“In my bedroom, yes.” He nodded. “I find such a locale speeds up the process of introductions a bit. Call me Tobias. Why did he call you Lady Magnificent?”
“Because that’s my name.”
“Ha! No? Really?”
She nodded tightly. “It’s absurd.”
“I adore it.”
“I prefer Maggie.”
“How did you come by such an austere name?”
“My father,” she grumbled. She’d heard the story so many times, she knew it by heart. Her father told it like a soliloquy. She repeated it now, starting with a heavy sigh and omitting her father’s trademark dramatic flair. “I was born in the middle of a golden afternoon. The sun shone through the windows and after hours of screaming, peace and silence reigned. When the doctor handed me to my father, two miracles happened. He saw I was not a boy as his five other children had been, and a sunbeam danced across my face and tangled in my golden hair.”
“Golden hair?” Mr. Blake eyed Maggie’s dark locks dubiously.
“I know. Ridiculous and far from true, but it’s part of the story. May I continue?”
“Please do.”
She cleared her throat. “So, the sunbeam tangled in my golden locks, and he said the first word that came to mind—magnificent. And it’s the only word he could think whenever he looked at me after that. So it’s what they named me. My mother wanted Cleopatra, but—”
“Cleopatra!”
“Don’t interrupt.”
She continued over his poorly restrained laughter. “But my father won out. Thankfully, when my youngest brother could not say Magnificent, they shortened it to Maggie, and I’d like to remain Maggie from now until forever, thank you very much.”
He reached for her face and flicked a curl away from her ear. “Don’t think I’ll call you anything other than Magnificent our entire lives.”
Her breath caught. He looked on her with such joy and gaiety, such pure delight. She had no option but to smile at him. “Surely we won’t know each other that long.”
“We will if you marry me.”
Maggie popped to her feet. “For heaven’s sake! You too?”
Mr. Blake—Tobias—remained seated, one arm draped along the back of the bench, his legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. His brows and lids lowered, obscuring his eyes. “I’m teasing you. You would put me in the same category as the novelist? You wound me, magnificent lady.” He smirked.
She growled. “Call me Maggie if you must call me at all.”
“Oh, I must. I find I really must.”
His lazy smile, the golden curls tumbling over his forehead, they all conspired to make her lose herself in his silly charm. She would not. She’d not let herself be seduced by the absurd in her five and twenty years, and she would not begin now. She tapped his arm. “Focus, Mr. Blake. If marriage is not your proposition, what is?” She had no time for games. She had her own propositions to make.
He stared into the distance, his body still as marble, his profile beautiful as an Italian sculpture. “Friendship. Protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“The likes of Pellham. And the Mathematical Baron.”
Her heart stopped, then started again at a furious gallop. The baron! Did Mr. Blake know? How? No, there was no way. This blackmailing business was making her silly. She’d best be done with it as soon as could be. And she’d best be done with Mr. Blake. Her terrified, galloping heart told her to keep her distance. She steadied her breath and raised her eyebrows. “I have five brothers to protect me.”
“And where are they? Why did they not intercept the novelist’s advances? Why did I have to?”
“They’re busy.” And she’d told the only one who was currently in residence not to interfere. Thankfully, he’d listened.
“With?”
