Page 25 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“Well, Thompson, are you capable of figuring out how to get the lemonade bowl manned and the ladies their drinks?”

“Er, yes, sir.”

“My lord,” Mari corrected.

“What?” The man’s eyes were wide with panic. Truly he was young, and she felt bad for putting him on the spot.

“This is Lord Whitly, young Thompson. And I shall stand here and explain the situation to anyone who asks. So do what you must to get the ladies served.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She smiled at the boy, and he blushed all the way up through his ears. But then paled when Lord Whitly growled at him.

“She isn’t waiting long, Thompson. Go.”

“Oh! Yes, sir. Er, my lord. Um…”

Lord Whitly bared his teeth. The footman scampered away.

“And that,” said Mari, “is why I gave up trying to get the servants to carry the drinks. You’ve not only frightened that poor boy—”

“If that frightens him, God help him if he ever sees battle.”

She snorted, a most inelegant sound that she immediately regretted. “He’s a footman. He’s not likely to see battle. And now you’ve upset things below stairs.”

“Bollocks. They weren’t doing their job.”

She sighed. “Have you been gone so long that you’ve forgotten everything? Or did you never pay attention in the first place?”

“You think this will be a conversation topic tomorrow?”

“I think I will be the topic regarding this lemonade fiasco.”

“Bollocks.” Then when she arched her brows at him, he rocked back on his heels. “You truly believe that. Shall we make a wager on it?”

“I am trying to be circumspect.”

“This is a perfectly proper wager. If not a single word of gossip ensues from this dastardly lemonade bowl incident, then you shall walk with me in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. I regret that we cannot go driving. I have not yet purchased a conveyance.”

“That shall not be a problem, my lord. You have no chance of winning.”

He arched a brow. “Very well, and your forfeit is…?”

“Another apology for doubting me?”

He waved that aside, then snapped his fingers. “You’ll go riding with me instead. Do you have a horse?”

She did, though she was not a very accomplished rider, and rusty to boot. Horsemanship was one of those wild activities denied to someone who wanted to prove she wasn’t wayward.

“I haven’t gone riding in a very long time.”

“Then you should enjoy it.”

Assuming she didn’t fall on her face in the mud. “You must swear not to laugh. My horse is very sensitive to laughter.”

“Your horse?”

She shrugged. “Her feelings are easily hurt.”