Page 107 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“Yes,” she said softly. In truth, the possibilities had been very present in her imagination, starting about one minute after she’d left the house with Tie. Pride had kept her feet pressing forward. “And none of them happened.” Then she touched his face. “Peter, is it true? Was this…this attack orchestrated by your own father?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a growl. “That’s why I had to capture them. So I could find—”

“Aye, it’s planned by the earl,” Tie piped up in an angry huff. “Silas ain’t got the smarts for it.”

Mari winced. His own father, the head of a thieving ring. It was inconceivable.

Meanwhile, Peter dropped his voice. “You understand, don’t you, Tie? If Silas knows you betrayed him—”

“I’m dead fer sure, but he ain’t seen me.” And he’d been keeping his voice low.

Peter exhaled in obvious relief. “Do you know how to get back to Miss Powel’s home?”

“Want me to take ’er?”

“I’ll escort her. You’re the one in the most danger.”

Tie nodded, his eyes wide. He might have ducked away, but Peter kept him still.

“I’ll go with you if it would make you feel safer.”

“Nah. I’m faster alone.”

“Very well. If you stay at the Powels’ residence, I’ll come find you tomorrow and tell you what happened. I owe you for your help. Plus, I have other jobs that might work for you. I’ll need a sharp pair of eyes seeing things I can’t.”

Tie’s expression narrowed. Even in the darkness, she could see he was suspicious. Oh my. Did Peter fear he’d run away now? Disappear back onto the streets? She supposed that was a possibility, but she’d already thought of that.

“And don’t forget that I’ll pay you in the morning as well.” At Peter’s look, she explained. “I offered him a quid for seeing me safely here.”

“Well, he’s is becoming wealthy off of us, isn’t he?” It was a joke.

Peter knew as well as she did that a few pounds weren’t going to solve this boy’s problems. But at the moment, there were other things to manage. Lord Mooney’s chest of coin, for one thing. And the interrogation, spiders and all. Not to mention the questions she had for him. Ones she didn’t relish asking while surrounded by people at a ball.

“Go on home,” she said to Tie with a reassuring smile. “I’ll have Cook make us some more tarts tomorrow.” If that didn’t keep him home, then she doubted anything would.

He flashed her a broad grin, then disappeared, melting into the fog faster than she could blink. She was still admiring the boy’s skill when Peter tugged her closer. “You’re hurt,” she said as she reached out to stroke a smear of blood off his face.

“Not my blood.”

Thank God.

“Mari, why did you come? Why risk yourself this way?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Your father will have my head.”

“My father will have my head, not yours. And…” She might as well explain as best she could. “I feared for you.”

“Coming here put us both in danger.”

“No,” she said. “Just me. You were magnificent, by the way. I’ve never seen fisticuffs like that. So fast, so—”

“Brutal?”

“So decisive.” She bit her lip. How had she ever thought him banal? The very idea was ludicrous. “I’ve been so wrong about you for so long, I don’t know what to think, except…”

“Except?”

“Except I want to know more. And I want to discover it without everyone watching us.” Then she touched his mouth. She stroked her fingers across his lips, felt the heat of his breath, and knew that this man fascinated her. What she’d judged weak before was only the smallest fraction of him. He had such hidden depth. “Why did you lie to me?”

“Stupidity,” he said softly as he pulled her gently against his body. “And habit. The appearance of power—or wealth—is often as good as the actual thing.”