As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(51)
“No.” A conspiratorial smile played at her lips. “That’s just a delightful bonus.”
He grinned. There was the minx he knew, in the mischievous gleam of her eyes and the impish twist to her lips. His gut tightened to see such stubborn resolve matched with feminine vulnerability. The combination was bewitching.
“My mother grew up two streets from here.” She turned her face away to avoid his gaze, but not quickly enough to prevent him from seeing the glistening in her eyes. He recognized that grief. It was the same that he carried for his father. “It sounds foolish, I suppose, but after she died, whenever I missed her so terribly that I thought I might die myself, I would come here to St Katharine’s and feel close to her again.”
“Not foolish at all,” he murmured. After all, hadn’t he done the same thing, by living at Park Place, by working at the same desk where his father had?
When she glanced at him, a shared understanding softened her features, and he once again felt that inexplicable connection between them. Once again saw the vulnerability in her that she tried so hard to hide from the world.
“When I returned from Miss Pettigrew’s, I wanted to help the families of St Katharine’s,” she explained. “I finally had the financial means and plenty of time on my hands, so we decided to open the Gatewell School.”
“We?” he asked gently.
“Hugh Whitby and me.”
So that’s how the dandy had first worked his way into her heart. Yet even knowing his charitable bent, it was deuced hard to like him. Or acknowledge the flash of jealousy toward the man.
“Baron Whitby lets us stay here rent-free in return for keeping up the building, so the children help with the maintenance. They learn carpentry and masonry, housekeeping skills, how to raise vegetables and herbs in the garden…”
As he watched her speak about the school, admiration for her began to warm inside him. She certainly wasn’t some idle society daughter whose only forays into charity were hosting teas and ladies’ circles. No, Mariah preferred to work. That was one of the most unconventional aspects to her. One Robert found himself liking a great deal.
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Whenever we can, we turn the work into a lesson.”
“That’s an unusual education.” And ingenious.
“It fits our mission. Primarily, we run a vocational school. We teach work skills, as well as a foundational education in the basic subjects.” She looked down at her hands. “We also provide an afternoon tea, which for some of the children might be the only meal they have all day, and we offer a safe haven during the day while their mothers work.”
Judging from the chagrined expression that flitted over her face and the way she refused to meet his gaze, the school also provided a place for the children when their mothers couldn’t find honest work and had to sell their bodies to survive.
“As soon as they’re old enough, we find them positions…the girls as maids or shopgirls, the boys as porters or apprentices. We’ve placed five children this winter alone.” Pride flashed across her face at that, but then vanished just as quickly beneath a tired sigh. “We can only help a few, but I’d like to think that the work we do here is important.”
“It is,” he murmured.
Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his.
For a heartbeat, the vulnerability in her emerald depths rose unrestrained to the surface, and he saw her as more than the adversary set on ruining the future he wanted for himself, as more than the daughter desperately fighting for her father’s approval. What he saw was a kind and capable woman with dreams of her own, one who gave her heart and soul to the people she loved…A beautiful rose in the middle of a puddle of dirty water.
And he’d never met a more enthralling woman in his life.
She shook her head. “You don’t have to pretend to like the school. I know what you really think of me.”
No, he was certain she didn’t. Because at that moment, he was no longer certain himself. Not of her, not of Henry Winslow…not of his task to find her a husband. And certainly not of Winslow’s plan to benefit from the destruction of St Katharine’s. Her father was so confident that she’d accept relocating the school, so certain she’d put the company first. But as Robert stared at her now, a jumble of doubts twisted inside him.
Had he and her father misread her? Was longing to work at her father’s side a great deal more than wanting to prove a point, and far more important than simply rebelling when Winslow tried to turn her away?
“I like you, Mariah,” he answered, finally acknowledging the truth. Ignoring the puddle and what it would do to his breeches, he lowered himself to the floor until he was sitting close, hip to hip at her side, facing her. Close enough that he could see her swallow nervously as he placed his hand onto the floor on the other side of her, surrounding her on three sides with his body. “God help me, but I do.”
Her eyes widened, but for once, she didn’t attack. Or pull away. A small thrill of victory sped through him. Emboldened, he leaned closer.
His mouth lingered near enough to hers that he felt each of her warm breaths tease across his lips, and he sensed the moment when her breathing turned into shallow pants. The delicate sensation was maddening. So was the way she gazed at his mouth, as if half-afraid he would kiss her again. And half-afraid that he wouldn’t.