Page 98 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“And yours,” she said with a tinge of reproach.

Her mother folded her arms. “Very well, perhaps I can forgive him for his blunder. And I did encourage your efforts to become more refined.”

More boring.

“But, darling, what about Lord Whitly, the man?”

Mari started ticking off attributes on her fingers. “He’s titled, wealthy—”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe wealthy,” she amended. “He’s handsome, and, Mama, he has this most glorious plan. It’s idealistic, but I shall be able to help him. He values justice and responsible leadership. I think with my help, he could become eloquent when he enters the House of Lords.”

“He doesn’t need your help to rule Sommerfield in a fair manner or take his place in the Lords.”

“But I will be the perfect bride for that. Mama, I could help him be political. He doesn’t understand Society the way I do. I would be an elegant hostess, and maybe I could assist with his speeches.”

Her mother’s expression grew troubled. “That is not love.”

“I didn’t love Mr. Camden either, but I was planning to marry him.”

“Mr. Camden was never my choice for you,” her mother said tartly.

“Well, that hardly matters, as I’ve decided on Lord Whitly.” Mari punctuated her comment by presenting her back to her mother. Someone had to button up the gown. Her mother obliged, her fingers swift and sure. But as the silence stretched, Mari grew uncomfortable.

“I thought you’d like him,” she finally said.

“It’s not about him,” her mother said. “I have never understood all your lists and plans.” She finished buttoning the gown and then pressed a tender kiss to Mari’s cheek. “I want you to fall in love.”

“I am in love,” she said. “With Peter.” She spoke it firmly because that was how she always stated things. In essence, she willed the thing into existence, and it sometimes worked. Either way, it was for her mother’s benefit. Mama cared about love. Mari needed to be useful, and Peter was the perfect husband for that. Especially since he knew all sorts of fun ways to enjoy being wayward as well.

Their life together would be perfect.

And then she froze. A single breath suspended as her mind whirled. Tiny pieces of knowledge fit together. Peter was an accomplished thief. He’d had notations from Papa’s ledger in his bedroom. She’d seen it clearly.

Peter had read her father’s ledger.

She had no proof, but she knew it was true.

He was extraordinarily clever. He wasn’t as wealthy as everyone thought. And now more difficult questions arose. Questions that must be answered immediately.

“Where are you going?” her mother demanded. “You haven’t even put on shoes!”

Mari didn’t stop. Why look at her father’s ledger? What did he need to ask Tie? How did Silas fit in? And one last very important question—why did he want to marry her? Did he see her value or her dowry? Was he just a very clever fortune hunter?

If it was the latter, if the only reason he’d courted and seduced her was because he needed her money, well, then…then…

She would hate him forever. Because she was done with proving herself to stupid, blind, idiotic men. And even after everything that had happened, the top of her husband requirements remained the same: Absolutely no fortune hunters.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mari stormed down the stairs with her mother scrambling after. It was an unseemly display, but she had no interest in moderating her behavior. Or she didn’t until she saw Horace with his ear pressed to the library door.

It was the last straw. Why had she spent the bulk of her life constantly controlling herself when even the butler flouted convention?

“Get away from that door!” she snapped.

Horace straightened with a startled gasp.