Page 11 of As the Devil Dares

“‘If he wants my daughter, then money shouldn’t matter.’” She raised the glass in a toast as she belted out in a deep voice that sounded eerily like her father’s, “‘And if he wants both my money and my daughter, then he is a greedy bastard who deserves neither!’”

With a flourish of the glass in the air, she finished the impression by tossing back the remaining bourbon in a single swallow. And that was as equally impressive as the impersonation.

Applauding her performance with a slow clapping of his hands, he walked toward her. “Very nicely played.” He bit back his opinion that she had better odds of becoming a successful actress than she did of gaining the partnership, wanting to escape the afternoon unslapped. “But the man you marry will still become part of Winslow Shipping. His share of the company serves as your dowry.”

“No.” Her eyes grew serious, all traces of her previous teasing vanishing. “My father will never bring a son-in-law into the business. You see, my grandfather did with the man my aunt married, giving him both her dowry and a large part of the company, only to watch him change into a drunkard and a gambler. He turned my aunt against her family, then ruined the marriage and nearly destroyed the company before they were able to force him out. Until the day she died, my aunt never again spoke to my father.” She shook her head sadly, as if grieving for all that her family had lost. “Papa might eventually relent and bestow a dowry, but believe me when I tell you that he will never relent on that.”

The hole around him grew deeper, and the sensation gripped him that the partnership was once more slipping through his fingers. “Then your husband will wait until your father dies to get his due.” He was grasping at straws now. Anything to keep hold of this opportunity. “You’ll still be an heiress, dowry or not.”

“Unlikely. Knowing Papa, he’s probably left the company to some distant relative none of us knows just to keep Winslow Shipping out of the hands of fortune hunters.”

Which was exactly something Henry Winslow would do. The same things that drew Robert’s interest in partnering with him—his success, his shrewdness, his belief that a man needed to prove his worth—now cut like a double-edged sword.

“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s made it so difficult for you to secure a husband?” he bit out, wanting commiseration in his mounting frustration.

“Actually, in that,” she replied with full sincerity, “I agree with him. It would be terrible to wonder which my husband wanted more, my money or me. This way, I’ll know he wants me.” She gave a soft sigh, as if she’d often pondered exactly that. “So you see, it isn’t going to be as easy to marry me off as you think. You’ll have to find suitors who want to court me because they actually like me, and, well…” She shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll make it difficult for anyone to like me.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that,” he muttered.

She laughed with a genuine amusement that fell through him like a warm summer breeze.

Frustration blistered inside him. If the damned woman wanted to, she could easily find a man willing to take her for her beauty and mind. Dowry be damned. Her wit alone could keep a man happily challenged for years.

Yet he also knew the slim odds of finding a love match for a woman hanging on to the fringe of society by her fingertips.

“Don’t you want a husband?” he pressed. “A family and home of your own?”

“I’d rather have Winslow Shipping.” Her voice emerged so intensely that it quavered. “The company is my family, as much a part of me as any child could ever be.” She took a deep breath, and he knew she was genuinely trying to make him understand. “I have wanted to help my father run the business since I was a little girl, since the first time I visited the wharves. I was mesmerized by all those ships, by the sailors and porters as they worked. Papa showed me everything, pointing out all the small details and explaining how trade worked. It was magical, and I have never forgotten it.”

Coming from anyone else, he would have called her speech poetic and naïve. But from her, the words landed with quiet authority and heartfelt dedication. She was no simpering debutante bedazzled by the sights of the season; she was a woman in full, one who knew exactly what she wanted. He should have felt the cut of that hard edge to her, yet she fascinated him even more because of it.

“I won’t let you take my place at my father’s side,” she said, as calmly as if stating a fact about the weather. Rain falls down, winters are cold…I won’t let you win. “The best partner for Winslow Shipping is a Winslow. Always has been, always will be.”

At that declaration, he reached past her shoulder to set his glass on the mantel and leaned in close, bringing his face level with hers. Close enough that he could see flecks of gold in her emerald eyes and smell the exotic scent of orange and cinnamon lingering on her skin. He touched her hair again, and this time as he pulled away he let his knuckles caress across her cheek, even as he carefully kept his fingers out of biting range.

“You don’t have a choice,” he reminded her. A faint blush pinked her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but faintly smile at her reaction. That she should react so strongly to such a little touch…Remarkable. “Unless you want to be cut off, you have to do as required of you this season.”

Her bottom lip jutted up defiantly. “Papa will see sense and relent. He always does.”

His gaze fixed on her mouth. If she wasn’t careful, a man might just feel compelled to wipe that disobedient smirk off her lips with his. And enjoy it immensely. “Not this time. He’s expecting you to fully participate in the season and make a valiant attempt at finding a husband. If you refuse to cooperate, you’ll lose.”

“Then so will you,” she countered, her soft breath spicy-sweet as it fanned his lips and vibrated an electric tingle through him. “Because you won’t succeed at your test, and you won’t get the partnership.”

Unable to resist any longer, and thoroughly willing to risk a bite, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.

She gasped, her lips parting in surprise. Yet she didn’t step away.

Emboldened by her defiance, and enchanted by the fire inside her, he slowly traced his fingertip around her mouth, drawing the outline of her full lips. When she trembled, the electric tingle inside him turned into a yearning ache. Never had he wanted to kiss a woman more than he did at that moment.

“I’m willing to take that chance,” he drawled in a low voice, then quirked a brow in challenge. “Are you?”

As if considering her options and finding no escape from her father’s plans for her, she stared at him silently, her eyes shining with unshed tears of frustration. She whispered, each word a warm breath against his fingers, “I will never surrender.”

Admiration for her perseverance flared inside him, and he murmured, “I would be disappointed if you did.”

He dropped his hand to his side and stepped back. Oh, certainly to keep from touching her again, although this time more than likely to throttle her. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

“I might have to participate in this fiasco of a season,” she called after him as he headed toward the door, “but I certainly don’t have to make it easy on you.”