Page 39 of About a Rogue
Bianca bit her lip. What he said was true, and she had been spending less time in her workshop after the long hours tinkering with the red glaze. And she’d never been to London.
But it would mean going with him, her husband, who was still a stranger to her despite the gradual weakening of her antipathy. Here she had Amelia and Papa and Aunt Frances to distract her; here she was at home and he was the outsider, while in London it would be the opposite. He would be back among his elegant, arrogant friends, and she would be the common country wife he’d wed for her money.
“I also hope to view several locations suitable for a Perusia showroom, and would very much like your opinion of the choices,” he added as she said nothing. “A setting to display Perusia wares to their very best, and an agent to collect orders. Bring the finest scarlet pieces and we can show them in private previews of our coming work.”
“You want my opinion?” She shouldn’t let this tempt her, she shouldn’t, and yet...
“I would hesitate to take any premises without the advice of someone who knew Perusia intimately,” he said, a faint smile spreading over his face. “And I would far prefer your company to your father’s.”
He was a cunning devil. Even so, Bianca couldn’t stop the flush of pleasure at his words, that her opinion was equated with that of her father’s. And shewouldlike to see London. “Very well,” she said, smoothing her hands down her apron to ease their sudden dampness. “I’ll go.”
His face lit up. “Brilliant!” His attention never wavered from her face. “Thank you.”
And thatthank you, more than anything else, made Bianca think she might end up liking her husband after all.
Chapter Fourteen
Max had invited Bianca to accompany him to London on impulse, but the moment he said it, he found himself tensing up in anticipation of her reply.
It shouldn’t matter to him if she came with him or stayed in Marslip. He had a long list of things to do in town, after all, plenty to occupy his time. In fact, logically it would be easier if he went alone, and could take plain quarters and be out until all hours without any guilt that he was neglecting her.
And yet, as she looked at him, her clear eyes bright with surprise, he all but held his breath hoping she would say yes.
He hadn’t thought he would spend much time with his bride. He hadn’t thought he would mind finding other lovers. If he’d married Catherine, he never would have invited her to come to London, where he would almost surely cross paths with a former lover or flirt, and a wife would have been grossly inconvenient. But looking at Bianca, Max couldn’t quite recall what he’d found so thrilling about any other woman.
He admired her intelligence; he’d known many intelligent women, though. He marveled at her boldness; he’d met bolder, brasher women, but none quite like her. He knew her resistance to him was a challenge, and he thrived on challenge, but this was the first time he felt the hovering weight of failure. Failing with her wouldn’t be something he could walk away from and begin anew elsewhere; she was his wife, ’til death divided them. And he wanted...
Oh God how he wanted her. He wanted her to smile at him, laugh with him, curl up under his arm, run her hands through his hair and pull him to her, push him onto his back and straddle him. He wanted her mouth on him, soft and teasing, hungry and rough. He wanted her under him and twined around him and sleeping peacefully at his side, her head on his shoulder.
Max had never expected that from any lover. It shook him how desperately he wanted this unexpected wife of his. Wanting anything that much was only a portent of how badly it would hurt when he didn’t get it. If he had any sense at all, he would hold back, never let her see how he felt, wait for her to come to him...
Instead he watched every minute flicker of her eyelashes, the slightly deeper breath she took, the way she unclenched her hands and pressed them flat to her skirt. “Very well,” she said, her voice a shade throatier than usual, and he couldn’t hide his elation.
Because he’d been planning this trip to London for a month, most of the arrangements had been made. Now that he would have his wife with him, though, he sent a flurry of new instructions ahead to his man in town. They needed better accommodations, a hired carriage, and a larger staff, particularly a cook. New possibilities opened before him as well; they might entertain, socialize, attend the theater. He was almost like a boy, eager to show off and please her, Max thought, shaking his head at his own behavior.
The days until they left were filled with packing and planning. “What should I take?” Bianca asked him directly, throwing open the door between their rooms and facing him with her hands on her hips. “What will we do in London?”
Max leaned against a bedpost. “What would you like to do?”
“I’ve never been,” she exclaimed. “I’ve heard it’s beautifully elegant, and disgustingly filthy. You’ve lived there. What should I prepare for?”
He smiled. “A bit of everything, I suppose.”
Her mouth flattened in frustration. “You’re not very helpful.” She turned back into her room.
“Right. Wait.” He crossed the room in three steps, putting his hand on the door before she could close it. “I’ve been preoccupied. I’m sorry.”
“If we’re only to view shops and warehouses, I needn’t take any but ordinary clothes. But if we mean to go elsewhere, or to entertain, I ought to take some gowns. But which ones?” She frowned at the array of clothing spread out over every surface in the room. Jennie the maid stood sheepishly in the corner next to an empty waiting trunk.
Max glanced at Bianca from the corner of his eye. Her lower lip was between her teeth and there was a thin line between her brows. So accustomed to seeing her bold and confident, he realized with some surprise that she was completely thrown by this.
He drew breath to offer encouragement and platitudes, and then changed his mind. “Those dresses.” He pointed. “And these. A good cloak and your favorite bonnets. Sturdy shoes and dancing slippers. We’ll buy the rest in town.”
Her patent relief dissolved into surprise at the last. “The rest? I have plenty of clothes. Why would we—?”
“As you said, I have experience of London.” He winked. “You’ll want more.”
“I won’t need more,” she muttered as he went back to his own packing.
