Page 120 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“You do see that she’d never be the center of attention or wearing that stunning gown without you.”

Very true. But that only meant she had needed him. Not that she still did. Or that she loved him.

“Too late,” Ash grumbled. “The Greek chorus of old biddies has moved in.”

It was true. The dowager ladies who had put him in his place weeks ago had risen en masse as soon as they’d spotted him. He feared they were coming to give him the cut direct in a coordinated display. That or pelt him with their canes. Instead, they abandoned their seats to circle Mari, as if she were in danger from him.

“Well, I’ll be…” Ash said with a low whistle. “She’s even got the dowagers stirred up.”

“To do what?” Peter asked, keeping a wary eye on the placement of those canes.

“Damned if I know,” Ash returned. “This is Mari’s show.”

And it was, he realized. Every bit of it was arrayed for her. The dowagers standing in support. Lady Illston’s ball attended by the entire ton. Even the parakeet was there, he now saw, perched in its heavy cage right by Mari’s shoulder.

“What say we go get something to drink?” Ash suggested. “Brandy?”

“Excellent notion,” he agreed, though he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Mari. She hadn’t seen him yet, being too absorbed by the dowagers as they clucked about her. If only she would look up. If only she would see him, he might get a clue to her thoughts. But every time she started to turn in his direction, someone stepped in the way.

“Hmm,” Ash muttered. “It might not be the best idea to venture toward the bar just yet.”

“What?” Peter asked.

Then when Ash didn’t answer, he forced himself to look.

As was typical, the men gathered around the heavier spirits. Lots of men clutched into loose groupings of politicals, financials, and the sports mad. The first knot was the most overtly hostile to Peter, and unfortunately, the nearest to the drink. The sports mad Corinthians were distracted. Probably someone had bested someone else in a race, and so the affairs of the nation—or of an earl and his son—faded in importance. It was that middle group of the moneyed people that Peter watched, but they seemed not to notice him at all. No dark glowers or nods of encouragement.

“I don’t need to run that gauntlet just now,” Peter said dully. He looked back to Mari, and then felt the gut punch.

She’d seen him.

Her gaze was trained on him, and when someone dared to step between them, she impatiently pushed the lady aside.

Peter felt himself drawn forward. He knew he couldn’t get through the press of ladies, but he needed to speak to her. He needed to touch her skin one last time.

So he walked to her just as she maneuvered around the most planted of the dowagers. And they met in the middle—almost close enough to touch—and stood there looking.

“Peter, I was looking for you all day.”

“You could not have found me. I have been at the banks.” Three of them, to be exact.

“I hoped you would come here.”

“I would not miss it. We had…” He glanced at Greenie, waiting like bored royalty as one girl after another tried to speak with him. “You deserve your moment of triumph.”

“Triumph!” she said, clearly startled. “I’ve only managed to teach the creature ‘sodding day,’ and we both know that was not my intent.”

His lips quirked at that. “Never fear. Lady Illston’s butler has managed it. Just offer him some apple. He’ll perform.”

“I don’t care about that.” Her gaze searched his face. “How are you faring?”

He gestured about him without looking. “You see here only a tenth of the reaction. The news of my poverty is out. Prinny threatens to take Sommerfield by way of punishment.” Unable to stop himself, he took hold of her gloved hands and held on. “I vastly misjudged Society’s reaction.”

“I doubt you misjudged it. You likely gave no thought to it at all.”

Too true. That was where they were different. If he’d only thought to consult her, she could have predicted this to a T.

“But how are you?” she asked.