Page 28 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

Not bloody likely. Whatever he shared, it would not be with a gossipy dowager. “Every lady has a secret,” he said. “I’d wager you have plenty, and you are definitely a lady of the first order.”

The woman chuckled, her pale cheeks flushing even as she waved her hand in dismissal. “Women’s secrets are boring. They’re always about who said something cutting to someone else.” She leaned toward Miss Powel and spoke in a loud undertone. “Men’s secrets, on the other hand, are fascinating. Especially a man who made his fortune collecting money from those Indians. Tell us how you did it.”

Never, ever. But he was playing the dandy right now, so he put a hand to his chest in pretend shock. “Miss Powel, surely you wouldn’t share my secret.”

“Only with me,” put in Lady Stott.

“With no one,” corrected Miss Powel, her expression prim. “You wouldn’t respect me if I were a gossip.”

“Tut, tut. Gossip is the only thing that makes you interesting, my dear.”

Miss Powel shook her head. “That’s other people gossiping about me. I will not swell their ranks by joining them.”

Peter smiled, at last seeing his opening. His whole goal had been to get the woman to dance, but now he saw a larger possibility. “Lady Stott, do you truly think that gossip is the most interesting thing about Miss Powel?”

“Well, of course, she has many commendable attributes.”

“Thank you—” said Miss Powel.

“But you are correct. Gossip about her is our primary pastime.”

It took a moment for Miss Powel to understand the statement, and Peter took pains not to interrupt.

“What?” she gasped. “Surely you don’t mean that.”

“Of course I do,” said Lady Stott. “Not in a nasty way, of course, but because we adore you. What else would we have to discuss if not who had wronged you, what you should do about it, and how you fared today? Plus, we’ve spent many evenings trying to guess what phrase you intend to teach Greenie.” The lady turned to shoot Peter a glare that was equal parts threat and glee. “After tonight’s demonstration, my lord, you are likely to be discussed in great detail.”

“Not in a nasty way, I hope.”

Lady Stott lifted her chin and sniffed. “That remains to be seen.”

Meanwhile, Miss Powel seemed completely nonplussed. And no wonder. She had just realized that her staunchest allies were the ones who perpetuated the very gossip she abhorred.

“B-but…But I’m completely unremarkable!”

Lady Stott thumped her cane on the floor. “We discuss that as well.”

Miss Powel was in shock, her mind churning away at something. He rocked back on his heels and enjoyed the shifting rose of her skin, the dark red of her mouth, and the way her bosom lifted and lowered in agitation. The sight would fill his fantasies for some time to come. Especially if he imagined other places for her mouth. Or that she would be arched above him—

“The dance is over, my lord,” Lady Stott said. “You have lost your wager.”

He brought himself forcibly back to the present. Damnation, all the dowagers were tottering flushed and happy back to their seats. Unless…oh dear. Flushed was certainly true, but not a one appeared happy.

He had thought by forcing the dowagers to dance he could show Miss Powel that defying convention was simply a matter of deft handling. That even the staunchest detractors could be brought around.

Apparently, he’d vastly overrated his ability to persuade elderly ladies of anything. Every one of them complained as she tottered to her seat.

“Damned difficult thing to do on these old bones.”

“Charlotte, mind your tongue!”

“My grandson can’t step to the rhythm to save his life. His feet go willy-nilly.”

“Horrible dance, twirling a woman around like that. Made me dizzy.”

Peter desperately tried to salvage the situation. If the women kept up their complaints, he’d never dance in close quarters with Miss Powel. “Surely, ladies, it wasn’t that bad. Now you can see—”

“We have tried your dance, my lord,” snapped a woman he’d never met before. “And we declare it to be scandalous.”