Rich Man (Rich Man | Poor Man | Beggar Man | Thief Book 1) Read online

  She placed her hand lightly on his arm and he led her to the first row of fabrics on the ground floor.

  “Oh,” she breathed, dropping her hand and rushing forward. Her hand brushed across the first bolt of fabric, then the second, then the third. She released an appreciative ‘oh’ each time she spied a new fabric.

  As she made her way down the first row of materials, then the second and the third, Blake could tell each time she spied a fabric she was particularly fond of. She would pull it loose from the bolt and hold it up, then lay it against her cheek.

  Blake doubted she even realized he was there, she was that absorbed with the materials. When they’d reached the last row on the ground floor, she looked around until she spied the stairs that led to the second floor. She lifted her skirts a little and rushed upward, covering the second level with the same enthusiasm that she’d shown on the ground level. When she reached the last row of the second level, she turned and her eyes locked with his.

  “Oh!” she said, as if finally realizing he was there. “This is remarkable. I’ve never enjoyed anything so much in my life.”

  Blake couldn’t stop the smile that covered his face. “Watching you has given me the same pleasure.”

  He watched as her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

  “Do forgive me. Has a great deal of time passed?”

  Blake smiled. “Only a little. But I’m afraid that your tea has grown cold.”

  “Oh, forgive me.”

  “Not at all. It was worth watching you. You truly have a passion for fabrics. Could you imagine gowns that you wanted to design when you looked at the materials?”

  “Oh, yes.” She reached out and touched a deep burgundy velvet. “This fabric will make a beautiful pelisse. I’ll trim it in black and gold.”

  Blake turned and pointed to a fine yellow and white cotton print. “What about this one?”

  “Oh, that can only be made into a summer garden party gown.”

  “And this?” Blake reached out to touch a bolt of emerald green silk at the same time as Lady Willow did. Their fingers touched and powerful bolts of a strange current traveled through Blake’s flesh.

  Blake expected Lady Willow to pull her hand away from his, but she didn’t. She let her fingers rest on the top of his hand.

  His breath caught as ghosts of the current rippled through his arm. He lifted his gaze and found her staring at him. The expression on her face was filled with confusion. Her gaze did not shift from his for several moments, and when it did, it lowered to where their flesh met.

  Blake had no notion which one of them would speak first, but the decision was taken out of his hands when Liam’s voice echoed from the other side of the warehouse.

  “Blake. Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” he said, but his word came out as a whisper. “Yes,” he said loud enough that Liam could hear him. “We’re on our way.”

  Blake took Lady Willow’s arm and looped it through his. This time he was prepared for the reaction. Even though he tried to tell himself that the effect she had on him wasn’t as earth shattering as he’d imagined before, he knew it for the lie it was.

  No one had ever affected him like she did.

  Chapter 4

  Willow sat in a reception room off Blake Edison’s office and slowly sipped her cup of tepid tea while Madame Boulereau visited with Mr. Edison and Mr. McGregor. She answered when she was spoken to, but mostly she tried to determine what had just happened to her.

  She’d never experienced anything like the sizzling exchange when her hand touched Blake Edison’s. She’d never experienced such a startling reaction as when she’d accidently placed her hand over his. The feeling that soared through her was tantalizing. Electrifying. As if she’d been struck by… lightning.

  She looked at her hand, then glanced at Mr. Edison’s when she was certain he wasn’t watching her. What was there about him that affected her in that way?

  Willow lifted her gaze to study Blake Edison as he conversed with Madame Boulereau. He was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet, and his hair was a dark brown that curled slightly at the ends. His brown eyes were so dark Willow thought perhaps they might have specks of black in them and they sparkled with an intelligence that made it plain why he was a successful businessman.

  His profile was strong and compelling and he carried himself with an air of command. But that wasn’t what she noticed first when she looked at him. It was the confident set of his shoulders and his formidable presence that set him apart from every other man with whom she’d sat down to tea. He was definitely accustomed to being in control.

