Page 51 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“Because he only cares about power, and as lovely as you are, you have none. You cannot gain entrance to his sanctum unless you have something he wants. And since you don’t, you are doomed to fail.”

“But he has asked to speak with me. Indeed, he has commanded it.”

That got his attention. His brows drew down, and his hand tightened over hers.

“I have surprised you,” she said with a childish kind of satisfaction.

He nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge the statement. It was a small thing, clearly done without conscious thought, but she noted it in the way one might note a spectacularly colored coat or a beautiful song. Clearly, he felt no problem with admitting she’d beaten him in this small way. She’d surprised him. But whereas she took satisfaction in winning, he couldn’t care less. She couldn’t imagine Mr. Camden admitting so tiny a thing. Nor her father. She had to trick them into listening to her.

For a “winner, winner,” he was decidedly casual about losing.

And while she was absorbing the magnitude of that, he inquired about her abrupt confession. “Do you know why Lord Rossgrove would summon you?”

“I have an idea, yes.”

He waited in silence when she didn’t provide the answer. He didn’t begin to reason it out with guesses or silly comments. He simply ambled with his quiet attention fixed on her. It was unnerving. And in that awkward moment, she found the truth tumbling out once again.

“I believe he wishes to put Mr. Camden up for a seat in the House of Commons.”

“The one that was meant for his nephew?”

Mari nodded. The man had just returned to London, but he knew gossip from a month earlier.

“Do you have a relationship with Mr. Camden that would bring Lord Rossgrove’s attention to you?”

She nodded slowly. “I believe I do.”

“So you are engaged?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice that made her shiver. Not in fear. Everything about him was pleasant in this casual stroll on a lovely afternoon. But there was a note to his voice that made her breath catch and her nipples tighten.

Good Lord, that couldn’t be true, but the sensations were undeniable. How humiliating. Even her nipples were wayward.

“Miss Powel?” he prompted while she was busy being embarrassed by her breasts.

“Oh, um, no. Not as yet. I believe Mr. Camden is waiting for Lord Rossgrove’s approval before he speaks to me.”

“What man seeks another’s approval before choosing a wife?”

“What man barters for his bride like a cantankerous dog?”

His lips twitched in response, and again he dipped his chin toward her. “I shall not debate my choice of bride,” he said. “The bargaining is merely for fun.”

“Your sense of fun is lost on me.”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Truly?”

She bit her lip and shrugged. He touched her arm, stopping her forward movement as he looked hard at her face.

“Never suppress your laugh. I remember the sound from six years ago. It has haunted my dreams, Miss Powel. It has lived in my heart ever since that day.”

“I laughed?” She couldn’t remember it. “Out loud and at a ball?”

“It was a bold sound, filled with joy with a musical lift at the end.” Then he did it. He laughed in his deep baritone, lifting the final notes at the end. It was so odd a sound that other strollers stopped to stare. And then he frowned. “No, that’s not it,” he muttered. Then he did it again. Loud and full, in a higher register before doing a strange trill at the end.

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He sounded so bizarre that the giggles burst from her. And then—belatedly realizing what she had done—she clapped her hand over her mouth just before the lift at the end.

“Yes!” he cried. “That’s it exactly.” He pulled her hand away from her mouth. “But don’t cover it up. It’s the most wonderful sound ever.”

“You have had entirely too much bangla,” she said, her voice stern.