As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(15)

She countered defensively, “My seasons were just fine.”

“You had no invitations, no gowns, absolutely no suitors—”

“Thank you,” Mariah grumbled sardonically.

“And you deserve to have it all. To be Cinderella in the fairy tale.” Mrs. Smith gave a dreamy sigh. “Now you have the opportunity for a proper introduction, and under the guidance of a duchess, no less! A chance to meet all the most eligible gentlemen, attend all the best events, perhaps waltz with a duke—”

Mariah laughed at that.

“And what’s so amusing? A duke should consider himself lucky to dance with a beautiful lady like you.” When Mariah rolled her eyes, Mrs. Smith gently kicked Whitby under the table. “Tell her, Mr. Whitby, how beautiful she is.”

“What?” Whitby glanced up and blinked, startled from his own thoughts.

“Don’t you think that Mariah’s beautiful?” Mrs. Smith prompted.

He glanced at Mariah and blinked again. “Oh yeah, sure.” Then he reached for another biscuit.

Mariah smiled. Whitby, always true to form.

She took the biscuit from his fingers just as he was about to pop it into his mouth and broke it in two, then handed him half. He grinned at her and gobbled it down, while she nibbled slowly at her own half.

“And what’s the worst that can happen, truly?” Mrs. Smith placed the last ball on the sheet, then pressed a spoon gently down on each to flatten them. “At the very worst, you have a boring time. And at best…” She shrugged and pushed herself away from the table to carry the baking sheet to the oven. “You might find a husband.”

Mariah choked.

“Not if you don’t want to, of course, but one whom you love,” Mrs. Smith corrected quickly as Whitby slapped Mariah on the back as she coughed. “No one can force you into marriage against your will, not even your father.”

True. Although it certainly felt like it.

“But to meet a man whom you might actually want to marry…,” Mrs. Smith pondered gently, refilling her teacup. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Whitby grinned. “Mariah get married? Now that’s a society event I’d pay to attend!”

Scowling, Mariah threw her biscuit at him. He caught it and popped it into his mouth.

Mrs. Smith sighed heavily. “Stranger things have been known to happen.” She fetched a baked sheet of biscuits from the oven and spooned each one carefully onto the rack, smacking Whitby’s fingers when he reached for one. “Besides, this might work to your advantage.”

“How so?” She couldn’t imagine any scenario in which being paraded about for men to gawk at, like some creature from the Tower Menagerie, could possibly be an advantage.

“It might prove to your father that you’re willing to do as he asks instead of rebelling, which might be exactly what he wants in a business partner.”

“I wasn’t rebelling,” she muttered and risked a smack of the spoon by reaching for a warm biscuit herself. “But even Cinderella rebelled, first against her wicked stepmother and then by pretending to be something she wasn’t.” She shook the biscuit at Mrs. Smith to make her point. “Do you really think the prince would have danced with her if he’d known she was only a scullery maid? Then, afterward, when she pretended to be a dutiful stepdaughter again only to hide—”

She stopped suddenly, her eyes darting between her two friends as a wonderful idea popped into her head. A wonderfully, deliciously devilish idea!

“Oh, that’s it,” she practically purred, resting the biscuit thoughtfully against her lips. “That’s what I’ll do…”

“Pardon?” Mrs. Smith’s mouth drew down warily.

Mariah sent her a sly smile. “I’m going to do exactly as you suggested.”

Her frown deepened with suspicion. “How so?”

Pretending to be a dutiful daughter. Of course, she’d have to walk a very fine line. On the surface, she’d make it look as if she were going along with Papa’s plans, participating in the season and doing whatever Carlisle and his mother asked of her, so that Papa couldn’t find fault. But underneath, she’d do everything she could to throw enough rocks under Carlisle’s wheels to prevent him from finding any suitors for her. When August arrived without a single marriage offer, he would be denied the partnership, and she would be happily unmarried, her allowance still firmly in place. And she’d have a brand-new opportunity to convince her father that she should be allowed to help run the company.

Oh, it was simply perfect!

With a happy laugh, she announced, “I am going to be just like Cinderella!”

Except that when her fairy godmother waved her magic wand, it wouldn’t be a princess she turned into but her father’s business partner. And when the clock struck midnight, she’d make certain it was Carlisle who turned into a pumpkin.

“Whitby,” she pleaded, excitement bubbling in her voice, “tell me everything you know about the Carlisles.”

“Everything?” He blinked, surprised that for once someone was actually asking to hear his stories.

She smiled and handed over her last biscuit. “Everything.”





CHAPTER FOUR