  The sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw were an artist’s dream. His masculine features were aligned to perfection, from his broad forehead to the rugged precision of his chiseled jaw. Willow thought it quite impossible to imagine anyone more handsome. And then he smiled at something Madame Boulereau said.

  Two creases on either side of his mouth dented deeply to form a most heart-stopping look. Perfect white teeth flashed in contrast to his dark complexion. Willow swallowed hard as a cloud of butterflies took flight inside her.

  “Don’t you agree, my lady?” Madame Boulereau asked.

  “My apologies, Madame Boulereau,” Willow stammered, pulling her thoughts back to the present. “What did you say?”

  “I asked if you’d discovered some fabrics you might wish to make into gowns?”

  “Oh, my,” Willow answered. “It’s not whether I found some, but how many. I guarantee that you will be elated when you see the fabrics Mr. Edison has for you to choose from.”

  “Perhaps we should go look now,” Madame Boulereau said as she rose to her feet. “Choosing materials from Blake’s warehouse is the highlight of my days.”

  Willow rose and followed Madame Boulereau across the room. Mr. McGregor opened the door and Willow exited behind the dressmaker.

  Madame Boulereau’s eyes lit brightly when she looked at all the new fabrics. Willow saw the dressmaker’s excitement rise as she prepared to go through the rows of materials and choose the ones she favored.

  The next two hours consisted of selecting huge rolls of material from the bins on two stories. One well-made gown alone required a good twenty-seven yards of fabric, and it would not do to choose carelessly. Willow felt honored each time the seamstress looked at her to get her approval of a fabric she’d chosen. When she nodded, Liam McGregor attached a pin to the bolt Madame Boulereau indicated she wanted to purchase. Only twice did Willow hesitate on one of Madame Boulereau’s selections, and the seamstress changed her mind without blinking.

  Willow was also honored when Madame Boulereau stopped before they proceeded down a new row of fabrics and the dressmaker asked her if there was a fabric that Willow thought she’d missed. If there was, Madame Boulereau returned to the fabric Willow liked and considered it. Then purchased it.

  When they’d finished, the dressmaker followed Mr. McGregor to the office to do the final paperwork. Willow looked around the area and noted all the rolls of fabric with pins on them. Madame Boulereau had made excellent choices. Willow couldn’t wait to return home and design gowns using the material Madame Boulereau had just purchased.

  She’d never enjoyed a day as she had this one. She’d never experienced such satisfaction in her life. Never undertaken such a self-fulfilling task. If only she could spend every day of her future in this manner she’d be content for the rest of her life.

  “You are in your element, my lady,” Mr. Edison said as he came to stand beside her. “The expression on your face indicates how much you enjoyed the endeavor.”

  Willow lifted her gaze. “Yes, I did. This is remarkable.” Willow paused to study what she read in Mr. Edison’s eyes. “And you?” she asked. “Do you enjoy what you do? Here? In the middle of these glorious fabrics?”

  “Well, now,” he said. He thought for a moment, then a smile changed his expression. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. But not for the same reasons you do.”
r />   Willow tilted her head and waited for him to explain himself. He took her arm and looped it through his, then started walking with her down a row of varying shades of rich velvets. “What do you see when you look at these bolts of materials, my lady?”

  Willow reached out her free hand and touched the soft fabric. “I see this rich brown made into a lady’s cloak, or if purchased for a man, then I see an elegant hunting jacket.” She turned to face him. “What do you see?”

  “That’s easy. I see the possibility that the material may not sell. I see the money I will make if it does sell, and calculate how much of the profit I will have to use to purchase another fine fabric to take its place. I also consider my loss if this particular color or material goes unsold.”

  “Oh, I never considered that some of the fabrics you import aren’t sold.” She looked at the rows of materials and wondered how many of them wouldn’t sell. “What do you do with the fabrics that don’t?”

