Page 21 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

It wasn’t possible. And yet maybe…

And maybe she’d been a complete idiot.

She slumped into her chair. And when the bird chirped at her, she blindly fed it some apple.

“Happy day,” she murmured, though those words would forever mark the day she’d discovered she was a fool.

“Sodding day,” the bird squawked.

She jerked, and another apple bit slid out of her fingers. The bird pounced on it, gobbling it down in three quick bites.

“Sodding day,” it cried again.

“I did not teach you that.” Mari glared at the thing, but it cocked its head and waited.

“Sodding day,” it chirped.

“Bloody bird,” she shot back. Then she grabbed her reticule and departed. There was only one woman who would know the truth. One woman who would tell her if the problem was the fact that she was wayward…or Welsh. One woman—Lady Eleanor—who when confronted, answered in two short sentences.

“Of course, the problem’s Welsh. I thought you knew.”

No, she hadn’t. But now that she did, she planned to make a few significant changes to her wardrobe, her attitude…her whole public persona. If she didn’t have to fight the idea she was wayward—

“But it shouldn’t make any difference,” said Lady Eleanor, interrupting Mari’s excited plans.

Mari jolted. “Of course it does. It means I’ve been fighting the wrong label.”

“But you still want an influential man. And that means you must remain circumspect. You must be an asset to the powerful, not a detriment.”

Oh. Of course.

Mari felt crushed. She’d hoped—again—to escape her self-imposed prison. But she had to stay the course.

“Thank you, Lady Eleanor. I can see that my thoughts ran away with me.”

“You really should stay away from Lord Whitly. He seems to have a deleterious effect on your wits.”

Mari nodded as she blocked out the memory of his kiss. “I completely agree,” she forced herself to say. “In the future, I shall avoid all contact with him.” And no more kisses. No more heady, drugging, wonderful kisses.

Lady Eleanor beamed. “I knew you were a bright girl.”

*

“You look eminently respectable this evening.”

Mari felt old today as she languished at the come-out ball of yet another debutante. Six Seasons was too long for any maiden, and she feared that her nickname would change from Wayward Welsh to Ape Leader.

But she was determined to stay positive, so she turned to Ashley Tucker, Lord Rimbury, and gave her new friend her brightest smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m rewarding myself for a week of completely proper behavior.”

He arched a brow at her bland yellow gown. “That’s a reward?”

“It has white dots.”

“Really?” He squinted at her gown. “Damned if I see them.”

“They’re very tiny dots.”