Evelyn bet they hadn’t. “Did you, ah, practice very much?”
“Every free moment I had. My skills improved in time. And now, I am as you see me.”
“A habit-maker at Doyle and Heppenstall’s.”
He smiled. “Something like that.”
It was the same thing he’d said to her on the first occasion they’d met. A nonanswer, really. One that indicated he was unwilling to reveal anything more. Not to her, anyway.
She felt oddly deflated.
It served her right for asking so many questions.
Did she imagine she was the only woman to interact with him thus? She already knew about Miss Walters and the other Pretty Horsebreakers. He’d worked his magic for them just as he had for Evelyn. What were a few women more to the total?
A whole brothelful of women.
She adjusted her spectacles. “Have you finished the hem?”
“You’ll need to dismount for the rest of it.” He stood. “Let me help you down.”
She unhooked her leg from the pommel. “I can do it myself.”
“Not with a skirt full of pins you can’t.” He took her by the waist.
Their faces were almost level. A rare occurrence with a gentleman so tall. He bent his head, preparing to lift her, and as she leaned into his arms, her cheek brushed against his.
Oh my.
A tremor went through her. Or perhaps it went through him. It all happened so quickly she couldn’t be certain. One moment she was turning her head to apologize and the next . . .
Her lips met his.
It was a kiss, however unintentional. A soft, tentative caress. Faintly lopsided. But a kiss all the same.
His hands tightened spasmodically around her. For an instant, his mouth softened under hers. And then—
Just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Drawing back from her lips, Mr. Malik lifted her from the saddle and set her gently onto the ground.
Her heart thumped as swiftly as the hoofbeats of a runaway horse. Good lord! What in the world had just happened?
But she knew what had happened.
She’d kissed Mr. Malik. And he’d kissed her back, hadn’t he?
Hadn’t he?
A burning mortification rose within her. She waited for him to let her go. But he didn’t. Not immediately.
He remained there, gazing down at her, his large, capable hands resting on the corseted curve of her waist. “Miss Maltravers,” he began gruffly. “I—”
“Miss?” Agnes opened the door of the fitting room, a pink hatbox cradled in her arms. “I’ve brought your new riding hat from the milliners.”
Mr. Malik and Evelyn broke apart so quickly that Evelyn stumbled. His hand shot out to catch her elbow. “All right?” he asked.
She looked up at him sharply. His face was a studied blank. And yet . . . there was a dull flush of red seeping across his cheekbones. The sight of it made her stomach perform a queer little somersault. “Yes, thank you. How clumsy I am.”
Agnes glanced from Evelyn to Mr. Malik and back again. Her lips thinned. “Shall I take it out, miss?”
“Please do.” Evelyn cleared her throat, making an effort to compose herself. “It’s the hat I bought to complement my new habit,” she explained to Mr. Malik. “I thought you might give me the benefit of your opinion.”
He’d moved away from her. His hands were clasped behind his back. “Of course.”
Agnes withdrew a stylish black felt hat from the box. It was trimmed with black and green feathers, and sported a dark green hatband with a bow at the front. She affixed it to Evelyn’s head, securing it with a hatpin. “The milliner said she could add more feathers if you wanted.”
Removing her spectacles, Evelyn inspected herself in the glass. She’d never seen such an elegant little riding hat in her life. It looked positively French. “What do you think, sir?”
Mr. Malik stepped forward. “I approve. But perhaps . . . more like this.” He adjusted the hat so it tipped slightly forward, the curved edges dipping to frame Evelyn’s face. “There.” He curled one of the plumes to sit along the brim. “That’s better. It will look charming when you wear it for your ride tomorrow.”
She turned to him on an indrawn breath, temporarily forgetting about their kiss. “My habit will be ready tomorrow?”
“It will. I can have it delivered to you in the morning.” He gestured toward the raised platform, his manner as businesslike as any respectable tradesman. “If you please. I have more pins to place before we’re finished.”
Evelyn permitted Agnes to help her up onto the platform. “And what about the others?” she asked. She’d ordered two more habits in different colors and styles. Mr. Malik was handling all of the particulars. She trusted him to make her look her best. After what he’d achieved with her green habit, she could only imagine how he might dazzle her next. “When shall I come for my first fitting?”
“Not until next week,” he said.
Some of her excitement dimmed. A week seemed a very long way away. She’d grown accustomed to her time with him. The talks they’d had during her fittings, and the way he touched her, with such care and confidence.
And what about today?
What was it he’d been about to say to her before Agnes had interrupted them?
Evelyn prided herself on being practical. Nevertheless . . . Her mind conjured a dozen different sentiments he might have expressed to her, each more devastatingly romantic than the last.
What a moment to succumb to girlish daydreams!
It was bad enough that she’d accidentally kissed him. Now she was imagining that he felt something for her, too. That when he’d gazed down at her so intently, his hands circling her waist, he’d been about to declare himself.
Foolish.
She was on the cusp of realizing her ambition. Of solving all of her family’s problems. She could think of nothing more ill-advised at this juncture than indulging in silly fantasies about the man who made her riding habits. It didn’t matter that he was a genius with a needle and thread. Or that he was handsome and kind.
Or that he had the most sensual pair of lips in Christendom.
No, no, no. She gave herself an inward shake. It simply wouldn’t do to fixate on him this way.
Better to keep her attention on her plans. On her official debut in Rotten Row.
“Next week, then,” she said.
A great deal could happen in a week.