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.
Max paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “Let it be my wedding present to you, my dear. You shall choose everything, of course, but I would like to indulge you this once.”
And he had the pleasure of seeing her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open before he bowed and closed the door.
Bianca recovered from the indecision of packing for London. After what Max said, she reasoned, it didn’t make much difference what she took, so she told Jennie to pack her usual garments, including her burgundy gown and the gown she’d worn to her wedding. Two gowns ought to be enough, no matter what Max thought.
Matthew was to drive them the five miles into Stoke on Trent, where they would hire a carriage to London. Bianca wondered at this extravagance, but Max said it would be economical, since they were three, with Jennie, and all the baggage. Max had sent his manservant, a fellow named Lawrence, ahead several days ago to await them in town.
Papa came to wish them well. He and Max had been closeted for days, discussing Important Matters, as Bianca referred to them in her mind—much too important to mention in front of her. She and her father had made peace, but they still had not reached the equable give-and-take they had had before . . .
Before Max.
Bianca watched from her window as Max directed Matthew how to tie the trunks onto the cart. Jennie was milling around uselessly, excited beyond measure at getting to see London. Ellen from Perusia Hall had gone into a sulk when she learned Jennie, five years younger than she, would accompany Bianca, even though she had never been Bianca’s maid. Ellen had been Cathy’s maid, and since Cathy’s departure she’d become prickly about her position.
Max said something to Jennie, who nodded and spun around toward the house, almost treading on a passing goose as she did. The goose flew up with a great honking, Jennie cowered and shrieked, and Max laughed.
Bianca leaned nearer her window, staring. It was rare she had the chance of seeing him without him knowing she watched. He was still a puzzle to her, this man who did menial tasks himself but who dressed in satins and lace for dinner. He read contracts and quizzed the workmen, but reminded her that he owned a quarter of the factory.
And he looked at her with such a range of expressions she couldn’t begin to sort out what he thought.
As if feeling her scrutiny, his head tilted back and he looked directly at her window. Could he see her? Bianca tensed, but didn’t move.
He swept off his tricorn hat and made an elaborate bow. When he stood upright, he was grinning broadly at her. Awkwardly Bianca raised her hand, finding to her surprise she was smiling in spite of herself.
Blushing, she let the curtain fall and took a large step backward. Good heavens. What had got into her?
Out of breath and flustered, Jennie burst into the room. “Oh, ma’am, are you ready? Mr. St. James says all is prepared and they only wait for you.”
“Yes.” She busied herself pulling on her gloves and fussing with the cuffs. “Have you taken down everything?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Jennie was almost dancing.