Georgie attended the Evans’ rout that evening with the sole aim of taking her leave as quickly as possible. She’d already mentioned to her mother that she thought she had a headache coming on. And then she caught sight of Benedict, heart stoppingly handsome in dark evening clothes, conversing with his friends on the opposite side of the room. Heat raced over her skin. What was he doing here?
He glanced up as her name was announced and caught her eye. His too-innocent smile made her stomach flutter. What game was he playing now?
She pretended to ignore him and seethed impatiently for a full twenty minutes before he made his leisurely way across the room and bowed low before her mother. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Mrs. Caversteed.”
Her mother smiled warmly. “Good evening, Mr. Wylde. How good to see you. I’m afraid Juliet is dancing with Lord Birkenhead at present, but—”
“I was hoping the elder Miss Caversteed might honor me with a dance.”
Mother sent Georgie a look that was part congratulatory, part surprise. “Oh, of course. I’m sure she’d be delighted. Off you go, dear.”
Wylde chuckled as he steered her toward the dance floor.
“What are you doing here?” Georgie whispered. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later.”
“I’m upholding my side of our bargain. You’re paying me to court you publicly. So here we are. Courting. In public.” He sent her an admiring look that nobody watching could fail to interpret, and Georgie cursed the day she’d ever suggested the foolish idea. Yes, they needed to prepare the ton for an announcement, but she hadn’t envisaged how difficult it would be to pretend to be strangers under society’s ever-watchful gaze.
After this afternoon, they most certainly weren’t strangers. They weren’t precisely friends either, but she wasn’t quite sure how to define their odd relationship. Coconspirators maybe?
Benedict took her hand, and she tried not to think of what those strong, elegant fingers had been doing to her only hours before.
The movement of the dance made conversation difficult, but as they dipped and swirled, Georgie came to the startling realization that her seduction had already begun. Every one of his slight, casual touches seemed choreographed to increase her state of tension. The innocuous graze of his fingers at her waist, the subtle brush of his thigh against hers—all achieved despite maintaining a perfectly decorous distance. The man was a menace.
“Lovely dress,” he murmured politely.
“Thank you.”
“I can’t wait to take it off you.”
She stumbled, but he caught her effortlessly and righted their steps.
The beast. He loved discomposing her. His piercing gaze seemed to assess her from the inside out, as if he saw into every secret corner of her soul, every womanly, shameful, hot, desirous dream she’d had of him. Georgie wished she’d brought a fan. A dizzying anticipation simmered in her blood. How could anyone miss the heat between them? She felt as if she were glowing with desire, obvious to all, like a beacon, a lighthouse.
As the dance brought them together again, he murmured, “I’ll send a carriage for you at midnight.” She could only nod, tongue-tied by embarrassment and desire.
When the dance ended, he returned her to her mother, bowed quite properly, and took his leave with the parting shot, “Thank you, Miss Caversteed. Until we dance again.”
Mother watched him leave with pursed lips. “Mr. Wylde seems to be showing you marked attention, my love.” She took a sip of ratafia. “There’s no denying he’s a handsome devil, but according to Caroline Cowper, the family’s practically destitute. His father left a passel full of debt. He’s a fortune hunter, you mark my words. Just like all the rest of them. Still, you’re in no danger from him now, are you?” Her silent because of your impetuous marriage was left unsaid.
Georgie stifled a snort. If only she knew. Benedict Wylde was the most dangerous man she’d ever met. He was like a force of nature, a hurricane, a typhoon.
Mother looked at her oddly. “Are you quite well, Georgiana?”
She seized her chance. “Actually, no. I’ve an awful headache. Would you mind if I asked Pieter to drive me home? I’d like to go to bed.”
Mother sent her a sympathetic look and patted her hand. “You poor lamb. I know just what it is to be the victim of a megrim. Go on, dear. After all, it’s Juliet who needs to be seen, not you.”
Georgie sighed at her mother’s unintentional slight. “I’ll send the carriage back for you.”
“Thank you. Oh good! Juliet’s dancing with Ponsonby. He’s third in line to inherit from the Duke of Milford Haven, you know.”
Georgie left her to it. When Pieter delivered her home, she went straight up to her room and paced nervously, pressing her hands over the fluttering in her belly. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced; she looked wild, her cheeks a hectic red, her eyes bright and glistening.
