Page 15 of As the Devil Dares

His lips twisted. Annoyingly, his mother knew him too well. “I said I wasn’t in trouble. I never said I had no personal interest.”

“Oh?” Her brow lifted curiously.

A curiosity he knew he had to firmly quash. “Not in Miss Winslow. Not like that.”

A fortnight ago, he would have said he found Mariah interesting. Tall, ebony-haired…intriguing. Perhaps enough to call on her. But now he knew better. The Hellion was a hellcat in disguise. After their previous encounter, he was certain that if he removed his shirt, he’d have the claw marks to prove it.

“Her father is Henry Winslow,” he explained, pinning today’s introduction over tea to nothing more than business. “Of Winslow Shipping and Trade.” He paused, then added unassumingly, “He’s offered me a partnership.”

His mother’s face shined. “That’s wonderful news, Robert! Your father would be so proud of you.”

He averted his eyes. He wasn’t at all certain of that himself. Especially after the last conversation they’d shared, when Father led him stumbling out of the gambling hell where he’d racked up three days’ worth of debt, reeking of cheap whiskey and even cheaper prostitutes. Mother hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the look of frustration on Father’s face, hadn’t heard his words…I am disappointed in you.

But Robert had worked hard to pay off every penny of that debt, and now he was working even harder to secure his place as one of England’s top businessmen. He wouldn’t stop pushing himself until he was certain Father would be proud of the man he’d become. Without hesitation.

Which was why it had to be this partnership with this company. Only the best would do. Because then there could be no debating the measure of his success.

With a loving smile, Elizabeth Carlisle placed her hand over his. “He would have been so pleased to see the man you’ve become.”

“He will be,” he resolved, affectionately squeezing her hand. “So will you.”

“I already am, darling.” But her assurance didn’t ease the guilt sitting on his chest like a lead ball. Certainly not when concern for him darkened her brow.

Dear God, how he regretted hurting her! Oh, she’d never openly blamed him for Father’s death, had repeatedly insisted to him in the dark days that followed that it was an accident. That no one was to blame. But he knew better. If not for him, Father wouldn’t have been out at midnight, wouldn’t have been in the street when the pistol was fired, wouldn’t have been thrown from his horse…would still be alive.

This partnership with Winslow could never make up for the damage he’d done that night, the grief and pain he’d caused—nothing could bring his father back or heal his mother’s heart. But he could prove to his family that he’d become the kind of man of whom Richard Carlisle would never be ashamed again.

Mother frowned, puzzled, and slowly withdrew her hand. “But what does a business venture have to do with a season for Mr. Winslow’s daughter?”

Everything. Instead he answered, “I’m attempting to do a good deed.”

Not a lie. Mariah had never had a proper society introduction nor the opportunity to meet prospective suitors, and didn’t all ladies deserve a fairy-tale season, complete with gowns, dancing, and courtship? Of course, a triumphant season for Mariah also meant a solid future for him. If he had his way, by August they would both be happy—she’d have a husband whom she adored, and he’d be at Winslow’s side.

When her frown deepened, he reminded her, “You’ve always said that those of us whom life has blessed are obliged to help the less fortunate.”

“I meant orphans and war widows, not daughters of shipping magnates.” Her lips twisted into a grimace. “But I suppose I should be grateful that you were listening at all.”

He grinned.

“So. What do I need to know about her?”

“Her name is Mariah.”

“Mariah Winslow…” Her brow scrunched as she tried to place the name. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

His grin faded, all amusement vanishing. “The Hellion.”

“Oh dear.” Her eyes widened.

He nodded. “Which is why I need your help.”

“I see,” she murmured gravely. “But surely her mother or an aunt can give her a season.”

“Her mother passed away when she was ten, and she has no aunts or cousins among the ton. She’s been out for six seasons, but never with proper introductions or presentations.” He shook his head. “I’m not certain she’s ever been to a ball, actually.”

Her face softened, with sympathy shining in her cornflower-blue eyes. “We have quite a challenge ahead of us, then.”

He dragged in a deep breath and tried to ignore the dread squeezing at his chest. “Worse.”