As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(36)

Josie touched his arm.

He glanced down at her. “Pardon?”

“Don Juan,” she said pointedly, once more repeating herself.

“Who?” He jerked his attention back to Mariah. Which one of those sheep had overstepped now?

“Goose!” She laughed at him, a knowing sound that reminded him of all the torment they’d inflicted on each other as children. “Don Giovanni, the opera!”

His shoulders slumped with chagrin, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Josie,” he apologized sincerely. “I’m distracted tonight.”

“Well,” she conceded grudgingly with understanding, “you do have your hands full with Miss Winslow.”

“More than you realize,” he muttered.

“Hmm.” The sound was a low disagreement, but one tempered by an amused curl of her lips. “Poor Signorina Pergoli.” She raised the flute to her mouth as she murmured, low enough that only Robert could hear, “For once, she isn’t the only prima donna in the room. Miss Winslow is forcing her to compete for attention, and I don’t believe she knows what to do about it.”

No, except to send scathing glances in Mariah’s direction.

“Mama seems to like her, though,” she commented, nodding toward their mother.

“Yes, she does.” Thank God.

That was one thing that was going well so far this season, that Mariah and his mother had already developed an affection for each other. And tonight, the duchess appeared blissfully happy with the whole situation. Even now, as she chatted with Lady Sydney Reed and the Duchess of Strathmore, she seemed pleased as punch. He’d nearly spit out his wine earlier when she’d leaned over to whisper to him between music sets, Doesn’t Mariah look beautiful?

And damnation, she did, too.

Madame Bernaise had outdone herself with a drape that perfectly highlighted the fullness of Mariah’s bosom beneath the gown’s tight bodice, before falling straight to the floor in yards of green silk that only accentuated how tall and graceful she was. A shade of dark green that drew attention to her catlike eyes and ebony hair. A green that any other young miss wouldn’t have had the presence to carry off but that Mariah wore like her birthright.

Beautiful?

No. Simply enthralling.

But if she wanted to avoid marriage, she’d have been better off in worsted wool, because all she’d done by wearing that dress tonight was make herself even more alluring. None of the sheep here tonight would do. Yet talk would spread about her, and she’d soon have every curious gentleman in London calling on her, to see for himself the woman who was on her way to becoming that season’s Incomparable. Exactly as he wanted.

So why did that aggravate the hell out of him?

“And do you like her?” Josie asked.

Robert sputtered at his sister’s question. “Pardon?”

“You’ve been staring at her all night,” she commented with a knowing glint in her eyes.

Good Lord. When it came to marrying him off, Josie was nearly as bad as Mother.

“Because I don’t trust her enough to look away,” he answered grimly, wanting no mistake on this point. He was not captivated by Mariah Winslow. “A gentleman stares at a woman because she’s beautiful,” he admitted with a small lift of his glass to her, earning himself a sardonic humph. Then he narrowed his aggravated gaze on Mariah. “A man stares at the Hellion—”

“Because he cannot help himself?” The teasing gleam in her eyes drew a scowl from him. And that caused her to laugh at him. Again.

He said nothing and raised the wine to his lips. There was no good reply to that.

She sobered quickly as her gaze drifted around the room. “I’m afraid your attention might be misplaced this evening.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She gestured her champagne flute toward the corner of the room. “That’s her sister, isn’t it?”

His gaze followed where she’d indicated. That was Evelyn Winslow, all right. He’d been too concerned tonight with watching Mariah to worry about the other Winslow daughter, who now stood chatting with Burton Williams, Viscount Houghton’s youngest son. Not a wise choice for her, considering the man’s reputation and Sebastian’s inexplicable hatred of him.

He grimaced. Mariah was his primary concern, but if anything happened to Evelyn tonight, Henry Winslow would blame him. “Josie, do me a favor? Make certain Evelyn Winslow stays out of trouble tonight.”

“Of course.”

He kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured gratefully, putting out one fire only to turn his attention back to Mariah.

And finding a bonfire.

Whitby was at her side with a fresh glass of champagne for her and whispering something in her ear that made her cheeks flush nearly as red as her lips.

Enough.

Tossing back the last of his wine, he set his glass aside and started toward her.

*



“Why, Mr. Lawton, you must be especially lucky to have purchased such a fine hunter.” Mariah’s compliment fell over the man as nothing but empty flattery, yet he didn’t seem to notice. “And from Jackson Shaw, no less!”

“Not luck, Miss Winslow.” Lawton bragged, “I’m a skilled purveyor of horseflesh.” He smiled broadly with arrogant pride. “I know how to find my way around bow hocks and cow hocks.”