As Rich as a Rogue (29 page)

She nodded. “That's what a good wife does.”

He pulled her hands together, and she moved a step closer to him. He hadn't intended to do that. Mostly he was gripping her hands in frustration as he fought for the idea that had been in his mind but never spoken aloud.

“No, Mari,
I
wanted to support
you
. So you could do whatever you want. So you could come home to Sommerfield, secure in your position there if the rest of your plans went awry.”

She blinked at him. He could tell she'd never thought of the idea. She'd been reared to dress a man's arm, to read his ledgers, and set his table. “But what would I do without you?”

He felt his lips twist in a wry smile. “Whatever you wanted. You understand Society. You know money, too. You even thought to manage Mr. Camden's political career. You could have done all that from Sommerfield. Or the townhome in London.”
With me.

He could see the possibility hit her. He could see her mind work in its rapid-fire way. And he watched as her eyes widened and her words slipped out unbidden. “I had some ideas about what to do for Tie,” she said. “But then I thought, what about the other boys? Where would they go?”

He smiled. She understood now. “What will you do?”

Her eyes began to dance. “I have no idea, but I did jot down some ideas. I know the men to speak with. The women too.”

Of course she did. Hadn't she spent the last six years analyzing how the
ton
worked? “You'll need to make a list.”

“It will take more than one, don't you think?”

He hadn't the foggiest clue.

She lifted their joined hands in what probably would have been a gesture if he'd released her. As it was, she simply swung their joined fists higher.

“Why didn't I see this before?”

“You were busy looking for a husband.”

“But I could have been doing other things as well. I could have been
thinking
.”

He smiled. He loved it when she grew animated like this. When she stopped obsessing about being wayward and stepped into her full self. Here was the woman he remembered from six years ago. And she was so very much more today than she'd been back then.

“I love you,” he said. Glorious to finally say those words aloud. Heaven to finally see the woman he'd first fallen for six years ago at last come to beautiful life.

But at his words, she suddenly stilled. Her mouth grew slack in shock, and her eyes widened to an absurd degree. She stared at him. Worse, she gaped at him as if he hadn't been feeling these things from the very first day. When she'd showed him her intelligence, her perception, and that fire that burned so bright and in such a waywardly Welsh direction.

He loved her to the depths of his soul.

And now, he realized, was her perfect moment. Now when he'd at last bared his heart and soul to her, she could publicly destroy him.

He loved her.

She might have believed she'd imagined those words, except that he looked as startled as she was. And perhaps a little chagrined. But he didn't change his words. Instead, he looked about at the assembled peerage and gave her a rueful smile.

“Do it now, Mari,” he said in an undertone. “You will never have a better audience.”

“Do what?”

He sighed. “Declare yourself free of me. It is the only way to have any standing among them. You can't do anything you want with me as an anchor about your neck.”

“Oh.” Was that what he wanted? No, that was what he expected. And she could understand why. Perhaps a few weeks ago, she would have. Certainly when they'd made the wager, she'd intended to. But she'd changed this Season. And how odd a thing change was. She hadn't even recognized the shift within herself until it was already done. She hadn't noticed when she'd started speaking her mind.

She hadn't felt it when she'd begun to value her own thoughts.

She hadn't even believed it when she'd begun to feel wild and reckless. She'd only let it happen and never attached a word to it.

Love.

She'd fallen in love.

Not only with Peter, but with herself too. With the wayward woman she could be. In a gown with lace and embroidery, in a tavern maid's bartered dress, and in his arms. Most especially in his arms.

She looked about her, seeing the hundreds of eyes trained on her and Peter. He was right. There would never be a better time to declare herself than right here, right now. And so she gestured to Lady Illston, who came quickly to her side.

“Miss Powel, the dancing will begin—”

“Quite right,” Mari interrupted. “You want to begin the ball, so we should dispense with this silly wager as soon as can be.”

“Now?” That wasn't at all what the lady wanted. She knew that the longer people had to wait for the main spectacle, the more her fame would build. But Mari had no interest in prolonging the suspense.

“Lord Whitly and I are both ready, and besides, I begin to fear for Greenie's health.”

“What? He seems fine.” Indeed, if it were possible for a bird to thrive on attention, it would be this parakeet.

“But the stress is not good for a bird, you know. It's not at all what they're used to in India.” That was true enough, so Lady Illston began waving people away.

The dowagers didn't move at first. They were standing in a kind of protective wall behind Mari, but at her nod, they reluctantly stomped aside. The crowd quieted immediately. Lady Illston had no need to clap her hands to get everyone's attention, but she did it anyway. This, after all, was her great moment.

“Everyone, everyone! Weeks ago, Lord Whitly and Miss Powel entered into a droll little wager with my Greenie. Which of them could teach the bird a new phrase first. I was honored to be selected as judge, along with the esteemed Ladies Jersey, Castlereigh, and Cowper.”

The women in question stepped forward, patronesses of Almack's and the most powerful purveyors of female opinion as was possible to get among the
ton
. Mari smiled at them. They nodded warmly at her and gave Peter the barest of glances.

“Naturally,” continued Lady Illston, “Miss Powel was concerned about the propriety of such a thing, but we four here have declared this wager proper.” She dimpled as she looked about the room. “All in good fun,” she declared.

“Get to the forfeit,” Lady Jersey said, clearly a bit tetchy about all the pomp being directed at Lady Illston.

“Er, yes. If Miss Powel manages to have Greenie say her phrase, then Lord Whitly shall drop to his knees before her and apologize for harming her. And he shall do it to her satisfaction.”

A murmur of malicious glee seemed to roll through the crowd. Mari was dismayed. She hadn't thought the anger at him so entrenched. For his part, Peter appeared almost bored, though she read turbulent emotions beneath the flatness of his gaze. “And if Lord Whitly manages his phrase instead, then he shall be allowed to give her a
chaste
kiss.”

