Chapter Twenty-One #2
That didn’t seem right. The liquid felt thicker than saliva.
But before she could consider what else he might have dripped on her, he stepped away.
A moment later, her cloak fluttered around her shoulders.
She clutched it close and straightened, wincing as her back complained from having spent so long in one awkward position.
She turned around. His eyes glowed in the darkness.
Impossible. She blinked, and he was smiling like a foolish schoolboy, irises back to their normal soft brown. But there was a tension about him that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.
“Good God,” he whispered.
A strange smell tickled her nose. Ashy and sour.
“Fire!” Cordon shouted.
She spun around and was greeted with the flickering light of a fire. The lantern had fallen onto the floor, where it had ignited scraps of fabric she’d failed to clean up.
She lurched into movement, stamping the flames with her bare feet, but the blaze had spread to the bolts lined up against the wall. She had failed to tell Alyssa to put them away because she’d been too absorbed in herself.
Then Cordon appeared at her side, holding the bucket of sand she kept under the counter for exactly this purpose. How had she forgotten? It was as if the moment she’d seen the fire, all rational thought had vanished.
He upended the sand, then he dropped the bucket and turned on her. “Are you hurt?”
Her legs felt prickly. She looked down. Her cloak was scorched.
Cordon had fared better but was still covered in soot.
But that wasn’t the worst of the damage.
Nestled on top of the bolts that had caught flame had been several unfinished projects that should have been in the trunk at the foot of her bed.
She pushed him away and walked toward the smoldering, sandy bolts. The garments were blackened and stiff to the touch. She grabbed the first item, a day dress in patterned cotton, and held it up by the shoulders. It unfolded like a sheet of vellum, damaged beyond repair.
“Kitty,” Cordon said.
She put the dress back. Several days of work—gone.
All because she had been so focused on her pleasure that she’d set aside her normal precautions.
She couldn’t blame Alyssa; the girl was only an assistant.
This was Kitty’s fault. It was bad enough that she’d forgotten to do the tasks in the first place, but she’d compounded her sins by returning with Cordon and forgetting everything she’d put off.
“Kitty!” Cordon clasped her shoulders and shook. “Do not fret. I can find someone to help you make the garments again.”
She dropped her chin to her chest. Of course he was offering to help, using his money to rectify a situation that she had inflicted upon herself.
It would have been easy to agree and then return to her indulgent behavior.
But that would make her just as bad as her parents, who let Kitty solve all their problems without a care for how much damage it did.
She couldn’t become like them. She’d made a mistake by focusing on herself, even for a day.
“No,” she said. “It’s too late to train someone else.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ll have Alyssa help me. It’ll mean some long nights, so…” She couldn’t meet Cordon’s gaze.
“So, our arrangement must end,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I truly appreciate you helping with Mr. Blaylock, but I can’t go running off at all hours of the night.”
He slid her hand up her cheek. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know. I can help you. It’s not shameful to ask.”
She put her hand on top of his. “It’s not about helping.
I lost sight of my goal.” She searched for the words that would make him understand.
“For years, I’ve been focused on making this shop a success.
Becoming financially independent. Tonight, I let that dream go, and look what happened. ” She gestured to the damage.
“That is ridiculous,” he said sharply. “It was an accident, nothing more.”
She squirmed out of his embrace. “An accident, maybe, but one that wouldn’t have happened if I had been thinking clearly.”
“Kitty, I don’t—”
She held up her hand. “I have a lot of work to do. Unless you want to help me clean, I think you should leave.”
He glanced at the window—and the deep-red sky. Dawn.
“I’m sorry,” he said, backing away.
Pressure built behind her eyes. Of course he wouldn’t stay. To a man of his status, she was nothing more than a pleasant diversion. She really had become like her parents, trying to fit into a social class that would never accept her. How foolish.
She grabbed a broom and swiped it so hard, several bristles broke off.
If she kept it up, she’d make the mess worse.
She dropped the broom, which clattered to the floor.
Why did everything continue to go wrong?
All she wanted was to create dresses and have them worn by customers.
To make people happy and take pride in her accomplishments.
Instead, she had been thrust backward time and time again.
It wasn’t fair.