As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(9)

“But I don’t want that,” she protested softly, her voice barely louder than a breath. Oh heavens, how much it hurt to defy her mother’s wishes! But Mama would also want her to be happy, and nothing in the world would bring her more happiness than being at her father’s side.

“Carlisle will make that happen, both for you and your mother,” he continued, although Mariah couldn’t tell if he’d not heard her or if he’d heard and chosen to ignore her. “Arrangements have been made. It’s done now.”

“Papa, I will not participate in this,” she announced calmly, forcing her voice to remain steady even as her insides roiled with fury and betrayal. And more anguish than she wanted to acknowledge at openly defying him, when all she’d ever wanted was to make him proud of her.

“You do not have a choice.”

The sickening realization sank through her that this was the serious punishment Evie had warned her about. Her own special banishment, right into the hell of society.

“You will involve yourself fully in the season—introductions, balls, breakfasts, soirees…all of it—whatever Carlisle and the duchess decide is best for you.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “Or I’ll cut off your allowance.”

The air rushed from her lungs. Her allowance, and with it, all the help she provided to the Gatewell School and the children of St Katharine’s, children in need just like her mother had been. If Mariah lost the school, dear God, she’d lose her mother all over again!

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered. Her hands clenched into helpless fists. The same powerless frustration swept over her that she remembered from when she’d been sent away to school, away from Evie and Papa and everything she loved.

Her father said nothing but turned away and tossed back the rest of the bourbon with a gasping swallow. It was impossible to say if the flicker in his eyes came from guilt or resolve.

Mariah stared at him, her chest burning so fiercely that each beat of her heart shattered through her like a hammer against glass. Oh, she’d certainly gotten his attention this time, but the result wasn’t at all what she’d hoped. Instead of allowing her to work at his side, he’d turned the distance between them into a chasm.

And right in front of a stranger, no less. At least Carlisle had the decency to say nothing, staring down into his bourbon rather than watching them. Or gloating that he’d won.

A soft scratch sounded at the door. “Excuse me, sir.”

Bentley, the butler who had run the household for her family as long as Mariah could remember, stepped into the room.

“What is it?” Papa seemed grateful for the interruption.

“There’s a caller at the door, sir.” Bentley glanced warily between all three of them, clearly sensing the tension that hung over the room as thick as London fog. “Mr. Ledford from the shipping office.”

“I’m afraid I have to see to this.” Papa set down his glass and gestured at the two of them. “I’ll be gone only a moment. You two need to discuss the upcoming season anyway. Why not get started immediately?”

As her father strode from the room, Mariah narrowed her eyes on Carlisle, turning all of her anger and frustration onto him. Then she smiled slowly, calculatingly…

Why not, indeed?





CHAPTER THREE





Robert gazed at Mariah Winslow over the rim of his glass as he took another swallow of bourbon. He certainly needed a drink after witnessing that familial battle of wills.

He’d anticipated that the Hellion wouldn’t be happy to be harnessed by society’s rules, but he certainly hadn’t expected this. Or that she actually thought Winslow would consider her for the partnership. It might have been a family business, but family usually meant sons and sons-in-law. There were few examples of daughters being allowed into businesses as anything more than figureheads, and even then only with small companies. And none that brought them into contact with sailors and longshoremen.

In Winslow’s boots, he most likely would have done the same. Yet he understood her frustration.

He slowly lowered the glass. “So you want to be a partner in your father’s company.” There was no point in dancing around the subject, not when it hung in the air as palpable as the snow falling beyond the bay windows.

“I do.” She folded her hands behind her back, although less likely from demureness and more to keep herself from scratching his eyes out. “And you think you’re going to be able to marry me off?”

“I do.” With the help of his mother, his sister, fate, a prevailing trade wind, and nonstop prayers to God. “I’ll certainly give it my best shot.”

Her lips curled in amusement, and a low warning prickled at the backs of his knees. “And I as well.” Her green eyes gazed at him innocently enough, but something told him that they’d just agreed to two completely different outcomes. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Lord Robert Carlisle…how do I know that name?”

“My father was the late Duke of Trent.” He fought back a grimace. He disliked acknowledging his connection to the title, preferring to be known for his own accomplishments.

“That’s not it.” Her catlike eyes swept over him, blatantly sizing him up. Like an opponent before a fight.

“My mother is active in society events. Perhaps you two met at a soiree.”