Page 3 of As the Devil Dares

“And that is why my daughter is in her seventh season,” Winslow muttered beneath his breath as the rest of the men returned to their seats, the excitement over.

“Pardon?”

“That, Carlisle,” he explained, his back straightening under the weight of humiliation as he turned away from the window, “is my daughter Mariah.”

“The Hellion?” Robert exclaimed before he could stop himself, flabbergasted. His mind ran wild searching for the woman’s name. Then it hit him—Mariah Winslow.

Winslow Shipping and Trade.

Christ.

Winslow’s mouth pressed tight, seemingly offended less by the epithet that the gossips had branded on her and more by his daughter herself. “And beside her sat her sister, Evelyn, who is just as determined to mire herself in scandal.”

That certainly explained all those seasons without proposals, and judging by this latest antic, none would be forthcoming this year, either. If the Carlisle brothers were the scourge of Mayfair, these two were its female equivalent. Two young ladies who somehow managed to thumb their noses at the quality yet creatively skirt ruining their reputations completely.

“I promised their mother on her deathbed that I would make proper ladies of them, but I’ve failed,” Winslow lamented with a deep frown. “Especially with Mariah. She has no interest in society events or housekeeping, in fashions or flowers…in none of the things that other young ladies enjoy.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Instead, she’d rather be working at the shipping offices, spending her time at the wharves with longshoremen and sailors, or wasting her allowance on urchins.”

Robert sympathized with the man, but he couldn’t help a touch of admiration for his daughters. They certainly weren’t part of the boring misses following the suffocating rules of the marriage market like lambs being led to slaughter. They should consider themselves lucky to have escaped the chains of domesticity that society shackled onto its young ladies, who were expected to do nothing more in life than host parties, birth heirs, and retire quietly into the countryside with their embroidery and watercolors.

“What Mariah needs is a husband to settle her into proper womanhood,” Winslow muttered, rubbing at the knot of tension at his nape. “But I’ve no female relatives in society to give her introductions, so no chance of gaining appropriate suitors for her.”

Robert raised his glass to his lips and murmured dryly, “That’s a shame.” It was hard to commiserate with the man when his daughters had practically glowed with freedom as they’d raced past.

Winslow faced Robert, his gaze hard. “But you do.”

He choked on his cognac. “What?”

“I need a partner with connections in the ton and the audacity to use them,” he said frankly, laying all his cards on the table. “Call on your relatives to guide Mariah through this season, and I’ll guarantee you a partnership. A twenty percent stake is yours if an offer is made from a respectable gentleman by the last day of Parliament.”

Robert gaped at him. The man was mad.

And utterly serious.

“A partnership,” Robert sputtered, echoing his words to make certain he understood him, “in exchange for marrying off your daughter?”

Winslow nodded curtly, frustration evident in every inch of him.

Robert stared at him, incredulous. The offer was preposterous. A test to prove his abilities wasn’t out of line, but this? Good Lord.

“There seems to be a mistake,” he drawled, forcing a half grin and doing his damnedest to keep his own aggravation from showing. Even now, with the partnership flung down onto the table for him to simply pick up, he felt the opportunity slipping through his fingers. “You’ve confused me with a matchmaking mama.”

Winslow shook his head. “Mariah’s behavior has to stop, for her own good, and I am at my wit’s end. Finding her a husband is the best way to save her from herself.” He pinned Robert beneath a hard gaze. “And you’re the man to do it.”

Not at all the way he wanted to prove himself. Yet he was tempted. So very tempted. Especially when Winslow put it like that.

Mariah Winslow certainly wouldn’t find a good husband on her own, and he’d be doing only what other men had done for their female relatives for centuries—ensure a good marriage. And yes, to save her from herself. If she kept on as she was doing, remaining unmarried would be the least of her worries, because her antics would turn her into a social pariah. He’d seen women’s lives destroyed over far less scandalous things. It would be a damned shame if that happened to the Hellion.

A much-needed marriage for her, a partnership for him…He’d be a fool to let his conscience interfere. Yet uncertainty gnawed at his gut that this might be a step too far in pursuing his goals.

“Seven months to secure a suitable match doesn’t strike me as unreasonable for a man of your connections,” Winslow challenged, misreading his hesitation. “If you truly possess them as you claim.”

His eyes narrowed. “Be assured that I do.”

“Then come by the house tomorrow at eleven, and you’ll have the chance to prove it.”

Oh, he could certainly meet this challenge. Easily. After all, Winslow’s daughter might be the Hellion, but she was also a shipping heiress with the beauty of an Incomparable. And he had his mother to help him, a dowager duchess longing for something more interesting to do this season than attend the same boring events. A few balls and teas, some new gowns, and even Mariah Winslow would be offered for by March. April at the latest. The partnership would be his, and he would finally prove himself worthy of the Carlisle name.

“Agreed,” Robert said. “I won’t let you down.”