As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)
Anna Harrington
Dedicated to
Sarah Younger,
for urging me to write about the Carlisles
And to my father,
who never once threatened
to send me away to school or to a convent
(although perhaps he wishes he had)
Special thanks to
Michele Bidelspach, Jordan Rubinstein, and Angelina Krahn
for all your help
in writing and releasing this book
CHAPTER ONE
A Very Wintry Afternoon in London
January 1823
I suppose you prefer White’s,” Henry Winslow drawled.
Robert Carlisle’s gaze drifted from the smoke curling from the tip of his cigar to the man sitting in the leather chair across from him in the smoking room at Brooks’s. Before them, a crackling fire warmed away the chill of the winter afternoon outside the large windows, whose gray sky once more threatened to snow.
“I prefer here, with the real leaders of England,” Robert corrected casually. “Businessmen and merchants, traders, importers—the men who make England run.”
“Hear! Hear!” Winslow lifted his glass and gasped softly as he took a swallow.
Robert popped the cigar between his teeth before Winslow could see his self-satisfied smile. In truth, he preferred Boodle’s, where the gambling required more skill, the stakes were higher, and the women allowed in through the rear entrance were more interesting. But he would gladly flatter the man’s choice of club because he needed Henry Winslow.
Rather, he needed Winslow Shipping and Trade.
He eased back in the chair and kicked his Hessians onto the fireplace fender, for all appearances the model of a confident businessman when he was actually anxious as hell. He’d been waiting two years for this. Two years of taking calculated risks to build his wealth and connections, purchasing unproven shares of ships from India and the Far East just so he would have a presence among the men who drove the auctions, buying and selling warehouses full of goods so he could make a name for himself among the traders…all of it coming to this moment. To prospects with the largest merchant company in the British Empire.
He’d be damned if he let it slip away.
He drawled as nonchalantly as possible, “I’ve heard that you’re expanding your shipping routes.”
“Ha!” Winslow flicked his ash onto the floor. “Where did you hear that?”
“I have good contacts.” The best, in fact. Winslow knew that, too, or he wouldn’t have invited him here in the first place. “I’ve also heard that you’re looking for a partner to help you do it.”
“I am.” Winslow’s eyes gleamed, appreciating Robert’s bluntness. “I’m looking for new blood to energize my company. Someone with the drive and ambition to make a name for himself.” He pushed himself from his chair and stepped forward to the fire, to take the liberty of grasping the brass poker and stirring up the flames. “I have an extraordinary company, and I need extraordinary men to run it.”
Robert smiled tightly. Extraordinary, all right.
Henry Winslow might have been an arrogant braggart, but as England’s most successful businessman, he had every right to be. The sole proprietor of Winslow Shipping and Trade, he was one of the few import merchants who had managed to emerge from the wars wealthier than before. All due to determination, a willingness to risk capital, and good old-fashioned luck. A titan of fortune and power, Winslow had never taken on a partner before, but Robert had thoroughly studied the company and knew that he would be the perfect man for it.
And that this partnership would be the answer to his prayers.
“I’m offering a limited share, you understand.” Winslow puffed out his chest, a gesture more propriety than proud. “A small stake. Perhaps seven percent.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed. Much smaller than he’d hoped. But it would do. For now. “You’ve never taken a partner before. Why now?”
Winslow stared into the fire. “Changes need to be made. A man who doesn’t recognize when it’s time to adjust his ways might as well retire.” He jabbed the poker at the logs, sending up a shower of sparks. “But the timing of it—daughters.” He heaved a hard breath and shook his head. “How does a businessman ensure a legacy for his family when all he has are daughters?”
Robert didn’t answer. His own father hadn’t worried about such things. Instead, Richard Carlisle had concerned himself with character, hard work, and devotion to his family, and he never considered his daughter to be any less worthy than his sons. They were all his children, all equally able to earn his pride.
And Robert was determined to do exactly that. He would become the kind of man his father could take pride in raising, and he would let nothing stop him.
“Perhaps one of them will marry a gentleman you can bring into your business.” For his own selfish sake, Robert prayed that both Winslow daughters were toothless, bald spinsters well into their third decade and beyond the possibility of marrying ambitious upstarts who might snag this opportunity away from him.
“Not into my business. Not sons-in-law,” Winslow grumbled as he replaced the poker, then slapped his hands together to remove the soot from his fingers. “You don’t know my daughters, do you, Carlisle?”
Robert shook his head. His usual female companionship fell more toward experienced widows than spinster daughters of trade merchants.
“Their reputations precede them, I’m afraid.” Winslow folded his hands behind his back and stared grimly down into the flames, his round belly jutting out. “Their mother died when they were young, only ten and eight. I suppose I should have found them a stepmother who could have raised them into proper young ladies, as my late wife wanted. But the business needed my attention, and there was barely enough time to find an appropriate governess, let alone a wife.” He paused, then admitted, “And in truth, a part of me didn’t want to. It would have felt as if I were attempting to replace my dear Beatrice.”
Robert understood that. It was why his own mother would never remarry.
“But now, when I look at my daughters…” Winslow blew out a long-suffering sigh. “I regret that decision.”
“Are they both out for the season?” Robert asked curiously. Polite conversation was expected. It was also essential that he get to know Winslow better so no surprises would arise later.
“Yes.” The single word was spoken with grim chagrin. “But it’s their seventh and fifth seasons, and I’m afraid it might be too late.”
Robert blinked, stunned. Fifth and seventh? Good Lord. He’d never heard of young ladies taking that many seasons to find a husband. Especially heiresses. Even if the two possessed second heads, he couldn’t fathom why fortune hunters weren’t pounding down the man’s door to get to them.
“Didn’t both of your brothers wed last year?” Winslow inquired, knowing as well as every man in Mayfair that the Carlisle brothers had been picked off one by one. Robert was the last one standing from a threesome that had once been considered the bane of marriage-minded mamas everywhere.
“They did.” And may God rest their bachelor souls.
Oh, they both seemed happy enough. Sebastian, especially, appeared more relaxed than he’d been in years, which was all due to his wife, Miranda. The perfect duchess she certainly wasn’t, although she’d proven completely perfect for Sebastian by being nothing he wanted in a wife yet everything he needed in a woman. His brother had gone happily over to the ranks of the enemy, doting on her like a smitten pup. The attention he heaped on her was now made all the worse by her being with child.
His younger brother, Quinton, was little better. His wife, Annabelle, had him up to his neck in tenant leases, farm improvements, livestock, and crops, yet Quinn had never been more focused on his future and was happy to be shackled to a woman who was more than his match in wits and charm.