As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(88)

Frustrating woman! To slap him and then run away before he could stop her—

No. It wasn’t the slap that bothered him, but that she’d left. Yet even if he’d been able to keep her from fleeing, most likely having to resort to binding her hand and foot, she wouldn’t have listened to reason. She was too angry and hurt to understand and accept his apologies. Or to believe his promise to never have a hand in the docks project again.

Damn Henry Winslow for catching him up in this mess!

And damn Mariah for not having more faith in him.

Although, had he really given her much cause to trust him? After all, he’d gone willingly into that damnable agreement with her father to find her a husband, despite what she wanted. An agreement he should never have entered into in the first place. So of course, when she’d overheard about St Katharine’s, she’d believed the worst of him.

But then, she wasn’t wrong. He had done exactly what she’d accused him of—attempting to profit by destroying what she loved. Abandoning that plan had simply come too late, the damage already done.

Which was why he’d chased after her as soon as he could free himself from Henry Winslow, after dodging the man’s prying questions about his fight with Mariah. She might never understand or accept his apology. In all likelihood she would probably still hate him, still blame him for the destruction of St Katharine’s and the school. But damnation, she would hear him out. Even if he had to tie her to a chair to do it.

But she wasn’t at home, and by the time he’d reached the school, she was gone, with no one there able to tell him where she’d gone or when she would return. After two hours spent crisscrossing London in the cold, he’d decided to return to Park Place, to give her time to calm down. And to give himself time to figure out what exactly he would say when he saw her.

He raced up the steps of Park Place and through the front door, desperately needing a glass of something strong to calm the frustration in his chest. To put him into a stupor that would take two weeks from his life and six months to recover.

He flung open the door to the billiards room and the largest collection of spirits in the house—

“Robert!”

Christ.

His brother Quinton lounged in one of the red leather chairs lining the wall, his leg crooked akimbo over the rolled arm and a cigar clenched between his teeth. He poked his cue at their eldest brother Sebastian as he leaned over the billiards table to line up his shot.

Quinn grinned. “Told you he’d be happy to see us.”

Sebastian quirked a brow at the expression on Robert’s face. “That’s not happy to see us.” He sank the ball in the corner pocket, then gave him an assessing look. “That’s what the cat dragged in.”

“Half-eaten,” Quinton added, taking a second glance at him.

“Then promptly cast back up,” Sebastian finished.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Good to see you, too,” he muttered dryly and continued across the room to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out the bottle of whiskey and a glass. “What are you two doing here?”

“Do we need an excuse to drop in on our brother?” Quinn shoved himself out of the chair and held out his own glass for a pour.

“Yes.” Especially today, the second worst day of his life. With a grimace, he refilled Quinn’s glass. “Does Mother know you’re here?”

He jerked a thumb toward the front stairs. “She’s up with Annabelle right now, helping her get settled.”

“You brought your wives to London?” Robert glanced across the room at Sebastian, surprised that he’d allow his wife to travel. “In Miranda’s condition?”

“He didn’t,” Quinn answered for him. When Robert pulled the bottle away, Quinn gestured for him to keep filling his glass.

“She’s still in Islingham,” Sebastian explained.

Quinn grinned. “Which is why Seb’s in London.”

Sebastian interjected with a hand going to his heart, “I love my wife.” He defended himself smoothly enough for Robert to suspect that he’d been practicing his answer all the way from Lincolnshire. “She is the light of my life, and not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for her.” Then he blew out a long-suffering sigh and reached for his own glass of cognac as he admitted, “But this pregnancy is going to kill me. She’s laughing one moment, bursting into tears the next—and the food she’s been craving…” He shook his head, a bewildered expression gripping his features. “Who eats salt-cured ham with sweet cream at three in the morning, for God’s sake?”

Robert cast him a knowing look. “So you fled Lincolnshire.”

“Like a scared rabbit,” Quinn laughed.

Sebastian slid a murderous glance at Quinton that only made him grin more broadly, then explained, “I’m here to collect Josephine and bring her home for Miranda’s confinement. And it’s a good thing I arrived when I did, too.” He lined up the cue for his second shot. “There was some misunderstanding among the servants. They thought they’d all been given the night off.”

Robert tensed.

“I said it couldn’t possibly be true,” he continued wryly with forced bafflement. “After all, why would my younger brother clear out the staff from my town house—”