he had been when Isabella was nearby. How they had played in the gardens of Brookshire Hall. How her blonde hair blew in the breeze as they ran over the clipped lawn in their bare feet.

  He had a thought of how she might look now if her hair wasn’t caught up in a bun and partially covered by a hat. What it would feel like splayed over his bare chest after they made love.

  Another part of him was already anticipating such a union. He shifted on the bench in an effort to make room for it.

  “You do realize that if I were to propose matrimony right here and now, you will never know if I did so to simply silence the gossips or because I wished for your dowry or because... because I feel affection for you,” he murmured.

  “Promise to marry me, and you can discover the answer tonight,” she whispered.

  “Izzy,” he breathed, wondering if she knew her answer didn’t match the question.

  Or perhaps it did.

  “You’re sure you want this?”

  She nodded. “I would not have come to Edinburgh if I didn’t.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “So you did move here because of me?”

  Dipping her head, she took a breath and sighed. “I did so miss seeing your handsome face,” she admitted.

  Chuckling softly, Daniel took her gloved hand in his and rested it on his thigh. At no point did she attempt to prevent him from doing so, nor did she seem particularly bothered by the move. In fact, her eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief, much as they had when they were younger. He recognized her then.

  Isabella Farnsworth. The perfect playmate on days both sunny and cloudy. Armed with a mallet, she could whack the wooden ball through a series of wickets in every game of pall mall. She frequently lost at hide and seek, usually because her yellow frock made it impossible for her to stay hidden in the garden. As for archery, he recalled it was far better to remain well behind her or risk being shot with an arrow.

  Perhaps Cupid had been controlling her aim even back then.

  “You are the female equivalent of a rogue, aren’t you?” he teased, the oddest sensation gripping his chest.

  She displayed a wan grin. “Until you make an honest woman of me, I suppose I am.”

  He narrowed his eyes, realizing that unless they married—and quickly—gossip would paint her as his mistress, or worse, a strumpet. The need to protect her suddenly consumed him.

  “So... you’ll marry me?” he asked, nearly wincing at how desperate he sounded.

  She blinked, apparently not expecting the query. “Is... is that a proposal?”

  Although Daniel Sinclair hadn’t spent much time considering how he would acquire a wife, he had never thought it would be as simple as this. Someone with whom he had enjoyed spending time in his youth was offering herself—and a dowry—to be his wife.

  He would be a fool not to take advantage of the situation.

  But was it fair to her? What would be in it for her?

  A gainfully employed friend who happened to be handsome.

  Isabella seemed terribly willing. She had already admitted her move to Edinburgh was due to him. “Yes,” he said in answer to her proposal question. He glanced around where they sat, finally locating a small dandelion bloom. Much as they had done when they were younger, he plucked it from the grass and quickly formed it into a ring by tying the end of the stem near the yellow flower.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in fascination.

  “Making you a betrothal ring. This will have to do until I can retrieve my grandmother’s ring from Sinclair House and line up a wedding date with Lord McDonald.” When he saw her eyes widening, he added, “He’s a judge in the civil court. Said he could see to a quick ceremony for us.”

  “Oh, did he now?” she said, displaying a look of awe. She removed her glove so he could slide the dandelion onto her finger.

  “Indeed. Seems my reputation has been questioned, and I’m determined to set my best client straight on the matter. Plus he intends to pay for the work I’ve completed on his house plans.”

  She wiggled her fingers and grinned. “I do like yellow.”

  “As do I,” he said.

  The two stared at one another for a few seconds before they leaned in for a kiss at the very same time. Having a moment to prepare, Daniel knew exactly where to place his hands, exactly how to angle his head so he could simply enjoy the intimate exchange.

  They might have continued the kiss for far longer than they did but for the sound of disgust emanating from a female passerby.

  “She said yes!” Daniel called out, hoping to excuse his behavior with the matron.

  “You’re a cabbage-headed fool,” came the response.

  Daniel scoffed as Isabella giggled in delight. When she finally sobered, she said, “Let’s have dinner at a pub. You can tell me all about your life since you moved here, and then you can take me to my rooms.”

  He nodded. “And after that?”

  She grinned again. “I’m going to discover if you feel affection for me.”

  Momentarily shocked by the comment, Daniel barked a laugh. “Oh, I do love a challenge,” he murmured. He stood and offered a hand, and the two took their leave of the park.

  Eight

  A LUSTY AFFECTION

  A few hours later

  As Isabella lounged against the iron headboard of her bed, a pillow protecting her bare back from the rails and one knee bent to act as a work surface, she made the last few stitches necessary to repair the side seam of Daniel’s waistcoat.

  Knotting the thread, she carefully clipped it with the tiny scissors she had retrieved from the nightstand and then shook out the garment.

  Holding it by the shoulders, she pulled it to her face and inhaled deeply, the scents of musk and citrus reminding her of the day she had entered Daniel’s office and kissed him. If it hadn’t been for the tear in the seam, her finger would never have been caught, and she might not have discovered his ardor for her.

  The owner of said waistcoat was sound asleep farther down the bed, his face pressed against a thigh, a heavy arm draped over her leg. She had already seen to pulling the bed linens over most of his body. Although she enjoyed studying his nakedness—he was as beautiful in body as his face was handsome—it was a distraction she couldn’t afford when she was sewing.

  Twice she had pricked her thumb with the needle before realizing she simply had to cover his backside.

  Although he had warned her he might take a short nap after their bout of playful lovemaking, she hadn’t expected him to be out as long as he had been.