As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(29)
Oddly enough, he felt no satisfaction at gaining the upper hand over her. After all, he was only here, too, because of his own father.
“And what kind of project is it?” she asked. He had to give her credit for keeping the anger from her voice.
“Real estate,” he answered simply, reluctant to offer more.
“Of course. Warehouses and stores.” Her green eyes shined with understanding. “Papa and I have been discussing that for the past two years. But it was only speculative.”
“It still is,” he admitted, reminding himself of how very far the docks were from actually being built. “But I’m investigating possibilities.”
“I see,” she repeated tightly.
Oh, there was jealousy in her, although the minx would never admit it. But could he use that to forge a bit of peace between them? He’d promised Winslow to keep the project’s end goals secret, but there was no reason to hide its beginnings. Certainly not when the minx might be able to provide helpful insight.
He offered casually, “Perhaps you’d like to look at it and give me your opinion?”
That stunned her into silence, her lips parting delicately as she stared at him.
He stepped back to invite her into his office. Casting a yearning glance into the room, she hesitated. He could practically see her thoughts whirling as she tried to decide if she could trust him.
But the temptation proved too great. She turned to Whitby and rested her hand affectionately on his arm. “Do you mind waiting? I’ll only be a moment.”
“Of course not.” Whitby shrugged, as if used to her whims. Apparently, the milksop was well trained.
Tilting up her chin haughtily, as if to remind him that he was an intruder in her family’s offices, she swept past him into the inner room.
Which immediately felt a hundred times smaller with the two of them inside it. He was instantly aware of every inch of her, from the ebony tendrils framing her oval face all the way down to the half boots poking out from beneath the hem of her cream-colored driving coat, whose form-fitting silhouette molded to her figure like a glove and left no doubt of the full curves beneath.
She removed her gloves, then laid them with the muff and hat on the corner of the desk to free her hands as she reached for the papers he’d been working on. Pages with scrawled notes to himself of what he knew about the hamlet, its most important buildings, ways to scout out the properties in the upcoming days…Her catlike green eyes scanned over his notes.
He came up beside her and pretended to read over her shoulder, careful to remain far enough away to keep a respectable distance, yet close enough to catch the spicy-sweet scent of oranges and cinnamon that lingered around her.
“Did you truly spend the day at the school,” he began in a voice low enough to keep Whitby from overhearing, “or is that the story you tell when you want to spend the day driving with Prince George out there?”
Her eyes narrowed icily. “I spent the entire day working on the school’s accounts. Since breakfast, in fact.” She returned her attention to the papers as she shuffled through them. “Whitby,” she emphasized, “was visiting the school and was gracious enough to drive me home in his phaeton.”
“The same phaeton you used to race down St James’s Street,” he murmured, reaching over her shoulder to draw her attention to the set of first-guess figures he’d calculated at the bottom of one of the pages.
“He let Evie and me borrow it.” She smiled affectionately. “Whitby is quite generous.”
His chest tightened inexplicably at the offhanded comment, one that implied an intimacy of thought between the pair, if not of body. And it bothered him. Immensely.
“So generous, in fact, that he encouraged me to speak with Papa about the possibility of him buying unwanted goods from the warehouses to donate to the school.”
Of course he did. The dandy certainly knew how to curry her affections. “Is he courting you?”
Surprise flashed over her face at that blunt question. “Whitby?” Then a soft laugh fell from her lips. “He’s a dear friend who helps me at the school. That’s all. Sorry to disappoint you, Carlisle, but you don’t get to marry me off as quickly as that.”
His lips twisted at the fight in her. He was very much beginning to appreciate her fire. “You won’t be able to discuss the warehouse stores this afternoon, I’m afraid. Your father already left for home.”
“And while the cat’s away…,” she taunted, then reached to dip the quill in the inkwell and correct his last sum. Although, he noted with amusement, she didn’t fix his figures so much as trace over them. “The rat takes over the world.”
“Not the world,” he corrected in a low murmur, sliding his hand down her arm to take away the quill before she could make more notations. Or stab him with it. “Just the largest shipping company in England.”
She yanked her hand away, her cheeks reddening as she fumed. “Why you arrogant—”
“Apologies,” he interjected quickly, stopping her before she got completely wound up and brought Prince George running to her rescue. As if this lioness needed a cub like him to defend her. “I meant no offense.” Well, hardly none. “Let’s declare the shipping offices neutral ground, shall we?” When she didn’t immediately agree, he added, “After all, we need at least one place where we’re not at each other’s throats.”