Page 75 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

Silas’s eyes narrowed as he looked him over. “And ’ow would you know that?”

“’Cause we were set to meet here. Didn’t think the bugger’d come dressed like a fool.”

Lord Rimbury straightened up in mock insult. “I came attired as a gentleman ought.”

Peter snorted. “There you go. Now let us be on our way, all nice an’ quiet, or there’ll be the devil to pay come morning.”

That was enough for Silas’s henchmen, especially with the ale on the table now. They sat and grabbed their drinks with nary a peep. Not so for Silas, who clearly disliked being reasonable.

“I got a lord in me pocket, and not just a lackwit boy, neither. The constable cain’t do nothing t’ me.”

Lord Rimbury looked shocked. “I’m older than I look! And I could have you—”

“Shut up!” growled both Silas and Peter at the same moment.

“And ’oo is this great nob o’ yours?” Peter scoffed. “Some wealthy toff with more money than brains?”

It looked for a moment like Silas was going to answer. Mari could tell he wanted to brag, but eventually held his tongue. “Four shillings.”

“I’ll pay the damn shillings,” Lord Rimbury snapped as he jerked his cravat free.

“With wot?” Silas asked as he held up Lord Rimbury’s purse. It was fine old leather, tooled with the family crest. “This ’ere’s me own. Found it just today.” And he showed his foul teeth as he grinned while he thumbed the fine stitching.

It was a mistake.

Lord Rimbury had been resigned up until that point. He’d been battered and outnumbered five to one. But right now, seeing that bastard fondle his family crest was apparently too much for him. He moved faster than Mari thought possible. He grabbed the leather with one hand while the other punched Silas hard in the face.

Everyone was caught flat-footed. Everyone, that is, except Peter.

He was on the lieutenants before they could do more than sputter into their ale. He dropped two with heavy blows to the head, another with a quick shove to his chair that sent him toppling, and the fourth stopped short when he saw Peter’s knives.

When had he drawn those? He held the sharp steel with perfect confidence.

Meanwhile, Lord Rimbury was locked with Silas in a furious battle. They were swinging at each other, the purse still gripped by both men. It was only now that Mari realized the tavern had emptied, except for the eight of them. Which meant that no one else would be hurt, except the furniture, as the two beat at each other.

That was when Mari saw her opportunity. Lord Rimbury twisted around, and suddenly she was presented with Silas’s back.

She wasn’t as tall as she’d like to be for this movement, but fortunately, she knew how to jump. So she did.

With a tankard of ale in each fist, she jumped high enough to slam both of them down on Silas’s head.

Whack!

The crockery shattered. Ale splashed everywhere. But the big man didn’t do more than stumble. Goodness, he had a thick head.

Fortunately, his hand went slack, and Rimbury got his purse back. Then with his free hand, he delivered such a solid blow to the man’s face that Silas went flying.

Then the other four attacked. They rushed Peter together. Mari was startled enough to scream. She’d been so busy watching Silas drop that she didn’t see anything but a flurry of movement.

She watched as Peter started fighting. But not with his knives. He used his fists as they wrapped around the knife hilts. Punching, dodging, even kicking when needed. A few moments later, it was all done.

With a quick flick of his wrists, he sheathed his knives into holsters hidden inside pockets of his loose-fitting pants. Lord, she’d been sitting on his lap, and she hadn’t even noticed them.

Meanwhile, he bent to Silas, quickly pulling the brute’s face around. The man was out cold.

“Good work,” he said as he began rifling through the man’s pockets.

“No need,” Rimbury said as he wiped blood off his lip. “I got everything he took from me.” He’d already returned his purse to his pocket.