Victorian high society’s most daring equestrienne finds love and an unexpected ally in her fight for independence in the strong arms of London’s most sought after and devastatingly handsome half-Indian tailor.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Mimi Matthews’s The Siren of Sussex, which releases on January 11th 2022.
Evelyn Maltravers understands exactly how little she’s worth on the marriage mart. As an incurable bluestocking from a family tumbling swiftly toward ruin, she knows she’ll never make a match in a ballroom. Her only hope is to distinguish herself by making the biggest splash in the one sphere she excels: on horseback. In haute couture. But to truly capture London’s attention she’ll need a habit-maker who’s not afraid to take risks with his designs—and with his heart.
Half-Indian tailor Ahmad Malik has always had a talent for making women beautiful, inching his way toward recognition by designing riding habits for Rotten Row’s infamous Pretty Horsebreakers—but no one compares to Evelyn. Her unbridled spirit enchants him, awakening a depth of feeling he never thought possible.
But pushing boundaries comes at a cost and not everyone is pleased to welcome Evelyn and Ahmad into fashionable society. With obstacles spanning between them, the indomitable pair must decide which hurdles they can jump and what matters most: making their mark or following their hearts?
Evelyn urged Hephaestus back into a trot, and then into a canter. His hooves pounded down the strip of tan. She kept him to the same gait for a long while, enjoying the easy, effortless motion of his powerful stride. The hoofbeats of Lewis’s mount echoed a distance behind them.
As she rode, her gaze once again drifted to the rail. It was as empty as it had been when she’d arrived. Mr. Malik hadn’t come. She’d just about resigned herself to the fact when, up ahead, a slight movement caught her attention.
Her eyes widened behind her veil.
Good gracious, it was him.
He stood in the shadow of an elm tree, hardly noticeable at first glance. But once she set eyes on him, there was no mistaking his presence. Dressed in an impeccably cut black coat and trousers, he looked both handsome and dangerous. Like a fallen angel, reluctantly come to earth.
Awareness crept into her veins, warm and shivery. She didn’t know why. At three and twenty, she was no green girl. And it wasn’t as if he’d been particularly nice to her. Even now, the way he looked at her . . . That darkling glance. Frowning and sullen. As if he were weighing her in the balance.
She rode up to him at a canter, bringing Hephaestus to a slow halt in front of the trees. He piaffed for several steps—an elevated trot in place—before coming to a standstill. “Mr. Malik,” she said, a little breathless. “Good morning.”
He bowed. “Miss Maltravers.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Since you first entered Rotten Row.”
Her mouth nearly fell open. “That long? But . . . I didn’t see you.”
“Why should you? You were riding.”
“And you were watching? The whole time?”
“I was.”
Frustration knotted her stomach. So far, she’d done nothing but gallop on the straightaway. It had required little skill on her part—or on Hephaestus’s. Hardly the exhibition Mr. Malik would have been expecting. “I can ride a bit longer if you like,” she said. “Put him through his paces. He’s well schooled in dressage, and knows most of the movements of the haute école. I trained him myself.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Mr. Malik said.
Her heart sank.
Dash it all! It wasn’t fair. To have her riding skill dismissed out of hand. Then again, when had anything in life ever been fair? Her plan could still succeed. She wouldn’t permit his rejection to rob her of hope.
If it was a rejection.
He was still here, after all. That must mean something, surely.
“Well?” she asked. Her muscles tensed in anticipation.
“You’re an accomplished horsewoman.”
“I know that,” Evelyn said impatiently. “What I mean is . . . have you decided if you’re going to make me a habit?”
Mr. Malik’s mouth ticked up at one corner. Too late, she realized the double meaning in her words. “Do you know, Miss Maltravers, I believe I am.”
***
Ahmad thrust his hands into his pockets as Miss Maltravers rode away.
She looked different on a horse. Elegant and confident. Entirely at her ease.
In truth, he’d never seen anything like her.
She hadn’t been boasting when she’d said that she was a better rider than the Pretty Horsebreakers. From what he’d seen this morning, Miss Maltravers’s skill as an equestrienne was beyond compare. Galloping down Rotten Row on that great Spanish stallion of hers—a horse that would have intimidated most men—she’d been at one with her mount. Thoroughly in control, while at the same time seeming to exert not one ounce of physical force.
Impressive, to be sure. But it was more than that.
There was an inherent grace to her riding. A feminine ebb and flow that had riveted his gaze. It was almost sensual, the way the lines of her body had been in harmony with every movement. Still and sure, with gentle hands and a quiet seat.
He’d watched her with growing awe, a tightness forming in his chest. Good lord. Did she realize how much potential she had? All it would take was the right dressmaker—the right hairdresser and corsetiere.
The right habit-maker.
From THE SIREN OF SUSSEX published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2021 by Mimi Matthews.
