As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(49)
“Miss Winslow,” he began, chewing each word out through clenched teeth, “if you think—”
“Oh, Good Lord!” In frustration, she slapped down the brush and sat back to glare at him, this time so fiercely that she folded her arms across her chest and blocked his view of that tantalizingly wet blouse. “I very much appreciated the fact that you spent the morning on Bond Street, escorting the duchess and me.” She sniffed haughtily, as if it pained her to admit it. “In fact, at certain times, being in your company was surprisingly enjoyable.”
Well. That was the most backhanded compliment he’d ever gotten, but at least it was a compliment. Which was far more than he’d expected from her. His lips curled into a half grin. “Only certain times, eh?”
She ignored that and arched a brow. “Which is why I gave you that book. You were quite gracious.” She grudgingly made a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. “I thought you might like it. And now, here you are.” She dismissingly waved a hand at him. “Disrupting my afternoon and my work, to tell me how unladylike it was of me to send it to you.”
“Actually, I like the book,” he admitted. It was a nice gesture. And a wholly surprising one.
She blinked, bewildered. “You do?” Another blink, and her shoulders eased down from their defensive posture. “Then why are you here?”
He stalked slowly toward her, stopping his boots at the edge of the puddle. “Olivia Sinclair.”
“Olivi— Oh.” Her anger-flushed cheeks blanched pale as understanding dawned on her. Then, in a frantic attempt to ward off the argument that was coming, she grabbed for the brush and began to scrub at the floor again. “I’m glad you liked the book. I had to send the tiger to buy—”
“Olivia Sinclair,” he repeated, this time louder and more slowly. “Countess of St James.”
She scrubbed furiously, refusing to look up as she mumbled, “I’ve never met her.”
“And you never will if you refuse the invitation to her ball.” He frowned down at her. “The same ball which is also your introduction.”
She stopped, freezing in place like a startled doe, but he knew her sharp mind was whirling at a million miles a minute to find a way out of this latest mess she’d placed herself into.
Then, drawing a deep breath, she sat back on her heels and folded her hands contritely in her lap. “Now, Robert, please understand—”
“Your own introduction,” he bit out, not allowing himself to be distracted by her use of his given name. Or her captivating mix of innocence and wickedness as she gazed up at him through lowered lashes. “Are you trying to end your season before it’s even begun?”
He squatted down onto the balls of his feet and brought his eyes level with hers. The angry glare she must have seen on his face kept her silent. For once. Wise woman. He was through playing games.
“Lord and Lady St James have been kind enough to allow the use of their ball to introduce you. So you will accept the invitation,” he ordered, his voice far more controlled than he felt. But then, he was rarely in control of himself around her. “And you will send a note to the countess apologizing for the confusion and any distress you have caused.”
Defiance flared in her eyes. “No, I won’t.”
Damnable woman. Challenging and obstinate at every turn. “And my mother?” he pressed, playing his trump card. “Should she be gossiped about because you refuse to attend?”
Guilt flitted across her face, and he felt a small surge of satisfaction. But when she bit her bottom lip and drew his attention to her ripe mouth, he felt something else pulse through him, this time tingling down to the tip of his cock and leaving him achingly unsatisfied.
“You are going to that ball,” he warned, his blood beginning to heat from the irritation she stirred inside him, and from the way her wet clothes clung to her, “even if I have to toss you over my shoulder and carry you inside the ballroom myself.”
Her chin raised stubbornly. “I’d like to see you try!”
He growled out through bared teeth, “Mariah, if you don’t—”
“Miss!” A child’s high-pitched yell cut through their argument, followed by the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. A wailing cry echoed through the rooms. “MMMMIIIISSSS!”
A little girl raced into the room and sped right past Robert without a glance as she launched herself at Mariah, who caught the child in her arms. She pulled the girl close as violent sobs poured from the skinny creature with mussed blond braids, who couldn’t have been more than four or five. The girl’s left arm wrapped tightly around Mariah’s neck while her right arm gripped a headless doll.
Mariah cooed soothingly and pulled the girl onto her lap. She cradled her in her arms, rocking her softly until the worst of the wailing ceased and the cries gentled into strangled sobs.
Her eyes lifted to meet Robert’s, and she held his gaze for a moment over the little girl’s head. Her concern for the child and her wariness that he was witnessing the incident were both unmistakable.
“What is it, Polly?” She carefully unwrapped the little girl’s arm from its death grip around her neck and set her away just far enough to look down into her tear-streaked face. With a worried frown, she smoothed the girl’s hair away from her forehead. “What’s happened?”