As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(8)

Mariah gaped at that. How on earth could this be her fault? “I don’t understand.”

“Do you think I haven’t been listening to you?” He crossed to the tantalus in the corner of the room and removed a bottle of bourbon, then gestured toward Carlisle with it. “Been talking my ear off lately about what the business needs, how to leverage assets, where to create new trade routes…” He poured two glasses and handed one to Carlisle, keeping the other for himself. “That I should take on a partner.”

Not allowing humiliation to color her cheeks, Mariah folded her hands in front of her skirts and said quietly, “I meant me.”

That drew Carlisle’s attention. His gaze snapped to her, narrowing hard for a beat.

So did her father’s. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw longing to do as she asked darken his face, followed by a flash of guilt.

But then it was gone, and he was shaking his head. “A shipping company is not the place for a lady.”

“But it is the place for a Winslow,” she pressed quietly. “A family business should be run by family.”

“And a daughter’s duty to her family is to be a proper lady.” Papa was beginning to lose his patience. “Not a businessman.”

“The two do not have to be mutually exclusive,” she argued calmly, even as desperation knotted in her belly. She would not give up without a fight. “Family should run the company, not outsiders. It was what Grandfather wanted.”

“And I promised to raise you into a proper lady,” Papa countered. “It was what your mother wanted.”

His words sliced through her like a knife, cutting down to her heart, and she flinched, unable to answer.

She turned her head away as the tears became dangerously close to falling and blinked furiously. She would never let Papa see this weakness in her.

“And that is exactly what I intend to do,” Papa promised. “What is best for you and for the company. Which is why I chose Carlisle.” Hiding his chagrin over the argument they’d just waged in front of the man, her father forced a smile and tapped his glass against Carlisle’s. The clink echoed through the silent room and teeth-jarringly rattled all the way down Mariah’s spine. “He’s the best man to do both. If he can prove himself.”

If. Hope sparked inside her. Then the partnership wasn’t final? “How?”

“By helping me with a new real estate venture I’m undertaking,” her father answered. He leveled his gaze on her, the intensity of it clearly stating that he would brook no argument. “And by giving you a proper season.”

She gasped at the unexpectedness—and sheer absurdity—of that. “Pardon?”

“My mother is the Dowager Duchess of Trent,” Carlisle offered helpfully. “Your father thought you’d appreciate having her support this season.”

“Dowager duchess,” she repeated, not knowing how her numb lips were able to form the words. Her blood turned to ice, chilling her where she stood.

So Lord Robert Carlisle was the son of a duke. Her father’s choice of him for a partner now made sense. Horrible, horrifying sense.

“Mother enjoys helping young ladies with their seasons,” Carlisle continued with a smile, unaware that she’d figured out why him. “Once I heard that you had no female relatives who could provide introductions, I was certain she’d be willing to assist you.”

“I understand.” And she did. Perfectly. “How clever of you, Papa,” she said quietly, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. What mattered how deep—or shallow—Carlisle’s business mind if his connections stretched all the way into the Lords? And to a duke, no less. Her father was doing what was best for the family business, all right. By bringing in the family of a peer.

“Two birds, one stone.” Her father gave her a satisfied look, as if he’d arrived at the answers to the world’s worst problems. All encapsulated right there in the dashing, golden form of Robert Carlisle. Her father lifted his glass to toast his solution. “Winslow Shipping gets young blood in a much-needed partner, and you get a proper London season at last.”

But she didn’t want a season. She wanted a role within the company, the chance to work side by side with her father. While this—this interloper came waltzing in with his sapphire-blue eyes and his duke of a brother to snatch her dream away.

“To what end?” she asked quietly, too angry and frustrated to think clearly.

Her father blinked, as if the answer were obvious. “Marriage, of course.”

The world tilted beneath her, her breath dying in her throat. She reached for the back of a nearby chair to keep from losing her balance and falling to the floor.

“You cannot be serious,” she whispered, unable in her surprise to find her voice.

“Very serious.” His face turned grim. “Your latest antics proved that I have not raised you properly, but I will no longer fail you as a father.”

She stared at him, stunned. Was that truly what he thought—that he’d failed her, when all she’d wanted was to capture his attention?

“No,” she whispered, her heart aching with pained misunderstanding, “you haven’t failed. That wasn’t at all what—”

“And I will not fail your mother,” he added firmly. “She wanted her daughters to be the fine ladies that she could never be as the daughter of a sea captain. And that is exactly what I plan on giving her. Proper ladies with respectable husbands.”