Fabric. Fabric everywhere.
Bolts of silk, velvet, linen, brocade—and not a single one seemed worthy of dressing her charming, infuriating husband. Lady Isabella stood in the middle of the largest textile house, swamped with fabrics that gleamed like morning dew and others that sulked like a stormy sky. The room smelled of lavender, dye, and expensive decisions.
"This shouldn't be this hard," she muttered, running a hand over a bolt of sapphire-blue velvet. It was beautiful, yes, but it didn't scream Leofric. Ugh! She should have paid more attention to her mother and her governess.
Her gaze shifted toward Robert, and her brows drew together. The fool was supposed to be helping her! Instead, he was perched on the edge of a display table, shamelessly flirting with a wide-eyed maiden who had clearly forgotten her purpose in the shop.
"Of course, you have the eyes of a fawn," He was saying with a dramatic sigh. "But your beauty makes the moon weep."
Isabella rolled her eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. "Sweet mercy," she muttered. "Why didn't I bring Judith?"
Regret clung to her like ill-fitting silk. Judith would've been helpful. Instead, she was saddled with a lovesick puppy.
Still, the maiden seemed delighted, her cheeks blooming like poppies. Isabella frowned. Fine. Let the girl enjoy a brief moment of feeling like a heroine. Perhaps she should ask someone else for help.
She glanced around the shop. There were only a few other ladies present, most of them deeply engrossed in their own fabric-hunting. Her eyes settled on a lone figure with her back turned, dressed in a striking maroon gown. She looked elegant and composed—just the type who might have an eye for fashion.
"Excuse me, madam," Isabella said, approaching her with hesitant politeness. "Could you help me with
The woman turned around." Bloody duck feathers," Isabella swore under her breath.
It was Ella from the Devil's Den, the woman who had flirted with half the gambling house's patrons, herself included (though she had been in disguise as Sir Richard at the time). It didn't help that the lady was beautiful with cherry lips and the kind of smug confidence that only came from ruining powerful men's nights and reputations.
"You look quite familiar, My lady," Ella drawled, her eyes narrowing like a cat preparing to pounce.
Isabella's heart jumped into her throat. Her feet shuffled backwards—an instinctive desire to disappear. She didn't want anyone to recognise or know her secret. She had always been careful about her gambling activities—well, it was about to change. "I-I believe you're mistaken—"
Ella's grin spread slowly, wickedly. "Sir Richard," she whisper-yelled, eyes lighting up like festival torches. "I knew you were too pretty to be a man!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Isabella said, trying to sidestep her and move to the next lady.
But Ella moved with infuriating grace and blocked her escape. "Relax, my lady," she said with a low chuckle. "Your secret's safe with me."
Isabella stared at her warily. Her heart thumped like a drum. Being found out in a textile house by a courtesan she'd once gambled beside—and nearly exposed her noble identity to—was not on today's agenda.
Ella tilted her head. "I must say, I rather enjoyed Sir Richard's company. Witty. Fearless. Could drink like a sailor and cheat like a devil."
"You flatter yourself," Isabella muttered.
Ella smiled. "I flatter you, my lady. Though you do look a little paler now." She teased.
Isabella didn't reply, unsure whether to feel flattered, flustered, or furious. Yet despite herself, she was... oddly charmed. Ella didn't seem malicious. At least, she wasn't shouting her secret across the room or attempting blackmail.
In fact, she was being surprisingly helpful.
"Well," Ella said, tossing her dark curls over one shoulder as she eyed the fabrics in her hands. "Since you've already made such an entrance, the least I can do is help you pick something fitting. Who's the lucky man, may I ask?"
"My husband," Isabella said stiffly.
Ella blinked. "Ah, of course, Sir Leofric. The handsome devil." Isabella's brow shot up in a questioning look, causing Ella to chuckle. "He is a rare gem. You have no idea how many times I tried to get my hands on him, but he is quite picky and surprisingly annoying. Tell me, how did you manage to dig your innocent claws on him?"
Despite her mounting discomfort, Isabella found herself laughing—a little. Ella's mirth was infectious, and her commentary was too bold to be dull. "I did no such thing. I am, in fact, the victim."
