Page 84 of As the Devil Dares

“Oh. That.” He leaned back against the squabs with visible relief, the color returning to his face. “Well. It’s a good thing that you won’t let me duel with him. Because I’d have put a ball in him. I’m quite a good shot, you know.”

“La!” Mrs. Smith arched a dubious brow as she picked up her knitting again. “Not better than Robert Carlisle.”

“I most certainly am.”

“Mr. Whitby, do you even know how to fire a pistol?”

“Of course I do! I won the spring marksmanship in Buxton last year, I’ll have you know.”

“Out of how many shooters?”

“That’s not important…”

As her two dearest friends argued about Whitby’s prowess with firearms—or lack of it—Mariah leaned against the side of the carriage and stared out once more at the passing city, but she didn’t see any of it. She was too worried about Evelyn and too hurt by Robert to pay it any attention.

Only sheer resolve kept back a new round of tears. The three of them would find Evelyn and stop her from marrying Williams, which was all that mattered now. She couldn’t go back in time and stop herself from falling in love with Robert, but she could stop her sister. And she would never let Evelyn make the same mistake she had.

Never.

* * *

Robert hunched his shoulders against the cold as he made his way through Mayfair, but the bitter self-recrimination that swept through him burned hot.

Frustrating woman! To slap him and then run away before he could stop her—

No. It wasn’t the slap that bothered him, but that she’d left. Yet even if he’d been able to keep her from fleeing, most likely having to resort to binding her hand and foot, she wouldn’t have listened to reason. She was too angry and hurt to understand and accept his apologies. Or to believe his promise to never have a hand in the docks project again.

Damn Henry Winslow for catching him up in this mess!

And damn Mariah for not having more faith in him.

Although, had he really given her much cause to trust him? After all, he’d gone willingly into that damnable agreement with her father to find her a husband, despite what she wanted. An agreement he should never have entered into in the first place. So of course, when she’d overheard about St Katharine’s, she’d believed the worst of him.

But then, she wasn’t wrong. He had done exactly what she’d accused him of—attempting to profit by destroying what she loved. Abandoning that plan had simply come too late, the damage already done.

Which was why he’d chased after her as soon as he could free himself from Henry Winslow, after dodging the man’s prying questions about his fight with Mariah. She might never understand or accept his apology. In all likelihood she would probably still hate him, still blame him for the destruction of St Katharine’s and the school. But damnation, she would hear him out. Even if he had to tie her to a chair to do it.

But she wasn’t at home, and by the time he’d reached the school, she was gone, with no one there able to tell him where she’d gone or when she would return. After two hours spent crisscrossing London in the cold, he’d decided to return to Park Place, to give her time to calm down. And to give himself time to figure out what exactly he would say when he saw her.

He raced up the steps of Park Place and through the front door, desperately needing a glass of something strong to calm the frustration in his chest. To put him into a stupor that would take two weeks from his life and six months to recover.

He flung open the door to the billiards room and the largest collection of spirits in the house—

“Robert!”

Christ.

His brother Quinton lounged in one of the red leather chairs lining the wall, his leg crooked akimbo over the rolled arm and a cigar clenched between his teeth. He poked his cue at their eldest brother Sebastian as he leaned over the billiards table to line up his shot.

Quinn grinned. “Told you he’d be happy to see us.”

Sebastian quirked a brow at the expression on Robert’s face. “That’s not happy to see us.” He sank the ball in the corner pocket, then gave him an assessing look. “That’s what the cat dragged in.”

“Half-eaten,” Quinton added, taking a second glance at him.

“Then promptly cast back up,” Sebastian finished.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Good to see you, too,” he muttered dryly and continued across the room to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out the bottle of whiskey and a glass. “What are you two doing here?”