Page 45 of About a Rogue
With her body in active revolt against her sense and logic, Bianca grasped for any escape. She tore her gaze from his, staring at the much safer folds of his neckcloth. “Perhaps.” The word came out husky and tentative. She cleared her throat. “I suppose a quarter is a fair trial. For the showroom. If you can secure a reasonable rent.”
Slowly he smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I promise to make the most of it.” He took her hand, so lightly she barely felt his fingertips, and raised it to his lips.
She did feel that. His breath was warm on her skin, and even though his mouth only brushed her knuckles, it reverberated through her like a blow.
She made the mistake of glancing up at him again. His eyes smoldered and a little curl of hair had fallen free at his temple. He was magnificent, and overwhelming, and utterly focused on her.
This time there was no question: he meant her. He meant to persuadeherthat he could show her unparalleled pleasures.
And she feared he just might succeed.
It took four days for her to understand exactly why Max had wanted her to buy so many new gowns. A number of crates arrived at the house as she was writing a letter to her father on their search for a showroom.
The letter was taking longer than usual because she wanted to be diplomatic. She had agreed to let Max go forward with his grand ideas, but she still feared it wastoogrand, and she didn’t want to give her father an overly rosy view of it.
The delivery, though, caused a commotion, and she abandoned her letter to go see.
“What is this?” Men were carrying in crates, some so large they barely fit through the door.
“Mr. St. James directed us to bring them, ma’am,” said one fellow, swiping off his cap and bowing.
Max appeared as the men were trooping out the door, and Bianca turned on him. “What did you buy?”
For answer he pried off the lid of the top crate and lifted out a plate. It was familiar to her, as it was some of Papa’s best creamware, the rim royal blue with a gilded edge and a bucolic scene etched in the center. It was a custom order that had been delayed due to troubles with the gilding, and sent to London only days before they left.
“That’s Sir Bartholomew Markham’s order—”
“Markham has not paid for it. We’re having guests for dinner tomorrow night.”
She gasped. “What? Why?”
He replaced the plate, his gaze on her. “To make London swoon over Perusia’s finest work. To hint there is even finer work coming soon.” Finally a smile curved his mouth. “And for entertainment. I cannot ask my wife to sit idly at home every night.”
“Whom have you invited?” Real alarm clutched at Bianca’s heart. She had no talent for entertaining. That was Cathy’s province.
“Friends. Acquaintances. People who can afford Perusia on their dining table.”
“No... Wait, I—” She stormed after him as he started up the stairs. “You ought to give me more warning!”
He paused, looking down at her with his brows raised. “I beg your pardon for that, but we’re only here a month. I arranged it a fortnight ago.”
“Oh.” As much as she worried about arranging such a dinner, it was a bit disconcerting that he’d already done it. Still, Bianca rallied, following him to the top of the stairs. He wanted a dinner party, and so he had arranged one. “You ought to have told me sooner.”
“Ah.” He smiled ruefully. “I should have. I apologize, my dear.”
“We can’t use Sir Bartholomew’s service,” she went on forcefully.
Max shrugged. “Until he pays the bill, it’s ours.”
Bianca bit her lip. Sometimes customers never paid and Papa would despair over the bill and the wasted work. “Has he been asked?”
“Twice,” said Max. “Both times he urged that we deliver it and said he would send payment by the start of next quarter.”
“How much is the bill?”
“Nine hundred pounds,” he replied, “and if a fellow needs to wait for his quarterly income to pay it, chances are he’ll ask for more time after that, and never pay in full. I’ll grant him the time, but until then, he shall not have the dinnerware.”
“All right,” said Bianca after a moment. She had a passing familiarity with the accounts, but her cousin Ned handled most of it, under Papa’s direction. She knew about unpaid bills primarily when Papa went into a rage over a particularly galling one. “That is sensible.”
