As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(28)
Robert froze as a flash of emotion jarred through him. Disappoint…The hell he would. His days of disappointing anyone were long over.
When Winslow’s carriage pulled away, he closed the outer door and crossed to the shelves covering the end wall, where the company’s maps and charts were kept. He quickly found what he sought—a detailed map of the Tower hamlets. Then he grabbed up the list of streets and sat down to work in the small side room where he’d set up his own office. Not that he needed to work here. The study at Park Place would have done just as well. But he wanted to establish himself here so that there would be no mistaking his intent to play a hands-on role in the company.
He made his way down the list, marking off each street on the map with a pencil. But his thoughts kept straying…to the school, to Mariah, to the thousands of families who would be displaced by the new docks, to Mariah…always to Mariah.
After an hour of being unable to concentrate, Robert shoved himself away from the desk and stood, to rub at his nape and pace the frustratingly short length of the room. He couldn’t force her out of his head. He hadn’t had a moment’s peace since she sauntered in for tea yesterday afternoon, draped in pastels and ribbons as if she were nothing more than an ordinary debutante. But nothing about her was ordinary. He’d known better than to let her get beneath his skin, but every taunting remark she made, every flutter of those long lashes and curl of her berry-ripe lips stirred the irritation inside him.
He grimaced at the memory of kissing her. Apparently, she’d stirred something else as well.
It was madness to go running after her like that, to ravish her mouth until she melted against him and had him wanting to ravish her body just as thoroughly. But she possessed a fire inside her that drew him unlike any other woman. A confidence that radiated from her. A fierce resolve to fight for what she wanted. The woman was pure determination and challenge. And when she’d practically thrown herself into his arms, then dared him to kiss her—good God.
He raked shaking fingers through his hair. She’d left him furious and pacing all the rest of yesterday, with a frustration that even a night at Boodle’s couldn’t ease. When he’d finally gone home and crawled into bed, the damnable woman had the audacity to come to him in his dreams, giving him that same breathtaking kiss. And more.
Good God, indeed.
A clatter rose from the street. He glanced up. And froze. Speak of the devil…
He had a clear view of Mariah through the window as she perched high on a phaeton stopped in the street. A tall, lanky gentleman beside her gave orders to the groom, who ran forward to hold the team. Then he took her hand to help her gracefully to the ground.
Robert’s eyes narrowed. Who was this fop? A suitor of some sort. And a serious one judging from the familiar way the man rested his hand against the small of her back as he leaned down and said something that made her laugh.
Who was he? And why hadn’t she told him about this man before?
The door opened, and Mariah glided inside, her soft laughter surrounding her like a cloud. She released the dandy’s arm and tugged off her gloves, then unfastened the gold clip of her rabbit-fur-edged cape to slip it off. All the while she wore a beaming smile that lit her face, her cheeks pinked from the winter air.
“Papa?” she called out, sticking her head into her father’s office.
Robert sauntered forward to lean his shoulder against the doorway. “You just missed him,” he called out to her, casually crossing his arms.
She whirled around. Her smile vanished. “You,” she whispered, too surprised to find her voice.
“Me.” He grinned and glanced past her at the lanky fop in the tall beaver hat. A poor fashion choice that made him appear even taller and ganglier than he actually was.
Then the man smiled and awkwardly glanced from one to the other, sensing the tension between them. “Mariah?” he asked quietly.
With a hard sigh, she grudgingly introduced them. “Whitby, Lord Robert Carlisle. Carlisle”—heavens, how the woman could make his name sound like an insult!—“this is Hugh Whitby, Baron Whitby’s son.”
“Robert Carlisle!” Whitby exclaimed. “So good to see you again.”
They’d met before? Robert raked his gaze over the man. How could he have forgotten this dandy?
“I attended last summer’s spread at Park Place with my brothers.” Whitby grinned, wide and beaming, so much so that the apples in his cheeks reddened. “Deuces, Carlisle! You certainly know how to throw a party.”
So that was how the little minx knew about the elephant. She had an informant. “Good to see you, too, Whitby.” His eyes drifted to Mariah. She looked fresh and beautiful, with snowflakes melting delicately on her lashes, and surprisingly soft with her velvet cape and rabbit fur muff and hat. “And you, Miss Winslow.”
“I stopped by to speak with my father,” she said defensively. “And to my surprise found you.” Her brow quirked. “And why are you here, exactly, Carlisle?”
He hesitated, uncertain how much to share. But she was certain to find out soon that he was already working with her father, if not the exact nature of the work. “I’m researching a project for the company.”
She froze. Only for a beat, but in that unguarded moment he saw hurt flash in her eyes, before she said quietly, “I see.”