As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(10)
“Oh, I’m quite certain that’s not it. You see, I don’t have time for frivolities.” Her smile never moved, yet it seemed to harden. Which was a damnable shame, because she had a very sensuous mouth. The kind a man could enjoy kissing for hours. “I’m too busy following the trade business to bother waltzing at balls.”
“Of course,” he murmured, certain she didn’t spend much time at society events. He’d have remembered meeting her…a dark rose among the pastel daisies of the unmarried ladies. And she certainly had thorns. “My brothers, then.”
“Pardon?” She blinked, surprised by that sudden turn of conversation.
“The Carlisle brothers,” he explained, a touch ruefully. “We made quite a reputation for ourselves in our younger days. That must be where you’ve heard of me.”
“Perhaps.” She gave a dismissive sniff. “But I definitely know it wasn’t in praise for being a good businessman.”
Thorns, indeed. But she’d have to try a lot harder than that tiny prick to wound him. “Your father thinks my business acumen enough to benefit the company.”
“Papa thinks he can use you to gain influence in Parliament,” she corrected quietly but bluntly.
He finished off the rest of his bourbon, hiding the sting to his pride. “I know.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. Clearly, she’d thought him either too na?ve or too daft to have figured out the real reason why he, of all men, was important to Winslow. But he’d known from the beginning.
He crossed the room to the tantalus and refilled his glass. “My brother Sebastian, the current Duke of Trent, sits on several important committees in Parliament, including the committee which governs trade and tariffs. So does the Duke of Chatham, the father of my brother-in-law, the Marquess of Chesney, who will someday take over for him in Parliament.” He reached for a second crystal tumbler and splashed in two fingers’ worth of bourbon. “And my family maintains a strong friendship with the Duke of Strathmore, although the duke’s interests lean more toward the military than commerce, but one never knows when privately held ships might be called into commission or when merchants might need to supply army provisions.”
Even though he’d never deign to exploit the connections he’d so glibly listed, he took pleasure in inverting her opinion of him as someone who didn’t realize his own worth. He’d certainly considered the power of all his connections many times while he’d been researching Winslow Shipping.
He continued, “My cousin, Ross Carlisle, Earl of Spalding, is currently a high-level diplomat within the Court of St James’s, and my brother Quinton is well on his way to someday being elected an MP from Cumbria, if the villagers don’t decide to tar and feather him first.” He carried both drinks back to her. “All in all, I’d say those connections are worth a twenty percent stake.” He held out the second glass toward her, his eyes not leaving hers. “Don’t you agree?”
A burst of satisfaction spun through him at the flash of annoyance in her eyes. If the minx wanted a bare-knuckle fight, he’d give her one that would make Gentleman Jackson take note. This partnership was his best hope to put his father’s ghost to rest and repent for his sins, and no one would stand in his way. No one. Certainly not some green-eyed harridan, no matter how curvaceous her lithe body or how tempting those berry-red lips, which on any other woman would have appeared too full but on her were succulently ripe.
Her gaze darted suspiciously to the bourbon. “Did you poison it?”
“And ruin fine Kentucky bourbon?” He quirked a brow as if offended. “Do you take me for a heathen?”
A faint smile tugged at her lips, the first genuinely amused expression he’d seen from her since she walked into the room. And it was surprisingly nice.
But it faded quickly, and she coolly accepted the glass. “At least you appreciate good liquor,” she grudgingly muttered, then took a sip. “Most Englishmen consider bourbon beneath them, preferring to spend twice as much for cognac that’s half as good.”
He raised his glass toward her in a casual toast. “I am not one of those men.”
Her eyes gleamed at that, as if she might find respect for him after all. “My father deals in the finest bourbons. It’s one of the perks of trading with the Americans. That, and we also get the best coffees and cocoas.”
“And cigars,” he added knowingly. “Winslow Shipping traded more than six thousand pounds in American cigars last year.”
“Impressive.” The tip of her tongue darted out to innocently lick away a drop of bourbon still clinging to her upper lip, but he felt that small lick burn through him like liquid fire. Sweet Lucifer.
If he couldn’t find her a husband by August, it would only be because the devil himself wanted to keep her for his own wanton pleasures.
“I’ve studied your father’s company, Miss Winslow, and I know what goods he specializes in, which countries his ships sail to, which merchants he buys from at all ports of call, just as I know the best buyers in England where he can sell those goods for the most profit and how to leverage that profit once we have it. I assure you, he’s found a good partner in me.”
“But you’re not a Winslow.” She eyed him over the rim of her glass as she held it thoughtfully to her lips. “Tell me, Lord Robert—”