Page 27 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“Everything’s a wager to you. Will the footman leap to your tune? Will there be a scandal as a result? Can you get the ladies to dance?”

He straightened. “Yes, no, and of course.” She snorted, and he arched his brow. “Do you doubt my ability?”

“Of course I do! You can’t get all of them to dance, and certainly not the waltz.”

His grin widened. “And if I manage it? Before the evening is done?”

Mari didn’t know how to answer. She was acutely aware of Lord Byland standing, cooling his heels, and yet she couldn’t force herself to move away. Not when Lord Whitly was turning that arch look on her.

“If you manage it, my lord, I shall…I shall tell you a secret. About me.”

His eyes widened. “What ho, that’s an exciting forfeit.”

“And if you fail—which you surely will—then you shall tell me one about you.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “And if I have no secrets?”

“That’s a bounder, if ever there was one.”

He nodded. “True enough. Very well, I accept.” Then he turned a gimlet eye on each of the dowagers. “And I expect you ladies to help me win my forfeit.”

“No,” Mari returned archly. “I have spent the last six Seasons in attendance on these venerable ladies. I assure you, they will help me.”

Then there was no more time. The first notes of the new set began, and Mari had to rush with Lord Byland to find their places.

But what about the waltz? she wondered. And what secret was she about to learn from Lord Whitly? Because she knew the dowagers. They had been damning the waltz since its first appearance in the London ballrooms. Even so charming a man as Lord Whitly would fail in getting them on their feet for so scandalous a dance.

Right?

Chapter Six

“Lady Stott, I implore you,” Peter said. “Surely you would enjoy a dance. I’ll go as slow and gentle as you like. You must know, I could carry you if you stumble.”

“It’s not fear, my boy,” the elderly woman said, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed. “I will not do such a scandalous thing in public. I will not.” She punctuated the statement with a thump of her cane.

“But, my lady,” Peter pressed, “all the other women have consented.” They damn well ought to have. He’d pressured, cajoled, and outright bribed gentlemen to get their elderly relatives onto the dance floor. It had been a devil of a difficult thing to accomplish. All except for Lady Stott. She’d refused her own grandson, and now Peter was at his wits’ end trying to win her over.

Meanwhile, a sweet chuckle sounded to his right. It was warm and seemed to reverberate down his spine. Miss Mari Powel, of course, coming to his side for her very first waltz.

“I brought you more lemonade, Lady Stott,” she said as she extended the drink.

“Thank you, my dear. Now go on. They’ve started the waltz.”

“I don’t think so,” Miss Powel said. “I’ve decided to sit down with you.”

“What?” Peter said, frustration making his voice curt. “You can’t possibly mean to deny yourself—”

“As all of Lady Stott’s friends have deserted her…” Miss Powel gestured to where the dance floor appeared a slow whirl of septuagenarians. “It’s only fair that I remain with her. After all, she’s doing this to help me win my wager.”

No, the woman was doing it because this was the most attention she’d been paid in a decade. Lady Stott needed a good spanking for putting her own needs ahead of Miss Powel’s.

“Miss Powel, I insist,” Peter huffed. “You have promised me this dance. You cannot deny me the pleasure of your company.” Or the chance to touch her again. Through the fabric of their gloves, of course, but he would take what he could get. And if he managed to brush her anywhere more intimate, then it would be a victory indeed. “It wouldn’t be sporting.”

“I’ve never understood men’s definition of ‘sporting’,” she said, rather gleefully he thought. And full of mischief. “You may have my company here. We can converse however you like.”

That was an opening she was going to regret, but he knew better than to grin. Instead, he turned to the dowager. “Do you know that Miss Powel has promised to tell me a secret if I get you to dance?”

“I’m not deaf. You said it right here.” Then she tapped Miss Powel’s leg with her cane. “But as she has no secrets to share, I’m afraid we will have to content ourselves with hearing yours.”