As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(91)
Sebastian’s eyes softened sympathetically. “That he was disappointed in you?”
His heart leapt into his throat. He admitted in a rasping whisper, “Yes.”
Quinn and Sebastian exchanged a solemn look, then Quinn nodded slowly. “The same things he said to us.”
“And if you would have had the same chance,” Seb assured him, “you would have done exactly what we both did, which was to apologize and work to change your ways.”
Quinn added somberly, “And be told by Father a week later that you were forgiven.”
“But you weren’t given that chance, so you’ve spent the last two years trying to force it to happen.” Sebastian shook his head. “But you’ll never be able to now, no matter what kind of success you reach, no matter how respected a name you make for yourself. And you will, because you’re capable and hardworking.”
Mariah had told him the same thing, and he’d attacked her for it. A new guilt rose inside him, one that began to replace the guilt he carried for his father. And a new grief, as well. This time for losing her.
A paternal expression fell over Sebastian’s face as he said quietly, “You are the good man Father raised all of us to be.”
Silence fell over them again, and Quinn turned his face away, but not before Robert saw the glistening in his eyes. Sebastian pushed himself away from the billiards table and reached for the bottle of cognac on the side buffet to refill his glass.
“So you don’t need to prove your worth to any of us, and least of all to Father. We’ve all come to terms with what happened that night, and now you should, too,” Sebastian assured him, taking a slow sip of brandy. “But if you are determined on that path anyway, then you don’t need to worry. Another company will come along, one just as good in its own way as Winslow Shipping.”
“But there will never be another Hellion,” Quinn added quietly.
Robert blew out a breath, his heart racing beneath the twisting coils of emotions. Gone was the guilt over his father and the need to prove himself, but in its place came a terrifying fear of losing Mariah. The woman was the toughest challenge he’d ever encountered in his life. And the one challenge he most wanted to win.
“Think of it this way,” Sebastian told him. “Propose to her, and the happiness you’ve had this season has a chance of continuing, and for the rest of your life. But if you don’t, all the happiness she gives you will be lost. You’ll never be able to laugh with her again, or kiss her, or—”
“Make her toes curl,” Quinn put in with a grin. Then his smile faded as he murmured sardonically, “But at least you’ll have your business to give you satisfaction.”
“It’s that simple. The partnership or the woman you love.” Sebastian’s voice was quiet as he laid a hand on Robert’s shoulder, his eyes grave. “Now, which do you choose?”
Ten minutes later, Robert charged up the steps of the Winslow town house and pounded his fist against the door.
He had no intention of leaving until Mariah had heard him out. He would explain everything to her, make her understand how he’d gotten caught up in her father’s plans, and ask forgiveness for being so blind to what mattered most to her. Then he would convince her to marry him.
He grimaced. No matter how many months it took.
The door opened, and the butler peered out. “Yes?”
His heart pounded, nervousness gripping him at what he was about to do. “Robert Carlisle for Miss Winslow.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Winslow isn’t at home.” The butler blocked the door, refusing to admit him. “Would you care to leave a card?”
Absolutely not. What he needed to say to Mariah was delicate and required the kind of finesse that a card or note could never convey—it more than likely would also require ropes and a chair to tie her to. “I need to speak with her.”
“Might I suggest, then, that you call again in the morning? Good day, sir.”
As the butler began to shut the door, Robert slapped his hand against it and held it open. With anger and frustration speeding through him in equal measure, he pinned a hard gaze on the man that told him he’d tolerate no dissembling and repeated through clenched teeth, “I need to speak with her.”
The butler lifted an indignant brow, a gesture that told him exactly where Mariah had learned that haughty look of hers. “As I said, sir, Miss Winslow is not at home, and I do not know when she will return.”
Damnation. “Then I’ll wait.”
Robert shoved past the butler and into the foyer. He glanced up the grand stairs toward the upper floors. He didn’t expect to see Mariah, yet he couldn’t help but hope. And hoping she wasn’t standing up there with another bucket of water to dump over his head. Or a pistol.
The butler took his hat and coat and handed them to a waiting footman, then gestured down the hall. “The drawing room is this way, sir.”
“I’ll wait here,” he insisted.
The butler stared at him, his mouth falling open, stunned. For a gentleman to wait in the foyer—it simply wasn’t done.
But Robert didn’t give a damn about propriety. There was no way he would risk letting the minx come home and sneak past him to her room. There was too much of his future riding on the conversation they needed to have to chance missing her tonight.