Page 16 of As the Devil Dares

“Worse?” Her brows shot up. “How can it be worse?”

“She has no dowry,” he admitted grimly.

She blinked, incredulous. “None at all?”

“Not one ha’penny,” he repeated Mariah’s words. “And whomever she marries will not be let into the company. Her father thinks sons-in-law and business shouldn’t mix.” Her face paled, and he nodded, wordlessly confirming her unspoken concerns. “So you can see why your help is so vital. She needs a true season this year, complete with balls, gowns, introductions…everything.”

She did deserve a real season. He certainly held little sympathy for the hellcat, but growing up without a mother couldn’t have been easy. Or having Henry Winslow for a father.

“If anyone can give her a proper season, it’s you.” He emphasized, “And it’s essential that she attract suitors.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

He paused as he hunted for a way to phrase his answer that wouldn’t sound as if he were a marriage broker. Not at all. He truly wanted her to be happy. But her future happiness now coincided with his.

“She’s twenty-five.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything.

Mother nodded gravely, understanding perfectly. By twenty-five, most unmarried ladies were placed on the shelf, relegated to the invisible ranks of spinsters and companions for the rest of their lives. This season would most likely be Mariah’s last chance to find a husband. “What else do we know about her?”

He smiled with a masochistic bent, remembering how much he’d enjoyed their sparring. “She’s quite witty.” When she wasn’t making him want to throttle her.

“Well, that’s something at least.” Although his mother didn’t seemed pleased about it. “In moderation.”

That surprised him. “I thought you admired intelligent women.”

“I do.” She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Most gentlemen, however, do not.”

“True,” he agreed ruefully.

Yet the sheep of Mayfair weren’t the most intelligent creatures themselves, certainly not if they wanted to spend their time with dumb women.

But with Mariah, a man could appreciate the quickness of her mind. After all, he’d certainly enjoyed their war of words. Every question was an offensive salvo, every answer a returning volley of fire…When was the last time a woman had challenged him so brazenly and had him liking it?

“No,” he countered, “let her be as witty as she wants.” And damn those men who weren’t manly enough to rise to the challenge.

“What else?”

Intelligent, independent to a fault, with the tongue of a she-devil and no sense of restraint, no care for society’s rules…With a frown, he admitted to what had been foremost in his mind since he met her, “She’s beautiful.”

A knowing smile tugged at his mother’s lips. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” he corrected firmly, wanting no misunderstanding. From the look Mother gave him, he wasn’t certain if she believed he had no personal interest in Mariah, but he was certain. “So give her the season of a lifetime,” he encouraged as he lifted a strawberry tartlet from the tray. “Gowns, slippers, all the ribbons her heart desires, all the invitations she can manage—”

“But leave you completely out of it?” she interjected dryly.

He grinned and popped the tiny tart into his mouth.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Your Grace.” The butler nodded politely to the duchess, then to Robert. “Sir. Miss Winslow has arrived.”

And so it begins.

Robert rose to his feet. “Show her in, Saunders.”

The man nodded and disappeared back into the hallway. A few moments later, he reappeared to formally announce, “Miss Mariah Winslow.”

She swept into the room with the intensity of a summer storm. For a moment, Robert was taken aback and could only stare. Good Lord, she was lovely.