Ella threw her head back and laughed. "You must be a special one then," Her gaze narrowed on the fabrics.
"Now," Ella said, examining the fabric Isabella had been touching, "this velvet is too dull for a man like your husband, assuming he's even half as magnetic as Sir Richard made himself out to be."
"He's worse," Isabella muttered with a playful smile.
Ella's eyes twinkled. "Then you'll want something bold. Rich. Slightly arrogant, even. Like this—" she held up a deep emerald brocade with intricate golden thread weaving.
Isabella tilted her head. "That's... actually quite perfect."
"I do have taste, darling," Ella said, smoothing the material with delicate fingers. "And if you're brave enough to resist my charms—even as a lady— then you should be brave enough to accept my opinion.
"You are impossible," Isabella said, trying not to laugh again.
As they stood there exchanging jabs and style suggestions, a strange feeling overcame her—warmth, ease. And yet, amidst the lighthearted banter, Isabella kept feeling like she was being watched. Her gaze scanned the shop, but no one seemed out of place.
Perhaps she was being paranoid. Or perhaps not. She didn't get enough time to think about it because when Robert turned and saw her conversing with Ella, his face contorted into a thundercloud.
"What in all the saints' names are you doing talking to her?" he snapped as he stormed toward them.
Ella turned slowly, smiling like a cat with a feather in her teeth. "Robert," Isabella said, warning in her tone.
"You shouldn't even breathe near this woman," Robert continued. "She's a snake in silks. A predator."
Ella looked amused, not offended. "Oh, sweetheart, I haven't even shown her my claws yet."
Robert ignored Ella, his jaw tightening. "She's a well-known harlot! She lures men from their homes, breaks engagements, ruins reputations—!"
"That's enough." Isabella folded her arms. "You're being unreasonable right now."
"I'm being realistic! Do you know how many noblemen and noblewomen have made fools of themselves at her feet?"
"Enough!" Isabella said firmly, eyes shooting lasers at her brother-in-law for behaving in such an uncultured manner, "You will apologise to her this instant."
"Isabella!" Robert whisper-yelled, eyes wide in shock. "You know I can't do that."
"I know you can, and that is exactly what you will do, Robert or else...."
He recognised the threat instantly, his face twisting as if he'd swallowed a toad. With a reluctant growl, he muttered, "My apologies."
Ella offered him a mock curtsy. "Why, thank you, my lord. That was almost believable."
Isabella turned back to the fabric. "I'll take this one."
"Excellent choice," Ella said with a wink.
The carriage ride home was filled with Robert's incessant ranting between Isabella and Robert.
"I cannot believe you spent twenty minutes laughing with her—of all people!"
"She was helpful." Isabella flashed him a toothy grin. "Maybe if you had played your part, things wouldn't have ended the way they did."
Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it was only for a second. "She's dangerous."
"She picked the perfect fabric." Isabella waved at the bag of fabric sitting beside her.
"She has men and women kneeling in alleyways, weeping, Isabella! She is not a good person."
"You're exaggerating."
Robert ran his hands through his hair. "Do you know Lord Harrow lost his entire estate after a week with her? He sold his lands, begged her to marry him. She disappeared with half his fortune and left him sobbing in a church."
Isabella's lips slowly curled. "That's... oddly impressive."
"No, it isn't!" Robert was moments away from yanking his own hair out—or better yet, Isabella's. Suddenly, his brother's comment about being married to a bull made perfect, painfully clear sense.
Robert groaned like he was in physical pain. "Just—please, stay away from her. She's not a friend. She's a fire. And not the good kind."
Isabella leaned her head back against the seat, smiling quietly. She didn't say it aloud, but something about Ella did intrigue her. There was power in the woman's presence—unapologetic, bold, fiercely independent. A woman who made the rules instead of following them.
Someone not unlike herself. Maybe she should learn a thing or two from her?
She didn't yet know if Ella was a friend or a foe. But something told her this wouldn't be their last encounter.
And as for Leofric... Well, he was in for a surprise when she returned with the perfect fabric.
And possibly a scandal in the making.