  “I keep them for a while, then I reduce the price and hope that one of the linen-drapers will take them off my hands. If not…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Then I have lost money.”

  “I see. Are you often forced to sell fabrics at a loss?”

  Mr. Edison smiled. “Thankfully, no. I could hardly afford to stay in business if I had to sell many fabrics at a loss.”

  “I imagine that’s true.” Willow continued to walk with Mr. Edison. “How did you come to be in this business? Did your family import fabrics?”

  When Mr. Edison didn’t answer immediately, Willow lifted her gaze to look at him. The expression on his face revealed much, but Willow wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

  “No, my family isn’t in the textile business. My mother died when I was young and I found work on the docks. One day I met the former owner, Silas Witherspoon, and he gave me a job. This was Witherspoon Fine Imports before, you know. Witherspoon taught me everything I needed to know about importing textiles, and when he retired, I bought the business from him.”

  “In other words, you’re a self-made man.”

  Mr. Edison paused and looked down at her. A smile crossed his face. “Does that offend you? Do you look at self-made individuals the same as Society does?”

  “Certainly not.” Willow answered his question with a surety that surprised even her. How could she look down on someone who used his intelligence and his ingenuity to be successful? Especially when she herself wanted nothing more than to use her talents to be successful. To be happy. “No,” she repeated. “I admire you. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  The expression on Blake Edison’s face softened and he looked at her with a warmth that spread through her in silky waves, from her chest to a spot deep in the pit of her stomach.

  “And what are you going to do with your love of fabrics and what you can make from them?”

  Willow shook her head. What options did she have? She was the daughter of an earl. She was close to becoming engaged to the heir of a dukedom. If she were fortunate, she could design gowns for herself, and perhaps her mother. But she could never reveal the talent that made her come alive.

  Willow was engulfed by a sadness she couldn’t hide. She’d always known that she could never reveal her love for designing, but to admit it made it all the more real. The expression on his face told her he understood what she wasn’t saying. And that he was disappointed in her.

  There wasn’t an answer that she could give him. “I think it’s time we returned,” she said, then turned toward the stairs and took her first step away.

  He led her to the ground floor and out of the building to await Madame Boulereau at her carriage.

  “I’m glad you came today, Lady Willow. It’s been a pleasure. I want you to know you’re welcome to return any time you’d like.”

  “I’m glad I came, too, but I can’t imagine returning any time soon. At least not until Madame Boulereau informs me that you have another selection of fabrics to show her and invites me to join her.”

  “I’ll make sure she does, then.”

  “When do you expect that will that be?” Willow asked, knowing she would be risking a great deal if she came again.

  “Perhaps a week. Perhaps three. We get smaller fabric shipments nearly every day, but we need to wait until larger shipments arrive from the east before we have enough fabric to open our warehouse to linen-drapers and dressmakers.”

  “How very exciting,” Willow said. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to come here every day and be surrounded by fabrics of every colorful hue. Of never knowing when more beautiful fabrics would arrive. But Willow knew such a life was far beyond her. If Society ever discovered she’d visited a fabric warehouse, they’d be scandalized. Willow doubted her father would ever trust her out of the house again.

  Her mother knew of her love of fabrics, but even today she’d thought her maid, Marie, had accompanied her. It had taken every bit of maneuvering to convince Marie to stay behind while she accompanied Madame Boulereau this morning. She doubted she’d manage anything like this again.

  Luckily, she didn’t have time to consider the trouble she’d get into if her mother discovered her deception. Madame Boulereau exited the warehouse with Mr. McGregor and came toward the carriage.

  “Did you complete your purchase?” Mr. Edison asked when Madame Boulereau reached them.

  “As usual, Blake, you relieved me of all my expendable funds. I doubt I’ll have enough to live on for the next two weeks.”

