As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(52)

“Doesn’t it bother you at all, then,” she challenged softly, “that you want to marry me off for your own gain?”

“It isn’t like that.” She damned well knew it, too. But he couldn’t quash the flash of anger at that quiet accusation. Most likely because he’d wondered himself if that was exactly what he’d been doing since Henry Winslow challenged him with that task. He’d only been able to justify it by clinging to what he knew to be true—“Your father would never force you to wed a man you didn’t want to marry.”

“No.” Her voice emerged as little more than a whisper filled with hopeless exasperation. “Only take my allowance away and close the school.”

She unflinchingly held his gaze, as if daring him to deny it. But he couldn’t. If she ever decided to openly defy her father and refuse to participate another day this season, Henry Winslow might do just that. And it would have absolutely nothing to do with him or the partnership.

“I’m not your enemy, Mariah. I’m trying to help you.” He softened his tone, knowing that fighting against her only made her dig in deeper. “Tell me the truth now. Why did you refuse Olivia Sinclair’s invitation?”

Uncertainty darkened her face as she hesitated, then admitted softly, “Evelyn.”

He blinked. What did her sister have to do with this?

“Lady St James didn’t invite Evie,” she explained, pride and indignation lacing her voice. “If my sister isn’t good enough to attend her ball, then neither am I.”

He studied her face. That’s what this was about—a snub to Evelyn? The realization struck him of just how fiercely loyal she was to her sister, the same loyalty he and his brothers shared, and understanding settled over him. Her connections to her family were proving to be deeper than anyone gave her credit for. Including her own family.

Yet her younger sister’s reputation was as tarnished as her own, if rumors could be believed, since Evelyn was equally as adventurous and daring as her sister. He couldn’t blame the Sinclairs if they didn’t want either Winslow daughter at their ball. But knowing how gracious the countess was, he was certain she’d simply forgotten about Evelyn.

“It was an oversight,” he assured her. “Nothing more.”

A sniff declared that she didn’t believe him.

“Mother will secure an invitation for her. I’ll make certain of it.” He reached up to tuck a stray curl of black silk beneath the edge of her cap. Her siren song was irresistible, even all dirty and wet. “All right?”

She gave a curt nod, as if doing what he wanted cost her greatly. “Then I’ll send a note to Lady St James.”

He smiled faintly with relief. “Thank you.”

“But only because I don’t want to harm the duchess,” she clarified. Then, because the war between them mandated it—“I couldn’t care less what you want.”

Of course not. His mouth twisted with chagrin. “From you, Mariah, I would expect no less.”

Her red lips tugged upward in the start of a smile. No doubt the minx took his comment as a compliment. Perhaps it was. Although he was loath to admit it, he’d become fond of her stubbornness. And the challenge she presented because of it. No other woman had kept him on his toes the way she did.

Then she playfully swatted at his shoulder, as if signaling that this tender moment of understanding had ended and that they could resume the fighting they’d grown accustomed to.

But he didn’t move away. Nor did he want to when he saw her flash of realization that the rapport between them had just irreversibly changed. An undeniable electricity tingled between them. And instead of pushing him away, her hands trailed slowly down to his lapels.

“It’s nice when we don’t fight,” he murmured. Unable to keep from touching her again, he rubbed his thumb over the dirt smear on her cheek. “If we keep this up, things between us might even become halfway pleasant.”

“Optimist,” she muttered dryly. Then she glanced down at him, all the way to where he sat next to her in the puddle. “Looks like I’ve dragged you down with me and made you all dirty.”

His thumb continued to brush over her cheek, long after the mark was gone, caressing slowly over her smooth, warm skin, then back along her jaw and down her slender neck. She was a wonder, that she could be such a claws-bared hellcat one moment yet so soft and vulnerable the next. And he liked this soft side of her. Very much.

He murmured, “Perhaps I like being dirty.”

She caught her breath, and her fingers tightened on his lapels.

He hadn’t meant his reply as an innuendo, but when he saw the pretty flush to her cheeks, he was glad he’d said it. And even more so when her gaze darted to his mouth and her lips parted delicately in invitation.

His heart thumped with yearning. She wanted him to kiss her…and who was he to deny a woman what she desired?

Slipping his hand behind her nape to gently tug her to him, he lowered his head and brought his mouth to hers.

As he kissed her, he wanted to savor the moment, make it as tender and special as the hidden side of her that she’d just shared. But the spicy heat of her lips ached through him, and he couldn’t stop himself from ravenously devouring her kiss, his hands cupping her face to hold her mouth still beneath his. Reckless from the frustration and arousal in which she’d kept him from the moment they met, he only half cared as his lips molded against hers that another child might come running into the room and see them. He wanted this—he wanted her—too desperately to be cautious.