Page 104 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“That’s because you’re not experienced in listening to it. But practice makes perfect, you know.”

Mari smoothed out the edge of the newest list. “I shall lead with my strengths, Mama. Now is not the time to bolster a weakness.”

Her mother straightened with a sigh. “I shall never win an argument with you. You have too much logic.” Then she kissed her child good-bye before setting out. And while Mari continued to stare at the dying coals, the rest of the house settled into night.

The doors were shut, the curtains drawn. The servants who lived elsewhere gathered their coats and departed. She heard Horace bid the cook good night. And as the minutes ticked by, Mari began to think. Instead of worrying over her conflicted feelings, she wandered through the other things. She focused on Tie. What exactly did he know? And what had he told Peter and her father?

Once the questions hit, the answers quickly became important. It didn’t take long for her to realize that it would be easy to learn the truth. He was, after all, safely ensconced in the nursery.

Ten minutes later, she was dressed and headed to the kitchen for a treat. Even if Tie had been well fed this day, little boys could always be tempted with a sweet.

An hour later, she had all the information she needed. And a new plan as well.

*

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ash’s voice whispered through the shadows in the alleyway, mixing with the rustle of rats and the smell of piss.

Peter glared at the silhouette of his friend. He was sure. No, he wasn’t. Good God, was this the biggest mistake of his life? But it had to be done. So he put a finger to his mouth to demand silence, then he scanned the darkness, wishing he could see something on this blighted foggy night.

Nothing.

He knew that somewhere the constable waited with three of his most trusted men. Also in the darkness were two of Ash’s favorite “footmen.” Big men with scarred faces who were comfortable with weapons and had never, ever worn Ash’s livery.

Those men waited well back from where Ash and Peter watched. He knew the attack would come soon. A pair of boys had come through earlier, shimmying up poles to extinguish the gas lamps. With the fog rolling in, the air felt like a thick pea soup that stank of fish.

Then he heard it. A grumble and a heavy thud like the blow of a big fist. A boy cried out, and there might have been sniffling. That told Peter that Silas also waited in the fog, probably farther down the street. Likely one of the boys had become restless and received a fist as discipline.

Damnation, the waiting was interminable.

Ash shuffled uncomfortably. A drip splattered across Peter’s brow.

And they waited.

Twenty minutes later, he heard horses’ hooves on cobblestones and the creak of wheels. And far down the street, the steady glow of lanterns.

“Idiot,” murmured Ash.

Lord Mooney had chosen a foggy night to transport his chest of gold from the docks to the London bank. After a few well-placed, well-bribed questions, Peter had learned that Lord Mooney’s banker received money in the dead of night. They thought it was safer than in the light of a busy day.

Even more idiotic, Mooney had chosen his own carriage—complete with brilliant insignia—and outfitted it with two sharpshooters. That might have been smart if the men could see anything in this fog. They couldn’t. And then, he’d added lanterns, presumably to help the sharpshooters. Instead, the lights marked them as targets.

No wonder the earl felt no guilt about these thefts. He probably reasoned that a man this stupid didn’t deserve to keep his gold.

Peter waited in silence. His fingers itched to do something. His toes curled and uncurled in his boots. Yet he waited, and eventually the carriage made its way into a narrow gauntlet between a pair of dilapidated warehouses.

“Now,” barked Silas, his voice crystal clear through the fog.

Rocks pelted the lanterns. Two were well aimed, and the things shattered instantly. The other two had to be pelted multiple times, and one sharpshooter cursed as he got hit by a rock. Within moments, the last two went dark, but there was a fifth lantern burning inside the carriage.

The driver cried out; then there was a strangled gasp and a heavy thud. Shots exploded from the carriage. The sharpshooters fought back, but there was little chance anything was hit beyond the cobblestones. It was just too dark.

Next came the scream of a horse and the sound of a heavy mallet hitting wood. If only he could see. Damn it, it was bad enough waiting for an idiot to get robbed, but to sit still while a driver and his horses were hurt was beyond excruciating.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long.

A moment later, he heard the carriage door pull open, spilling light into the fog. The angle was wrong, tilted forward and down. That heavy mallet sound must have been against the wheel, breaking it enough that the carriage lurched awkwardly forward.

Meanwhile, two shots rang out, but they must not have found their mark, because Silas’s voice came loud and clear. And only a few feet in front of Peter and Ash.