Page 44 of About a Rogue
“Displays?” Bianca envisioned her neat shelves of fruit bowls. “What do you mean, displays? We’ll set out the wares for people to examine, of course...”
He shook his head, catching her arm and leading her to the tall windows that overlooked the street. “Imagine a breakfast table here, set for a family. The egg cups glowing in the light, the chocolate pot at hand—full of chocolate, to perfume the air—a bowl of fresh fruit tempting customers to sit down and enjoy the meal.” He pulled her to the windows on the other side of the door. “And over here a dining table, with the most elegant wares Perusia can offer, fully arranged. Anyone can stack plates on a shelf. I want to show people how stunning their tables will look with a complete service.”
She looked around. A space such as this would command a high rent. “It’s very ambitious. If we were to start with a smaller shop—”
He slashed one hand impatiently. “Smaller shop, smaller orders. I know society. How do things become the fashion? One person demonstrates how smart it looks, whether it be jeweled buttons or a high-sprung carriage or the angle of a hat, and society follows in a rush. We will be creative—innovative—and people will flock to see the styles we set.”
Bianca looked at him doubtfully. “It’s an expensive chance to take.”
“All chance has a cost,” he said. “I never take one I don’t expect to pay off handsomely.”
For no good reason, she thought of their marriage, and how he had looked her up and down in the sacristy before saying, “Very well.” Agreeing to change brides virtually at the altar was certainly a chance...
But that was different. She gave her head a tiny shake. He meant business, in pounds and shillings—and if it applied to their marriage at all, it was only because wedding her brought him the same income and share in Perusia that wedding Cathy would have.
“Organizing the shop that way will require far more work,” she said, returning to the important point. “We’ll have to hire a shop assistant simply to maintain the displays. And how many do you plan to have? This space is enormous.”
“Not so. We’ll wall it off here, and display the larger pieces on the wall.” He paced it off as he spoke. “Behind will be a storeroom and offices, where orders can be stored. If we deliver the pieces here, they can be checked and repackaged, delivered in velvet-lined boxes and unveiled like the works of art they are.”
“Velvet boxes!” She threw up her hands. “The expense—!”
“The expense will be worth it,” he cut in. “Why does a jeweler display his wares on a cloth of black silk? It sets off the diamonds to their best advantage and suggests they are worth being stored in luxury. The same for our wares. They are priceless, they are valuable, they are a statement of wealth and dignity, they are worth a large sum because the owner’s children and grandchildren will savor and marvel at them.”
“It would be much better if the children and grandchildren decided to buy their own new dishes,” she retorted.
“When they do, they’ll remember how finely crafted Perusia wares are,” he countered.
She exhaled loudly. “This is not how these things are done,” she said, trying to stay calm and reasonable. “Papa has a man in London who takes orders and sees they are delivered. There’s no need to take this enormous space—”
“Not so enormous,” he murmured.
“—and spend madly on displays with real pots of chocolate and velvet boxes,” she went on, raising her voice over his. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll be out a great deal of money!”
“Your father agrees with me.”
“Well, Papa’s been spectacularly wrong before!” she blazed back.
For a moment his face went utterly still and blank. Too late she realized what he must have been thinking, about his marriage proposal and Papa’s gift of Perusia shares.
And in that moment Bianca felt a prickle of horror. She hadn’t meant that, even though a few weeks ago she bloody well would have. Awkwardly she cleared her throat. “Papa is drawn to grand ideas,” she tried to explain. “The bigger and more dazzling, the better. He would be inclined to approve anything that suggested advancement, even if it were based on nothing...”
Oh heaven help her, she was making it worse.
“I am not persuaded,” she blurted out in helpless frustration. “I think it’s too great a risk.”
Her husband had been watching her, arms folded, expression increasingly stony. At this, though, his mouth eased. He crossed the room, his steps loud and deliberate in the empty shop. He stopped right in front of her, which did nothing for Bianca’s inner turmoil.
“Will you give me a chance?” he asked softly. Lazily he reached out and straightened the brooch holding her fichu in place. The brooch was pinned right over the valley between her breasts. “To persuade you that it might actually be a brilliant idea?”
She couldn’t stop thinking that this conversation was more about their marriage than the showroom. Had he been trying to persuade her for all these weeks? At the time she’d thought he was trying to provoke her by being so calm, or to enrage her by being so solicitous. But perhaps...
“Allow me three months,” he said, his voice growing softer and more seductive. The brooch slipped free of her dress; he’d undone the catch. “Three months to show you how beautiful it can be...” His fingers smoothed the fine lawn of her fichu, stroking it into place. “How elegant. How it will make people yearn for what they see here.”
His dark eyes never wavered from hers. Bianca felt hooked, pinned in place by that gaze. A tremor went through her as he slid one fingertip inside the front of her bodice and secured the brooch back in place.
“Will you?” he whispered. “Will you allow me to try? If you are still... unsatisfied, I will heed your every suggestion.”
He didn’t mean the showroom, and Bianca wasn’t thinking about it, either. Her skin felt alive where he had touched her, ever so briefly, and her nipples had grown taut inside her bodice. She couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on her, and what he might do.Pleasures that most women only dream of, echoed his potent promise in her memory. What did that mean? What did other women dream of? It was bad enough contemplating doing the things her own imagination conjured up.
