As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(7)

Papa smiled proudly. “The man I’ve selected to be my partner.”

Mariah froze as the world plunged away beneath her. A partner? It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be true! A partner…

But not her.

Stunned numb with disbelief, she was helpless to do anything more than stand in the doorway and watch her father stride across the room to greet the man waiting there. Her vision blurred with frustrated tears, and she forced herself to breathe as the waking nightmare crashed over her, as the numbness slowly gave way to piercing desolation. And grief. The same terrible grief that had overwhelmed her when her mother died.

“Carlisle.” Her father enthusiastically shook the man’s hand, oblivious to the wretchedness he’d just unwittingly unleashed upon his daughter. “Glad to have you here.”

“My pleasure.” The man smiled as he released her father’s hand, stepping his legs apart and placing his fisted hand at the small of his back in a stance that was one of pure masculine command and ease. As if he had every right to be there, invading her life and stealing away her father’s attentions.

Papa gestured for her to approach. “Let me introduce you to my daughter.”

But Mariah held her ground near the doorway, for once less from obstinacy and more because she didn’t have the strength to come forward without collapsing to the floor in sobs. Instead, she pressed her fist against her chest and willed herself to keep breathing.

“My eldest daughter, Mariah.” Her father frowned when she didn’t come sweeping across the room to greet their guest as any proper lady of the house would have. To graciously welcome this man into her home. And into a position with the company that should have been hers.

She simply couldn’t do it. Never that.

Blinking back her tears, she lifted her chin and silently stared at the stranger in cool disdain, even as her heart shattered like ice. She had too much pride to reveal how much this meeting devastated her. She was a Winslow, after all. Even if Papa had forgotten what that meant.

“Mariah, this is Lord Robert Carlisle.” Her father slapped him on the shoulder. “The man who wants to partner with me to conquer the world’s shipping routes!”

A bitter taste formed in her mouth. Partner. On what merits? As her eyes raked over him, she saw nothing to believe that this man was any more qualified than she was. Moreover, she was a Winslow, entitled by blood and history to take her rightful place at her father’s side. While this man was nothing but an opportunistic interloper.

Certainly, he was dressed well, sporting a dark blue cashmere jacket over a blue-and-cream-checkered satin waistcoat, a simply tied cream-colored cravat, and black trousers. The whole effect was one of careful consideration, she was sure, in an attempt to look as if he cared little for appearances while taking great pains to do so. She would have labeled him a dandy if not for the slight scuff to his boots, which showed that he’d actually ridden a horse to the house instead of being brought by carriage. Not a dandy, then, but certainly a Corinthian. One of those physically attractive and stylish young bucks over whom the old hens of the ton practically swooned whenever they flashed a charming smile.

If there was one thing she’d come to know since she’d returned to London, however, it was that dandies, Corinthians, and bucks possessed very little intelligence among the lot of them. Certainly not the kind of business acumen that Winslow Shipping needed to flourish. Or the dedication that only a family member possessed.

“Miss Winslow.” Carlisle crossed the room to her and bowed graciously. “A pleasure to meet you.”

A pleasure. That was a lie if ever she’d heard one. She bobbed a stiff, shallow curtsy. Then purposefully ignored his courtesy title. “Mr. Carlisle.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement at that, as if he knew what dark thoughts about him lurked inside her.

“A businessman, are you?” she drawled coolly, affecting that same tone that Miss Pettigrew had used at school to keep the girls in line.

“I’ve dabbled.”

“In shipping?” she pressed. Did the man even understand how the day-to-day operations of merchant trade worked? By the looks of him, she doubted he’d ever spent a single day laboring at the quayside or in warehouses. But she had, in those few precious weeks after she’d returned from school, before her father decided that a shipping company was no place for a lady.

He modestly shrugged. “A bit.”

“Forgive me for doubting your bit of competence.” His eyes flared, and this time it wasn’t with amusement. “But it seems to me that of all the people my father could have chosen—”

“Mariah, give the man peace,” Papa ordered, a faint warning underlying his voice. And an even larger warning in the look he shot her. He turned to Carlisle and explained, “Mariah’s always been as protective as a bulldog of the company.”

Carlisle smiled at her, a charming grin she was certain he used to make his way through the world. And into women’s beds. Well, well—a Corinthian and a rake. In Winslow Shipping and Trade. Had Papa lost his mind?

“Quite all right,” Carlisle asserted, but his eyes never strayed from Mariah. As if he realized that she considered him an adversary. “No offense taken.”

“Good,” Papa assured him, with an affectionate but frustrated smile at Mariah, “since you’re here precisely because of my daughter.”