Page 22 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“I’d look closer, but the dowagers would beat me about the ears with their canes.”

“They probably would,” she agreed with a chuckle. As usual, she was standing near enough to the older ladies to tend to their whims. It was the only way she kept herself from dancing too much.

Meanwhile, she was happy to converse with Lord Rimbury. It kept her from feeling completely on the shelf. “I’ve had a very productive day,” she offered. “I spoke with a dog trainer, and I have high hopes for teaching Greenie my phrase.”

His smile stretched very thin, which on him was a very droll look. “I congratulate you on your progress, if not your choice of celebration.”

She laughed merrily—but not too loudly—then turned her attention to the gathering. “I think the dancing will begin soon,” she said.

“I would beg for a dance, but I know you prefer to talk.”

Not true. She preferred to dance, but she was being circumspect, and he was a delightful conversationalist.

“I have reserved your usual spot at the dance before supper,” she told him, showing him where she had scrawled his name on her card.

“Then I shall be delighted to escort you early to the buffet tables. I hear Mr. Hario sets an excellent table.”

She nodded, guessing this was his only meal today. That was the true reason she’d reserved the dance before supper for him. This way, he would have plenty to eat before the food ran out. Her father had named Lord Rimbury “another damned impoverished nob,” but she liked his gloomy sense of humor. He adored giving dire predictions about everyone and everything, and that always made her laugh. And sure enough, a moment later, he gestured at a dandy across the room.

“I wager that Baron Pattinson rips the lace off his cuff within the hour.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mari countered. “The baron is a fop of the first order. He wouldn’t be casual with that lace any more than I would suddenly toss away my favorite fan.”

“Ah, but the baron is trying to attract a new mistress.”

Lord Rimbury also had the best gossip, usually tidbits that rarely reached an unwed lady’s ears. “Here? This is a coming-out ball.”

“I never said the man was smart. Only that as men, we cock up the thing we love most. It’s in our nature. And for Baron Pattinson, that means…ah…there it is. Spilled wine on his sleeve.”

Sure enough, the baron was now red-faced with fury at the Corinthian who had been careless with his wine. Unless it had been done on purpose.

And as if reading her mind, Lord Rimbury answered her unspoken question. “Deliberate. Definitely.”

“But—”

“Those two have despised each other since the baron married the beauty and the Corinthian got the prune-faced one.” His voice dropped to a depressed register. “It’s on account of the baron being worth five times as much, even though he is ridiculous. You ladies are a terrible curse to us men.”

“Well, it’s because you always…” She hesitated, wondering if she could actually say it. But the interest in his eyes made her lift her chin. “Because you always cock up when it’s most important.”

“Wisely said, Miss Powel.”

“You said it first.”

“I know.” He gave her a mournful face, which made her laugh all the more. After a week of such exchanges, she could be completely smitten except for one thing. For all his joking, he had an undercurrent of bitterness. He truly did believe that men always cocked it up and that a woman was always the cause.

A week of this was only mildly irritating. A lifetime would be suicidally depressing. So she enjoyed his company, tried to shine in her patterned gown, and waited for a better choice of husband.

“Peter Norwood, Lord Whitly.”

She looked to the top of the stairs at the announcement. His was the one name she would always react to, for good or ill. And there he was at the top of the stairs, looking larger than life. He wore a jacket that fitted his wide shoulders to perfection. A snowy-white cravat flashed a large emerald in the center. Narrow waist, long legs, and an arrogant lift to his chin completed the picture of aristocratic perfection. The sight of him made her breath catch. She also found herself pressing her fingers to her lips as she remembered their delicious kiss.

“Don’t look so impressed,” murmured Lord Rimbury. “He’ll find a way to cock it up.”

“There’s nothing to cock up,” she said primly as she whipped her hand from her mouth. It was all she could manage. Her gaze wouldn’t leave Lord Whitly as he descended the stairs and greeted their hosts. For such a large man, he moved so fluidly. “He was still wrong in what he said to me, but I may not be as angry as I was before.”

She finally managed to tear her gaze away from Lord Whitly to look at Rimbury. “You said you’ve known him for years?”

“Since we were boys.”