Weeks had passed since he’d made his decision that she should marry, and she was no closer to convincing him to relent. But instead of the piercing anguish she’d expected at his new refusal, only a hollow emptiness panged inside her. She shuddered to think that perhaps she was coming to accept the inevitable. That she would never have a real role in the company.
Keeping her back straight, with too much pride to let her shoulders slump even now, she left the study and made her way upstairs to her room. Surprisingly, no sobs came, but she couldn’t have said whether she didn’t cry because she was still foolishly clinging to her dream or because she’d already given up and so had no more grief left inside her for it.
Not letting herself contemplate which, she sat at her writing desk and reached for a sheet of stationery to write out the apology to Olivia Sinclair that Robert had instructed her to send. She carefully blotted, folded, and sealed it.
Her maid stepped out from the adjoining dressing room, drying her hands on her apron. “Your bath is ready, miss.”
“Thank you, Alice.” She handed her the note. “Would you ask one of the footmen to take this to St James House? It needs to be delivered this evening.”
“Yes, miss.” She hurried toward the door. “I’ll be right back to help you undress.”
“No need. I’ll be fine on my own this evening.” She didn’t want anyone’s company tonight, preferring to be alone so she could sort out her thoughts. “Just ask Cook to send up a dinner tray, will you?”
“Yes, miss.” Alice bobbed a curtsy, then left.
Mariah rose and went into the dressing room she shared with Evelyn, whose bedroom adjoined it from the other side. These rooms should have been for the gentleman and lady of the house, but Papa had wisely given them up, knowing his two daughters would need them more than he. Of course, he also knew they’d use the dressing room to sneak into each other’s bedrooms, talking together and staying up late into the night. Thank goodness he’d had the foresight to realize how much they would need that.
Her bath waited in the large tub that was permanently installed with its special drainage pipes—one of the many advantages of living in a newly built London town house. The servants didn’t have to haul down all the water they’d carried up, which resulted in larger, more luxurious baths. She allowed herself this special treat on those days when she knew she’d be working at Gatewell, when Alice had special instructions to have it ready for her at five o’clock. Like today, when her bath awaited all steamy hot and scented with the orange and cinnamon oil one of Papa’s captains had given her when he’d brought several bottles of the stuff back from India.
Breathing in the spicy-sweet scent, she smiled to herself. Being the daughter of a shipping merchant held very nice benefits.
She felt better with each layer of wet clothing she peeled away, and when she stepped into the tub and sank into the hot water up to her neck, the warming sensation was exquisite. She hadn’t realized exactly how cold and tired she was—how physically exhausted and emotionally drained—until that moment, when she could let all the fatigue and confusion seep out of her.
She closed her eyes…
…and once again saw Robert Carlisle’s face.
She groaned with frustration. Even now, finally warm and at home and ready to put this day behind her, the man still invaded her thoughts. Was there no end to the ways he could irritate her?
Or confuse her?
Because he truly confounded her. One moment, she was certain he was Lucifer himself, come to wreak havoc on her life, and the next he was an angel, with a love for his family she’d rarely seen in a gentleman. In one heartbeat he could go from being dashing and charming to spitting fire at her—although, if she were to be honest, that she mostly brought on herself. And at one instant he was set on marrying her off to whatever man he could find, but at the next, he was kissing her himself and enjoying it.
At least she hoped he’d enjoyed it. Because she certainly had.
She hated to admit it, even to herself, but when she was with Robert, she felt alluring, intelligent, and so very feminine, even while sitting in a dirty puddle. He made her feel the way no other man ever had, and she liked it. A great deal. And she would have liked him a great deal, too, if he wasn’t set on taking her dream away.
Well, perhaps he wasn’t taking it away. It was impossible to steal something that didn’t exist, after all. But he was trampling all over it, for certain.
Yet she was finding it hard to hold even that against him. During the past few weeks, she’d come to know him quite well through the stories Elizabeth shared of him, of a man who was loyal, kind, and generous to his friends and family, despite a reputation that painted him as a scapegrace and rakehell. What she’d seen of him had borne it out, as he seemed charming and gracious to everyone.
Everyone but her, that is. To her, he was a six-foot-tall, golden-blond conundrum, aggravated with her at one moment and kissing her passionately the next. Kissing her passionately especially when he was aggravated with her.
And this afternoon at Gatewell, for one mad moment they hadn’t been enemies, and the connection between them was breathtakingly tender. So much so that she was ready to acknowledge that she’d been wrong to torment him…until he ruined it by making that hurtful comment about how she set men on fire.
Worse, that he wouldn’t let himself get burned by her.
Oh, how it had hurt! His arrogant self had returned in full force, and spurred on by anger, she’d dumped the mop water over his head.
A twinge of guilt pricked her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done that. But blast him! He’d made her so furious. And furious most of all at herself for falling for his charms. Because when she was in his arms, she’d wanted so much more from him than just a few kisses.
Thinking like that was dangerous, but she couldn’t help it. Just thinking about him stirred the same tingling ache between her legs that she suspected he’d wanted to touch when his hand had slipped beneath her skirt. If she hadn’t stopped him, would he have touched her there?
She wickedly let herself contemplate what it would feel like to have his hand between her thighs, and with her eyes closed, in the darkness of her mind, she imagined just that…his hand caressing at the tingling ache until it turned into a hot throbbing, long fingers teasing wickedly at her most intimate place. More…his mouth kissing her there, doing to her there what he’d done with her breasts—
The soft click of the turning door handle shot through her. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, as if actually caught doing what she had only imagined.
Thank God that the heat of the bath hid whatever scarlet blush darkened her face, although it couldn’t hide the self-recrimination. Fantasizing about Robert Carlisle like that—had she gone mad?
“There you are.” Evelyn entered with an affectionate smile. She sank gracefully to the floor beside the tub to talk to Mariah, just as they’d always done during baths since they were children. In the past, such uninvited visits were done more to aggravate whoever was in the tub and couldn’t escape, but since they’d returned from Miss Pettigrew’s, these chats had become opportunities for sisterly heart-to-heart conversations.
Mariah’s chest tightened ruefully. As with quiet moments with Papa, these talks with Evie had also grown fewer and farther between.
“Bentley said you were home.” Evie dipped her fingers into the water to test the temperature. “How was Gatewell?”
“It was fine,” she dismissed.
Evie’s lips curled knowingly. “Why don’t I believe you?”
For a moment, Mariah considered dissembling, but Evelyn knew her well enough to spot a lie from a mile away. “Robert Carlisle stopped by.”
Her sister’s eyes shined with a romantic gleam. “To see you?”
“To tell me that there was an oversight,” she corrected firmly. The last thing she needed was for Evie to play at matchmaker. “You’ve been invited to the ball after all.”
Evie shrugged a slender shoulder. “I told you that I didn’t mind.”