As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(25)
“Am I?” Pretending that he hadn’t affected her, even as that tingling heat still throbbed achingly between her thighs, she sadly shook her head. “Well, I certainly hope the other gentlemen I’ll meet this season are better at kissing than you.” She slipped away from him before he could reach for her again. Or she for him. “Or I’ll be too bored to consider marrying any of them.”
He stared at her coolly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You will be married by season’s end, I promise you.”
This time when he took her arm, instead of angling her against him to embrace her, he pulled her toward the door. He flung it open and led her into the hall so quickly that she struggled to keep up with his determined strides.
Robert snatched her bonnet and cloak from the waiting butler, who wisely averted his eyes, then slung the cloak around her shoulders and unchivalrously slapped her bonnet on her head. Then he pulled her toward the front door again. Anger radiated from him as he led her across the small portico and down to the carriage waiting in the street.
Ignoring the tiger, he placed her inside the carriage himself. But when she yanked her arm away, it wasn’t relief she felt but an inexplicable sense of loss. For one maddening moment, she wanted to blurt out an apology, to beg him to crawl inside the compartment with her and keep kissing her just as he’d done before, all the way home to her doorstep.
But the devil inside her couldn’t help one last parting jab, and she sniffed with mock disappointment, “If I’m going to be forced to give my first waltz to such a boorish man, I certainly hope you’re far better at dancing.”
He rose up onto the step and leaned into the compartment, bringing himself close to her in the small space. “Don’t you worry, minx,” he assured her in a husky voice that twined down her spine. “When it comes to having a woman in my arms, I do everything well.”
Her breath strangled in her throat. Leaving her to gape at him in stunned mortification at her own heated reaction to the beastliness in him, he closed the door, then ordered the coachman to drive off.
The carriage rolled forward, and she slumped against the squabs. A curse left her lips at him, followed immediately by several more at herself.
They’d fought their second battle, yet for the life of her she couldn’t have said which of them had emerged the victor.
CHAPTER FIVE
One Cold Day Later
Henry Winslow poured two glasses of bourbon. “The first thing you need to learn about Winslow Shipping, Carlisle,” he instructed, “is that we always make room for good Kentucky bourbon in our ships returning from the United States.” He looked up at Robert, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Even if we have to tow it behind in a dinghy!”
Robert laughed and accepted the second glass.
Around them, the shipping offices on Wapping High Street were quiet and empty, which made for the perfect time for Winslow to meet with him. For once, all the employees were out for the afternoon, including John Ledford, the man who managed the day-to-day office operations. And who didn’t seem at all happy to have Robert joining the company.
Not that Robert was much bothered by it. Ledford would accept him once he proved his worth. The same way that Mariah would once she gave up her fight against her father and realized that his partnership was in the company’s best interests.
“The king wants new docks close to the Tower,” Winslow explained, jumping straight into the reason for this meeting. “With the current Parliament, whatever King George wants, he gets. And I want to make certain that Winslow Shipping benefits.”
Robert had heard the rumors himself about the king’s desire to expand the Thames waterfront, but he’d chalked it up to nothing more than royal egotism. If new docks were built at all, they’d have to be much farther downstream toward Millwall. “There’s no room for more docks at the Tower.”
“There is at St Katharine’s,” Winslow countered in a knowing drawl.
Robert narrowed his eyes. New docks at St Katharine’s? Impossible. The London embankment was already filled to capacity with wharves and quays so busy that ships often had to wait at anchor mid-river for days before they could unload. Including the stretch fronting St Katharine’s.
Robert shook his head. “The only way that more docks can be made in London is if God himself moves the river, to carve out miles of new embankment where it doesn’t exist.”
Winslow paused, the glass of bourbon raised halfway to his lips. A slow, devious smile spread across his face as he pinned Robert knowingly over the rim, then finished taking his sip.
“Good God,” he murmured as the full realization of what Winslow was insinuating washed through him, sending up a tingle of excitement in its wake. New docks…in the city. God didn’t make enough river for that, but King George could, by digging out a basin just inland along the riverside that would create miles of new riverbank. And miles of new riverbank meant miles of new quayside and warehouses—and tremendous new profits for Winslow Shipping. If they were bold enough to seize the opportunity.
“It’s the real estate buy of the century,” Winslow assured him, putting voice to the thoughts swirling through Robert’s head. He strode behind his desk and sank down into the large leather chair, smiling like the cat who got into the cream. “When Lord Whitby complained to me over dinner about how the king wanted Parliament to raise money so he could build new docks near the Tower, I knew exactly what King George was planning. Just as I know that they’ll be built at St Katharine’s.”