Page 40 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

Good God, they couldn’t possibly see what she’d done with Lord Whitly. Were her lips still swollen? Her breasts still heavy? Could other people truly discern—

“Your riding habit is covered with dirt,” her mother continued. “And your hat is… Well, I never liked that hat anyway. You should throw it out.”

Mari looked down, relief flooding her with a dizzying flush of heat. Of course. It wasn’t the kiss they could see but the results of her fall.

“I’m afraid it’s been a long time since I’ve been riding,” she confessed. “I should have realized I needed to change before attending you.”

Then she cast a dark glare at Horace. He was hired to be a pompous, proper butler, but not at the expense of the house. She had been unable to dismiss him as long as he kept to that line, reserving his obnoxious behavior for riffraff and not them. But now he had crossed the line, allowing her to appear in such a state. Finally, she would be able to speak to her father about dismissing the man.

She watched his skin pale, and he swallowed nervously. One dragon down, she thought. But now she had to salvage this situation.

“But you ride beautifully,” said her mother. “Was it the horse?”

“I ride adequately,” she corrected as she kissed her mother’s cheek. “But not recently. The bruisers at Rotten Row startled me, and I’m afraid I fell into the muck.”

“Oh, that is a terrible time to ride,” said Mr. Camden in dark tones. “Especially if one is out of practice. No way to appear anything but at a disadvantage.”

Which had been her thoughts exactly. “I’m afraid I could have used your advice earlier, Mr. Camden. As it was, I had to endure an inglorious tumble.”

Her mother clasped Mari’s hand. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Only my pride. So if you will forgive me, I’ll dash upstairs and become more presentable. Then I shall attend to you properly.”

Mr. Camden executed a smooth bow. “I would like that most especially, Miss Powel. I have something interesting to discuss with you.” He glanced outside. “It’s a fine morning. Perhaps we could take a stroll down Bond Street.”

In the morning? That was the time gentlemen shopped. Women were rarely seen there until after one. But it wouldn’t do to correct him. She simply nodded and flashed a warm smile. “Fifteen minutes, no more. I promise.”

“I will wait as long as needed,” he said graciously. Or it would have been gracious if he hadn’t then consulted his pocket watch. Really, did he intend to time her?

With a quick look of apology to her mother, Mari took herself off. Fortunately, her maid was up in the room, and together they stripped her out of the habit, wiped off the mud that had smudged her chin, and then brushed out her terrible hair. Good Lord, had she appeared in public like this?

“Tie it back, as severe as you can manage,” she instructed her maid. Mr. Camden preferred her neat as a pin. Fortunately, ten minutes with him would do wonders for keeping her wayward nature in check. He had a dampening effect on all of her improper thoughts.

“Do you think he’ll propose?” asked her maid Ginny.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“An’ if he does…?” she asked.

“I…” She swallowed. Her list was on her dressing table. Acceptable Husband Candidates had Mr. Camden as number 27. Not high, but sixteen of the higher names hadn’t ever danced with her. She’d never spoken to twelve of them. Considering that, Mr. Camden was very high on the possibility list.

“Do you want to marry him?” pressed Ginny.

She wanted a home. She wanted to begin her life as a wife and a mother. And she wanted a productive function in Society. For that, she needed a husband of influence. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word yes. Not after throwing herself into Lord Whitly’s kiss.

Lord, she wanted to be held in a man’s arms and touched in his bed. She wanted everything her sister had whispered about. She just hadn’t expected to want Lord Whitly.

“I shall give him every consideration,” she finally managed. Then they were out of time. The clock chimed the quarter hour, and she stood up so quickly that Ginny accidentally dug a pin deep into her scalp.

“Bloody he—” She bit off her curse. None of that. Even she knew that ladies did not curse.

“I’m so sorry, miss!” Ginny said, but Mari waved it away.

“It was my fault entirely. Do I look neat and tidy?”

“As a pin.”

“Then I am ready to hear whatever Mr. Camden wishes to say. And I shall say yes,” she decided. It had to be yes because potential husbands number one through twenty-six had barely given her a glance.