down. “Perhaps there are, but I intend to solve them all.”
Meaning her. Her pulse roared in her ears, and she had to grip a handful of apron to keep her temper in check. “That should keep you occupied for an eternity.”
That Man leaned closer. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he didn’t touch her, but Bianca tensed all the same. “If that’s what it takes,” he said quietly. “I don’t quit, my dear.”
She inhaled raggedly. If he were anyone else, or if they were anywhere else in the world, she would ring a peal over him. But the very last thing she needed—even less than she needed St. James’s company, let alone his smoldering looks—was to spark rumors that the two of them were already quarreling on the workshop floor.
“Spoken with the sheer idiocy of Pyrrhus himself,” she returned, and marched away.
Chapter Ten
Max understood exactly what Bianca was up to, and it amused him to no end.
She was going to keep him at arm’s length; she was going to lose no opportunity to put him in his place and let him know she thought very little of his intelligence and ability.
Max was accustomed to being underestimated: by landlords and merchants, by the Duchess of Carlyle and her solicitor, by his own father. None of them had thought he had any brains in his head, nor any ambition beyond running up debts and being as languidly elegant as possible. So he was neither surprised, nor even upset, that Bianca felt the same. Like the rest of them, she saw what she wanted to see, and like the rest of them, she would be astonished when she eventually realized the truth. He looked forward to that day.
Also, he had seen the covert way she looked at him, and especially at his legs. Max wasn’t above displaying himself to best advantage in the hopes of piquing her interest, and unless he’d completely lost his touch, he sensed she was more interested, and attracted, than she would admit.
He followed her through the factory, docile as a lamb. Samuel Tate had showed him all this before, and Max had read a number of tracts on the subject of manufacturing and pottery production. He let slide her needling about him being perplexed until the end of time by her, as well as her smart retort about Pyrrhus. Nothing he’d seen so far made him think the costs would outweigh the benefits of victory. To the contrary—everything he saw and learned about Bianca made him think they would be an incomparable team . . . once he persuaded her they ought to be one.
In the packing house he couldn’t stop himself from asking questions. The issue of breakage in the contracts lingered in his mind. If Brimley and other merchants insisted on being able to write off a fifth of all wares sent to them as broken on arrival, there was a significant opportunity for improvement. Max expected there would be many such opportunities, but this one seemed an obvious choice to attack first.
So he watched workers nestling cups and plates into straw-filled crates, and he questioned every step. “What sort of straw?”
“The dry sort,” Bianca answered shortly. “It’s straw.”
Max scooped up a handful and crushed it in his palm. “Not so. Some straw is little more than dried grass. Some is as stiff as a willow. After the considerable effort it takes to produce these fine wares”—he lifted a finely wrought pot, awaiting packing, from the shelf nearby—“you would toss it into a crate filled with anything?” He shook his head and replaced the teapot. “But perhaps this is not an area of the business which concerns you.”
Her mouth was hanging open. “How— What— Of course I care!” she said furiously. “How do you know so much about straw?”
From the many nights I’ve spent scrounging for a spot to sleep, and never turned up my nose at any safe, warm, straw-filled stable, he thought. “I know many things that might surprise you,” was all he told her.
Incensed now, Bianca hailed a workman passing by. “William, what sort of straw is used for packing the wares?”
“Wheat, mostly, and barley,” answered the man, barely breaking stride.
“Wheat and barley straw,” she snapped at him and strode off.
Max contemplated the straw in his hand and let it fall back into the crate. “Use more straw when packing anything going by road,” he told the worker lingering curiously nearby. “One quarter more, on Mr. St. James’s orders.” The fellow