Lady Jersey stepped forward. “And if they both manage the task,” she said loudly, “then I declare this wager ill-conceived.” She sniffed. “Truly, I cannot understand what made me think it was a good idea at the time.” She glared at Peter. “Apparently India has badly damaged your understanding of what is proper and improper in civilized Society.”

Well, Lady Jersey had certainly stated her opinion, and it fell firmly against Peter. Mari decided that lady would be her very first conquest in her new campaign to redeem Peter. But first, she had to handle Greenie.

At Lady Illston's command, a footman lifted the cage, his arm trembling from the weight, and then set it grandly between Mari and Peter. The place was quiet, everyone's breath held to hear better. Mari looked at Peter, wondering if she should just offer the apple and say, “sodding day.” That was all she'd managed to teach him. But Peter held her gaze and silently mouthed, “happy day.” And since she trusted him completely, she held up the bit of apple.

“Happy day, Greenie.”

“Happy day!” the bird returned.

“He said it,” she cried. “Happy day!”

“Happy day! Happy day!”

The applause was deafening. Loud enough, certainly, to drown out her whispered “Thank you” to Peter. Even so, he smiled and gave her a nod.

And then he went down on one knee before her.

Oh, such a pose, and him so handsome. Her heart broke to see him do such a thing in service of a wager. Worse, with the whole
ton
watching and glorying in his humiliation.

“No, no,” she said. “You must have Greenie say your phrase first.”

To which Greenie said, “Winner, winner!”

But Peter remained down before her. And when she stepped toward him, he clasped her hand and bowed his head.

“You have won,” he said loudly.

“No, not until—”

“I am awed by you, Miss Powel. You have a clarity of vision that I lack. An understanding and a determination that puts me to shame.”

“Stop, Peter—” she began, but he didn't listen.

“If I have ever embarrassed you or caused you the least discomfort, I most humbly apologize. I have been so wrong in many things, but not in this. Not in the words I have wanted to say to you for so long.”

Mari frowned. What the devil was he saying? And then he turned to the bird. He was tall enough, even on one knee, to offer the creature a nut.

“Your turn, Greenie,” he said. “Say it for me, will you?”

“Marry me! Marry me!”

A collective gasp went up from all around them, but no more than from Mari herself. She couldn't credit it. Had he decided on that phrase on their first encounter at the beginning of the Season? Had he meant for this moment all along?

“And that,” said Lady Illston loudly to Lady Jersey, “is why we allowed this wager.”

He had planned it from the beginning! And now was her moment to choose. A lifetime of proper behavior, respected by Society, even in patterned gowns, if only she refused the heinous son who had his own father arrested. Or she could accept him, love him, and live outside of London in probable infamy, at least until their finances recovered.

“You call me clear-sighted,” she said, “but I have been blind when it came to you. I thought you shallow and lazy. I did not understand how far your vision, how deep your honor.”

“Mari—” he began, but she cut him off. Indeed, she dropped to her knees before him, pressing her fingers to his lips even as she spoke in ringing tones.

“Only a deeply honorable man would expose thievery at such personal cost. Only a patriotic man would consult with the prince and do as he was bid, despite the loss of money and power.” Not quite the truth, but close enough that no one would gainsay her. “And only a man of hidden depth could show me the one thing I'd hidden from myself for so long.”

He looked at her, his expression guarded.

“I love you,” she said. “I have loved you for six years and was only angry before because I thought you'd spurned me. I thought you the cause of all my ills, but it was only because I did not trust my own heart. I love you, Peter. It would be my greatest delight to marry you.”

He searched her face, not trusting her words. He lowered his voice and whispered to her. “Mari, think. I am disgraced.”

“No, Peter, you are in love.”

“Well, of course, but—”

“And Society adores nothing more than a great love story.” She leaned forward. “I believe I owe you a kiss.”

She kissed him. They kissed, in full view of all the
ton
. And when she thought to pull away, he pulled her close and lifted her up in his arms while everyone cheered.

With one kiss—and an obvious love story—the dowagers were touched. As one, they declared it an excellent match. Not to be outdone, the patronesses of Almack's agreed, adding that it was a well-done wager and all perfectly respectable. And besides, what else could be expected from the Wayward Welsh?

The men would take longer to come around, but they would not go so firmly against the ladies' opinion. And this, of course, was exactly what Prinny had been waiting for: a clear indication of which way England's powerful would sway on matters. Which meant Sommerfield was safe. Peter would have a scandal attached to his name for a bit, but it wouldn't last. And with the addition of Mari's dowry, his financials would recover. It was all perfect. In fact, they became so abruptly popular that Lady Illston asked them to open the ball with the first dance.

It wasn't until hours later when they were departing from the ball that he chanced to have a moment alone with her. They were strolling through Mayfair in the dark of night, their hands entwined and their heads pressed close together. Her mother was following a few feet behind in the carriage to maintain the proprieties.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked. “Truly?”

“I did indeed.”

“I cannot understand it. Mari, you said you didn't love me.”

“I was wrong.” It was so simple, and yet she could tell that he didn't quite believe her. “Very well, I see I shall have to prove it to you.”

“I should accept a simple declaration every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh, I could do that, I suppose, but I had something else in mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Then she reached into her reticule and pulled out the sheet of foolscap she had in there. “Here you go,” she said as she handed it to him. “It's a list of all the logical, perfectly rational reasons why I am in love with you.”

He held it up to the gaslight, squinting as he tried to make out the words. “I cry foul! I do not snore. And who would love a man for that anyway?”

“I do,” she said as she turned into his arms and pressed her lips to his. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my Wayward Welsh.”