As Rich as a Rogue Read Free

the apology on your lips. And you will not get up from that position until you make me believe you are sincere.”
    â€œOh, brilliant!” cried Dim #7. The man had joined the group during that last pronouncement. “He’ll be there for a week.”
    Yes, he would, and that would be her revenge.
    She looked at Lord Whitly and knew a moment’s triumph. After all, no man would open himself up to such a forfeit. He’d be humiliated and possibly physically damaged. But instead of crying off, he bowed his head.
    â€œI accept. But I shall add to your forfeit then as well.”
    â€œAm I to be on bended knee?”
    â€œCertainly not. You will allow me a kiss.”
    She shook her head. “I cannot!” she cried.
    â€œOh, but you can,” returned Lady Illston. “I am the judge, and I declare that a kiss will be proper. No one shall think the worse of you for it.”
    Of all the idiotic things to say. “You cannot promise that, Lady Illston.”
    â€œI can,” she said. Then she looked to the crowd. “Come, come, don’t you agree? This kiss will be perfectly proper. Lady Castlereigh? Lady Jersey?”
    No. No, it couldn’t be. This wager couldn’t already have garnered the attention of two of the exalted patronesses of Almack’s. And yet, while she stared, the press of bodies separated to reveal those two ladies plus a third. Lady Cowper, also a patroness of Almack’s. If the three of them agreed, then everyone else must perforce follow.
    â€œMy ladies,” Mari began, “this is not at all proper. I cannot—”
    â€œAnd yet it seems it is already done,” interrupted Lady Jersey. “Acquaint me of the particulars, if you will.”
    More than one person leaped into the discussion. The details of the offense and the wager itself were recounted a dozen times. If Lord Whitly had meant to capture the attention of all of Society, he had managed it neatly.
    When the recounting was done, the three patronesses looked to one another, and then Lady Castlereigh gave the verdict. “We wish to see this apology,” she said in ringing tones. “Therefore we declare it proper.”
    In the general roar of approval, the parakeet declared the future.
    â€œWinner, winner!” it cried.
    â€œNot him,” Mari said loudly as she picked up the bird. “In the future, Greenie, that shall be my name.”
    And in this way, she began her war.

Two
    It was another two hours before Mari made her way back to her family’s home near Grosvenor Square. Her father never spoke the name of their street. He had the money for the best lodgings in London, but not the pedigree for a true Grosvenor location. So they resided near to it, and she found herself trudging the last steps up to their doorway while her maid chattered behind her.
    â€œMe cousin trained his rooster to crow when he whistled a particular tune. They would go to the pub and there’d be Jeb whistling and the cock crowing an’ people buying pints ’cause they never heard anything like that afore. And then I heard tell of a man who trained a rat…”
    If only the woman had advice on exactly how to train a beast. Then, thankfully, they were at her door, which the butler threw open with rigid pomposity. The man’s name was Harvey Horace, and she’d mentally dubbed him Horrid Horace because he seemed to be disdainful of everything and everyone. That, of course, was exactly why her father had hired him, so Mari knew to keep her tongue. At least his presence abruptly silenced her maid, which she counted as a benefit.
    â€œGood afternoon, Horace,” she said as she stripped off her hat and gloves. Her arms felt like soggy linen, they were so heavy from lugging around that parakeet cage. Worse, the rest of the encounter in the park had given her a screaming headache.
    â€œI’m going to take a rest, Horace. Please let me know when Papa