  Mr. Edison reached for Madame Boulereau’s hands and brought them to his lips. “Madame, if I thought that were remotely possible, I would refuse to allow you to make such an extravagant purchase. What I do know is that the fabrics you purchased will turn you a handsome profit.”

  “And for that I am eternally grateful,” Madame Boulereau said, then leaned on her tiptoes and kissed Blake Edison on the cheek.

  Liam McGregor held the carriage door open and Madame Boulereau entered followed by Willow.

  “I had a lovely time,” Willow said through the open window after the door closed.

  “I’m glad.” Blake Edison kept his gaze focused on her as the driver slapped the reins and the horses moved forward. Neither she nor Madame Boulereau spoke for several moments as each considered the day’s revelations.

  Willow knew that without a doubt she’d never had a more enjoyable day. What’s more, she’d never met a more impressive gentleman.

  . . . .

  Willow kept her gaze focused on the scene playing out before her, but her mind refused to concentrate on the opera. Instead, she kept reliving her morning with Madame Boulereau. The morning she’d spent in Blake Edison’s company.

  The moment she’d returned home, she had gone to her room, taken out her sketch pad, and begun designing cloaks and pelisses, day dresses, and evening gowns. She’d designed attire for outdoor events and indoor events, formal events and informal events, city events and country events and every other event she could think of. And when she closed her sketch pad to dress for her evening at the opera, she had been filled with a deliciously euphoric happiness.

  “Are you enjoying the opera?” Quinton Marvell, Marquess of Kendrick asked when the curtain came down on the second act.

  “Oh, yes. How can one not enjoy Mozart?”

  Willow and Kendrick were in the Duke of Somerset’s box with her mother and father and the Duke of Somerset. This was the third evening she’d spent with the marquess in as many days. Rumors connecting the two of them were running rampant, and nothing Willow did or said could dispel them.

  “Would you care for something to drink, my lady?” Lord Kendrick asked.

  Willow smiled at the marquess. He was always most thoughtful.

  “Allow me to go,” the Duke of Somerset volunteered, rising to his feet. “You stay here with Lady Willow, son.”

  “Please don’t go on my account, Your Grace,” Willow said.

  “Nonsense,” the Duke of Somerset replied. “Come, Wyndfi
eld. I believe we could both do with a glass of something.”

  Willow’s father rose and turned to his wife. “Would you care to join us, Margarette?”

  “By all means.” Willow’s mother rose. “Will you two be alright until we return?”

  “Of course, Mama,” Willow answered.

  “They weren’t too subtle, were they?” the marquess said when they were alone. “Do you mind?”

  Willow couldn’t stifle her laugh. “No, I don’t mind. Do you?”

  “You know I don’t, Lady Willow. I look forward to any time I can spend in your company.”

  The marquess turned in his chair to face her. “Did your mother inform you that I called on you earlier today but you weren’t at home?”

  “Yes,” Willow answered with a fair amount of guilt. “I was out shopping.”

  “That’s what your mother said. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Willow considered how she should answer Lord Kendrick. She couldn’t share where she’d been, or that she hadn’t taken her maid with her. “You will discover in time that I spend a great deal of my time with my dressmaker. I hope that doesn’t trouble you.”

  Lord Kendrick smiled. “Not at all. Your mother explained that you have a quarterly allowance that you are free to spend as you wish. I believe that every woman should be free to make purchases with her own money.”

  “What a modern idea. There are many men who would not agree with you.”

  “Perhaps, but when it comes to a relationship between you and I, I will never forget that I benefit more from a match than you do.”

  His admission caught Willow off guard. Perhaps he didn’t know all the details that their fathers had agreed upon. Perhaps he didn’t know that he would lose two of the estates he thought he would inherit when his father died.

  Willow felt the tender nudge of guilt and knew that if this courtship went on much longer, she would have to be certain he was aware of his father’s terms. She hated that he thought he was the only one who would benefit from their marriage. She wondered if knowing what he’d lose to marry her could ever lead to love between them.