As Rich as a Rogue

by Jade Lee

  “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 beca
me 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.”

  Epilogue

  Mr. Camden glared at the newsprint and thought very unhappy thoughts. There in bold black and white was the announcement of the marriage between Lord Whitly and Miss Powel. According to the article, the couple were besotted with one another and were likely to have a glorious future, given that the Prince Regent himself had attended the festivities.

  Some people were born lucky, he decided. Some people could defy custom and still succeed. She’d been labeled wayward, and had somehow become celebrated for it. He’d offended all decent thought by having his own father arrested for thievery, and emerged as a friend of the prince and a champion of justice. Even more lucky, Mr. Powel had tripled her dowry, thereby wiping out any financial concerns.

  Of all the damned luck.

  And to think it could have been his if only he’d been born lucky.

  Mr. Camden reached for the gin bottle, only to remember that he no longer drank. He might be unlucky, but he’d learned from his mistakes, and a taste for gin was one of his biggest errors in judgment. Kissing her when he was three sheets to the wind ranked as his second stupidest mistake.

  But without any gin to drink, he could only stare at the newspaper and hate his life. Which was when his door was unceremoniously opened by Ashley Tucker, Lord Rimbury.

  “Capital day, isn’t it?”

  Mr. Camden blinked at the man. “It’s raining.”

  “I know,” Lord Rimbury said with a grin. “It’s always dank in London, and I love it. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m—”

  “I know who you are. How did you get in here?” Why the bloody hell did they pay the gents to mind the front door when they never bloody minded the front door?

  “Don’t blame them. I told them I was expected.”

  Mr. Camden pushed to his feet. The last thing he wanted was another bleeding nob in obviously new togs messing about in his office. He simply wasn’t in the mood. “Well, you weren’t expected. And you aren’t—”

  “I understand from the new Lady Whitly that you’re an honest man of sterling reputation and learned political opinion. That with the right opportunity, you could have a very bright political future. And that, most important, your sentiments on a variety of issues exactly coincide with my own.”

  Mr. Camden frowned at the man, his hostility starting to fade beneath the glimmer of a possibly lucky star. “That all depends on what you want me to do in return for this opportunity.”

  “I wish you to be honest. If you think Lord Whitly was extreme in gaoling his own father, I assure you that I would do nothing so public, but three times as deadly should I find you to be less than a sterling man of honor.”

  Camden swallowed, knowing from the pressures of the last few months that any man could crumble in his ideals. Truthfully, in his more honest moments with himself, he wondered exactly what he would have done at Rossgrove’s behest. If things had gone differently with Miss Powel, would he right now be feeling caught between his patron and his morals?

  “I find, my lord, that like any man, my feet are made of clay, but that I endeavor daily to ennoble them.”

  “Hmmm, now that was an honest answer. Rather refreshing, I might add.” Lord Rimbury dislodged a stack of papers and settled into a seat. “Now, let us see if we do, in fact, align on salient matters. Shall we start with tariffs? What is your opinion on them?”

  Mr. Camden leaned back in his chair and began to speak. He began with the most simplistic of statements, but soon discovered that Lord Rimbury had a sharp mind and was impatient with simple answers. What he loved most was learning something new, especially when statements were supported with fact, and seeing if Mr. Camden ever wavered in his thoughts.

  Which meant that their discussion begun in the early afternoon soon became a lively debate that wound into a very exciting opportunity under the light of some very lucky stars.

  Perhaps, he thought, he might not be born lucky, but between Miss Powel and Lord Rimbury, he might just have found his way there. Except for one very simple, very obvious fact.

  “All this is very exciting,” he said over the plain fish dinner they’d shared at the nearest tavern. “But it also requires blunt.”

  “And I don’t have any?” Lord Rimbury challenged.

  Mr. Camden shrugged. “Your new clothes are nice, but that won’t hide what everybody knows: Your purse is near empty.”

  “Very true. It was.”

  Mr. Camden perked up. “Was?” he asked.

  “I’ve recently accepted a job, you see. One that has already turned lucrative.” His voice trailed away suggestively.

  “You have the blunt for this?”

  “Not me. Not exactly.” He leaned forward. “But my employer does. And together we have some very exciting ideas that can include you.”

  “And who, exactly, is your employer?”

  Lord Rimbury grinned. “You haven’t guessed? It’s Mr. Powel.”

  Of course it was. And right there was when Camden understood his largest and most obvious mistake. He’d been courting the girl, looking to advance the old way: through marriage and patronage. But with the way things were swinging in the world, there was a new order coming. And that was by way of new money, new jobs, and new lucky stars.

  “I’m listening,” Mr. Camden said. “What do you have in mind?”

  An hour later, he knew the truth. It had been the luckiest day in his life when he’d set out to court Miss Mari Powel. He just hadn’t expected that she would be the smallest part of his bright new future.

  Like Julia Quinn and Mary Balogh?

  Then you’ll love 50 Ways to Ruin a Rake by Jade Lee!

  For more info and updates about the series go to:

  http://jadeleeauthor.com/

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  Then you’ll love Heir to the Duke by Jane Ashford!

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tp://www.christyenglish.com/

  Look for the first book in the Rakes and Rogues series by USA Today bestselling author Jade Lee

  Make a plan, be sure of it, and do not deviate.

  There are certain things a woman knows. She knows what the weather will be based on how easily her hair settles into the pins. She knows when the cook has quarreled with the butler by the taste of the morning eggs. And she knows when a man will completely upset her day.

  And right now, that man was walking up her front drive as easy as if he expected to be welcomed.

  Melinda Smithson bolted out of her bedroom where she’d been fighting with her curls—again—and rushed downstairs. “I’m just going for a quick walk!” she said much too brightly to their butler as she made it to the front door. Rowe hadn’t even the time to reach for her gloves when she snatched her gardening bonnet off the table and headed outside. She had to get to the odious man before he rounded the rock and came into view from her father’s laboratory. If her papa saw him, she would be done for. So she ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

  She rounded the bend at the same moment he arrived at the rock. One step more, and she was doomed.

  “Oh no, Mr. Anaedsley. Not today. You cannot come here today.” She said the words breathlessly, but she punctuated with a severe tug on her bonnet. So hard, in fact, that three pins dug painfully into her scalp.

  Mr. Anaedsley had been whistling, but now he drew up short. “You’ve punched your thumb through your bonnet.” He spoke with a charming smile that made her grind her teeth in frustration. Everything about the man was charming, from his reddish-brown hair to the freckles that dotted his cheeks to the rich green of his eyes. An annoyance dressed as a prince of the realm, for all that he had no courtesy title. He was the son and heir of the Duke of Timby, and she hated him with a passion that bordered on insanity.