her hands slide down his arms.
“True,” he acquiesced, “But I simply must know who you are.”
The stranger’s arms tightened as he spun her around, pressing her back against the cool window pane. He gently pushed his hips into hers, pinning her in place with his weight. Isabella gasped at the new sensation and pressed her palms against his bare chest. The man pressed his face into her neck and inhaled deeply, his hands skimming the shapely contours of her sides. As his fingers trailed from her ribs to her hips, Isabella lost the ability to think. A slow-burning heat began in the pit of her stomach, spreading like syrup through her limbs. When he tugged at her earlobe with his teeth, she almost forgot herself. Almost.
“That will have to wait until another time, good sir.”
The words had barely left her mouth when she twisted from his grasp, dropped to the floor and pushed his arms away. She spun out her leg as forcefully as she could, knocking his shins. As he fumbled for balance in the heavy fabric, she slipped from the curtains and raced away, ducking into the servants’ stairwell. She took the narrow steps two at a time, only skidding to a stop when she saw a slightly off-color wall panel. She pushed, and the secret door swung inward. She crawled through the passageway as quickly as she could, emerging into a lavishly appointed boudoir just in time to see a Chinese maid wringing her hands in worry—and to hear impatient knocking at her door.
“Isabella, dear sister,” Arthur called through the ornate doors to her rooms, “Aren’t you ready yet?”
Isabella fought to school her ragged breathing. “Brother, please. One mustn’t rush a lady. Give me but a moment.”
“A moment, then.” There was a dull thud as he leaned against the closed doors. “I shall escort you to the ball. Do not make me stand here overly long, sister.”
“Miss Isabella,” the maid whispered in heavily accented English, “Your honored father and brother are not pleased by your absence at the ball.”
“And I am even less pleased with them, Jia Li,” she huffed, “They plan to sell me off through marriage.”
At her maid’s horrified expression, Isabella dropped her eyes and began to carefully unroll her precious cargo. The silk robe spilled out in a gleaming cascade of gold, and she held it up for her maid to see. Jia-Li approached slowly with upturned palms that fluttered just inches from the lustrous fabric. She sighed.
“The robe of the ancient Emperor of the Sun is as beautiful as they say,” she breathed in awe.
“And it would have been completely wasted on the likes of our dear Miss Wilkinson, don’t you think, Jia-Li?”
Isabella handed the robe to her maid, who reverently folded it and tucked it out of sight.
“What will you do with it?” Jia-Li asked as she began to pull other fabrics from drawers.
“I will go into Wan Chai tomorrow to sell it,” Isabella replied with a shrug. “Now, what have you picked for tonight’s ball?”
Jia-Li pulled a dress from its resting place in her boudoir and held it up for Isabella’s approval. The scarlet dress was made of Chinese silk, and there was a depth to the shine that could not be imitated by western fabrics. Isabella nodded approvingly; it was a bold choice, just barely conforming to the fashionable silhouette of the day while completely rejecting the traditional assortment of pastel tulle ruffles that usually adorned the sleeves and bustles of summer evening gowns.
She smiled as she shrugged off her clingy silk jumpsuit and tugged her long, black curls free. If they had all been waiting on her arrival at the party, she had better make it a spectacular sight.
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