As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(16)
Robert!” Elizabeth Carlisle, Duchess of Trent, smiled broadly as she swept into the drawing room at Park Place the following afternoon, as bright as the winter sunlight slanting through the tall windows. “Good to see that you haven’t burned down the house.” She stopped in the center of the room and pointedly arched a brow as she clarified, “That was not meant as a challenge.”
“None taken.” Robert strode forward to greet her, then grinned as he added, just to tease her, “Not until May Day at least.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Absolutely no donkey races. The rear garden still has hoofprints all over it from last year, and I fear the chestnut tree is never going to recover.”
Yet she placed an affectionate kiss on his cheek.
That was what he loved best about his mother. Beneath her regal fa?ade lurked the most loving, most forgiving woman he’d ever known. And certainly the most distrustful of her sons, although admittedly they’d given her plenty of cause over the years. Like last season. He had a rather fuzzy but pleasant memory of the revelries that had terrorized the neighbors last May after Sebastian left London in pursuit of Miranda. All in all an amazing fortnight, although in retrospect perhaps renting an elephant hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. Thank God his mother hadn’t found out about that.
But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, because last summer had proven to be the final bachelor season he and Quinton would ever share. Even then it was far tamer than what they’d done before Father died, because Robert had learned well his lesson on the dangers of excess.
His mother glanced around the room. “Where is this young lady of yours?”
“She isn’t my anything,” he corrected.
He wanted Mariah’s season to go well enough to secure a marriage offer from some unsuspecting clodpole who had no idea what he was getting himself into. He had no thoughts of her beyond that.
Folding his arms across his chest, he sat lazily on the arm of the settee. “She’s due to arrive at any minute. You’ll like her.” Dear God, he hoped she did! If his mother didn’t agree to help, the season—and the partnership—was as good as dead.
She eyed him suspiciously as she sank gracefully onto the settee. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“None,” he assured her. Which was the truth. He hadn’t gotten himself into trouble; he was correcting past wrongs.
She accepted the cup of tea he poured for her from the tray and dubiously asked, “So I’m to believe you’ve suddenly taken a selfless interest in debutantes?”
His lips twisted. Annoyingly, his mother knew him too well. “I said I wasn’t in trouble. I never said I had no personal interest.”
“Oh?” Her brow lifted curiously.
A curiosity he knew he had to firmly quash. “Not in Miss Winslow. Not like that.”
A fortnight ago, he would have said he found Mariah interesting. Tall, ebony-haired…intriguing. Perhaps enough to call on her. But now he knew better. The Hellion was a hellcat in disguise. After their previous encounter, he was certain that if he removed his shirt, he’d have the claw marks to prove it.
“Her father is Henry Winslow,” he explained, pinning today’s introduction over tea to nothing more than business. “Of Winslow Shipping and Trade.” He paused, then added unassumingly, “He’s offered me a partnership.”
His mother’s face shined. “That’s wonderful news, Robert! Your father would be so proud of you.”
He averted his eyes. He wasn’t at all certain of that himself. Especially after the last conversation they’d shared, when Father led him stumbling out of the gambling hell where he’d racked up three days’ worth of debt, reeking of cheap whiskey and even cheaper prostitutes. Mother hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the look of frustration on Father’s face, hadn’t heard his words…I am disappointed in you.
But Robert had worked hard to pay off every penny of that debt, and now he was working even harder to secure his place as one of England’s top businessmen. He wouldn’t stop pushing himself until he was certain Father would be proud of the man he’d become. Without hesitation.
Which was why it had to be this partnership with this company. Only the best would do. Because then there could be no debating the measure of his success.
With a loving smile, Elizabeth Carlisle placed her hand over his. “He would have been so pleased to see the man you’ve become.”
“He will be,” he resolved, affectionately squeezing her hand. “So will you.”
“I already am, darling.” But her assurance didn’t ease the guilt sitting on his chest like a lead ball. Certainly not when concern for him darkened her brow.
Dear God, how he regretted hurting her! Oh, she’d never openly blamed him for Father’s death, had repeatedly insisted to him in the dark days that followed that it was an accident. That no one was to blame. But he knew better. If not for him, Father wouldn’t have been out at midnight, wouldn’t have been in the street when the pistol was fired, wouldn’t have been thrown from his horse…would still be alive.
This partnership with Winslow could never make up for the damage he’d done that night, the grief and pain he’d caused—nothing could bring his father back or heal his mother’s heart. But he could prove to his family that he’d become the kind of man of whom Richard Carlisle would never be ashamed again.