Page 53 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“Er, yes. But I was going to say the girl with the large bonnet to de-emphasize the size of her nose.”

“Is that why I nearly poked out my eye on the thing? Because she thinks her nose is large?”

“It is rather large.”

“It… Oh, yes. I suppose it is. But a bonnet doesn’t hide that.”

“It did from you. You were busy avoiding blindness.”

He nodded. “Very well, I’ll grant you that. But why would you sigh over missing a silly girl’s ball?”

“Because her mother is a grand hostess and a woman I respect. She could be a great help to me in the ton, and by extension, I could then be a great help to my husband.”

He took a moment to digest that. She was surprised again that he truly considered her words. She’d expected him to toss her comments aside as female machinations, which was what her father called her thinking. But instead he nodded.

“I can get you invited to the ball, if that is what you wish.”

“How? By indicating that you wish to attend? I expect that your invitation is already resting on the front table of your residence.”

“No doubt, but I shall only attend if you do.”

“Which will make her even more of an enemy. Do not snub one woman in favor of another.”

“But I do favor another.”

“And if you make it a choice between myself and her, then I shall lose. She is in the more powerful position. Her mother is a grand hostess. If you make an ultimatum like that, you declare me her enemy.”

“But she already is, if she will not invite you to her ball.”

“And if you draw no attention to it, then it will settle out after she finds her husband and establishes her position.”

He looked at her and nodded slowly. “And you care because you are looking ahead. To what her mother can do for your husband.”

“That is how this game is played.” And now they came to the crux of it. “I would consider you, my lord, as a possible husband, except you see none of this. You care for none of it. You will be an earl one day, and you have no ambition.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she saw something cross his expression that made her gasp. It was dark and powerful. Like glimpsing the heart of a thunderstorm. But then it was gone, though his words came out in a low, clipped tone. “You know nothing of my ambition.”

She ought to take the warning of that spilt-second expression, but she’d always loved thunderstorms, and so she challenged him. “Then tell me. What do you want to do? And what will I do, as your wife?”

“My God,” he said, clearly shocked. “You want to work.”

“And you want to play.”

“No.” He turned to her. “What I want is something a great deal more significant.”

She waited. It was a clash of wills between them right in the middle of Hyde Park. They faced each other, brows drawn together, eyes flashing. She did not soften, and neither did he. If anything, he grew stronger, bolder, and his words came out like cracks of lightning, even though they were spoken low.

“I will show you,” he said. “Tomorrow night, can you escape your chaperone?”

Without the least bit of effort. She might be an unmarried virgin, but her parents trusted her good sense. Which would be severely lacking if she went out at night alone with this man. “Why?”

He smiled. “Trust me.”

And God help her, she did.

“Midnight,” she said. “Meet me at Lady Stokes’s masquerade.”

Chapter Twelve