Her fists dropped away from her chin and her mouth dropped open. “It’s all a ruse?!”
“It started that way. But then I got bored. I get bored easily.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No. I’ll never believe it.”
“Don’t wound me, darling.” He stretched his arms behind him, placed his palms on the bed, and leaned back. His waistcoat rose a bit, revealing snowy white linen stretched taut across a flat stomach.
Maggie’s heart stopped working, then started up again, racing faster than it ever had before. Unable to stop staring, she said, “And what did you do once you got bored?”
“Sent my clothes to a seamstress famous for her designs. Sent some designs as well.”
She finally lifted her gaze to his. “But why? I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never wanted to run my father’s business, but I’ve always loved what his business creates. Bolts and bolts of gorgeous cloth.” His brow furrowed.
“But?”
The frown disappeared from his face. “There is no but. I thought it might be amusing to combine my campaign to alienate my father with a subtle nod to my respect for his work.”
Maggie shook her head. “You’re an overly complicated man.”
“You cannot guess the half of it.”
Maggie’s elbows sank back onto her knees and her chin drifted back down to her upraised fists. “An entire life dedicated to proving you’re not who your father wishes you to be.”
“You sound disapproving.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound particularly useful.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What are youdoing?”
“Living my own life.”
She shook her head almost violently. “No. You’re not doing that. You’re quite purposefullynotdoing anything.”
“I suppose that’s partly true.” He leaned forward again, a gleam in his eye. “Want to know another secret?”
She nodded once, decisively.
“I’m here to look for a business partner. I would like to manufacture textiles like the ones I wear, sell them to others.”
“Fabric with frogs that are flies?”
“Yes.”
“Have you found anyone?”
He picked at the counterpane and opened his mouth. Then closed it and sat up straighter. “No. Not really. Thoughyoumight do in a pinch.” He winked.
“Do not tease, Mr. Blake.”
“Never! Not about this, at least. You’re smart, I can tell. Most people blink and gape at me when I say ridiculous things.Youhave a rejoinder ready and waiting. I’ve never encountered that before. And you understand the importance of art. Your arguments to Lockham tonight have inspired me.”
“How so?”
“The type of cloth I plan to produce will be costly, one-of-a-kind pieces. Only the rich will be able to afford it. But you reminded me that beautiful things should not be for the rich alone. Indeed, I’d already decided to rely only on skilled laborers for the creation of my wares. No, they are more than laborers. They are artisans. My father’s mills are”—he shoved his fingers through his hair—“houses of death.”
