Page 113 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“My heart has learned to be silent.” She shifted then, lifting her head to set it on her fist. But the twist overbalanced her, and her hips slid away. He fell out of her and grimaced in regret.

“You put me in a quandary, then,” he said as he resettled her against his side. “I will marry you, Mari.” That was statement, not supposition. “But not until your heart wants me as fiercely as mine wants you.”

Would she hear what he was saying? Did she understand that he wanted? She must know without reservation that he was the man for her. Then he could marry her without constantly fearing that another one of her lists would put him out of favor.

She sighed. “You make me rethink everything I thought I knew.”

“You sent me to India where I changed everything I was. And now, because of you, I think to hire myself out to your father, humiliating myself before all of Society.”

She looked at him, clearly stunned. “You would do that…for me?”

“I would do that for money. So I will not need your dowry to wed you.”

She touched his lips with her fingers. She searched his face for an answer. But in the end, she simply closed her eyes and set her head against his heart.

“I was wrong,” she said. “You are not a fortune hunter.”

“But I am,” he said firmly. “I want your fortune, Mari. Without question. I just want you more.”

She was silent a long time while her breath shifted and stuttered. One sharp inhale, another quick gasp, and then a slow sigh of an exhale. He did not know what it meant, except that her mind was whirling again. She was making a list in her mind. She was weighing his assets and her life as if they could be balanced on a scale.

He didn’t stop her. He knew he couldn’t. All he could do was wait for her conclusion.

“I believe you,” she finally said. “And I will marry you.”

Not quite the passionate declaration he had hoped for.

“Tomorrow night at Lady Illston’s ball,” he said, “I will propose, and you will accept?”

“Yes.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then he lifted her so he could find her lips. She returned his affection quickly enough. She opened herself to him, and he knew he could rouse her passion within moments. His blood had already heated. But for all that, it was a lackluster acceptance to his proposal, and it left him feeling unenthusiastic.

“You still doubt this,” he said, bitterness in his tone. “After everything, you still aren’t sure.”

She snorted and pulled herself off him. “I doubt everything.” She pressed her hand to his chest. “Your faith. My heart.” She gestured to the bed. “This choice. I doubt it all.”

“Which is why you write lists, why you seek Lady Eleanor’s advice, and why you allow your father to test and torture your suitors.”

She shrugged, and her hair slipped over her shoulder, covering her eyes and the glory of her right breast. “If you were looking for surety in a bride, you picked the wrong Welsh. My sister, Josephine, never doubts anything. I, on the other hand…” Her voice trailed off, as if even in this sentence, she could not commit to what she wanted.

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I fear you will change your mind before tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a wry laugh. “At least a dozen times or more.”

“That does not give me confidence, Miss Powel.”

“Goodness, Lord Whitly, I had not thought you lacking for confidence in anything.”

“It is a state I am becoming much too familiar with.” He sat up and pulled her into his arms. She went easily, and he imagined holding her whenever she doubted. In time, all her fears would be erased.

He struggled to find the words to convince her, but he had given her his best arguments. She was so much better at words, so he resorted to the cheap and the easy. The only way he knew for certain that she was vulnerable to him.

He kissed her again. And as he kissed her, he palmed her breasts. And then he steadily, purposefully, stoked the fires of her passion. He spread her legs, rubbed her clit, and waited until she cried out his name before he took her again.

And again.

All night long, if needed. Until she could think nothing—say nothing—but the word “yes.”