What was she doing? Sleeping with Wylde would undoubtedly change everything between them. It would certainly complicate matters. The thought of making love to him, of giving herself to him fully, was something she both anticipated and dreaded. His very presence made her breathless; he produced a sensation in the region of her stomach that felt like she was taking part in some precarious high-wire balancing act, like that of Madame Saqui at Vauxhall. Like terror, like exhilaration.
Georgie frowned. Affairs of the heart were far more complex than business deals. Would he lose interest in her once he’d had her? She’d heard that was true with many men. But all adventures involved an element of risk, did they not? What would have happened if Columbus had stayed in Spain, or Marco Polo had never ventured from Italy, too afraid of the unknown to risk setting sail? She was no coward. She wouldn’t back out now. This would be an adventure she chose for herself.
Mother and Juliet returned just after eleven, but neither came in to check on her, and by the time she slipped down to the kitchen and out the back door, the house was quiet and still. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Pieter’s large frame loomed out of the stables.
“And where do you think you’re off to, missy?”
Georgie clapped her hand over her heart. “Pieter! You scared me half to death!”
“Thought you were feeling under the weather?”
Her cheeks heated as she realized there was no explanation she could give except the shameful truth. She set her chin. “If you must know, I’m going to meet Benedict Wylde.”
She could see Pieter’s scowl, even in the dim light.
“Well, I know you ain’t eloping,” he said sarcastically. “Because you’ve already married the cove. So what’s to do?”
Georgie squirmed. Really, this was too humiliating. Pieter was like a father to her. In his eyes, she was still an innocent, headstrong little girl. To confess, quite baldly, why she was going to meet Benedict made her cringe. She squared her shoulders. “The man is my husband. And I have decided to visit him.”
“At midnight,” Pieter supplied. He suddenly dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck, as if embarrassed himself. “Ah, Georgie. You’re a grown woman now. I know it. And God knows I’ve never been able to talk you out of anything once you’ve set your mind to it. Yer just like yer father in that respect. I just hope you know what you’re doing with him, that’s all.”
So do I.
He stepped aside, and she let out a relieved breath. “His carriage should be at the corner,” she said quietly.
Pieter nodded. “Just make sure you’re back before the household rises.”
Georgie gave him an impetuous hug, and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
“I hope that bastard realizes what he’s got,” he grumbled.
Mickey’s huge bulk was instantly recognizable atop the plain black carriage that was waiting at the corner. Georgie climbed in, and in her agitated state, the ride to St. James’s seemed to take only moments. She felt daring and adventurous. Glad to be alive. The carriage slowed to make the turn into the stable yard at the rear, but as it drew level with the front of the club, the door opened and a bouncer appeared with a struggling figure caught roughly by his collar. Amid furious shouts and obscenities, the man was forcibly ejected.
“And stay out,” the manservant called out after him. “The Tricorn don’t welcome those who can’t pay their debts, sir.” The last word was issued with a curl of the lip and a dismissive sneer that made the title an insult.
The man stumbled down the front steps, reeling drunkenly, and to Georgie’s dismay he staggered heavily against the side of the stationary carriage. She let out a little shriek of alarm as his body hit the side panel with a thud. The man wheeled around, using the carriage door as support, and Georgie gasped as she caught sight of his face.
Josiah’s cheeks were mottled a furious red, his eyes bleary and unfocused. For one awful moment, he squinted into the carriage and she shrank back against the seat, terrified he’d recognize her. He issued a stream of invectives that shocked even Georgie, then slammed his palm against the wooden side and wheeled away into the night.
She released a shaky breath. Good God, Josiah had looked awful. Almost demonic. She’d had no idea he frequented the Tricorn Club. And what on earth had he done to get himself expelled so disgracefully? The doorman had said something about not paying his debts. A wave of fury assailed her. She’d just given him five hundred pounds! Had he squandered it all already?
The carriage entered the stable yard, and Wylde was there, opening the carriage door. Georgie practically fell into his arms. “I just saw my cousin! Your doorman threw him out.”
Benedict frowned. “Seb must have reached the end of his patience. He didn’t see you, did he?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
He took her hand and drew her inside. “Then stop worrying about it. Your unpleasant cousin is the very last person I want you to be thinking of tonight.” His smile made her anxiety ebb and her blood heat. “The only person you need to be concentrating on is me.”
He led her up the stairs and into his apartment; the key turned in the lock with a decisive click. Georgie glanced round, nervous again. This was it. The stage for her willing seduction. Only she had no idea how to begin.
“Why don’t you take off your cloak?” Benedict suggested. She did so, draping the heavy fabric over the chair and adding her reticule. He was only wearing a shirt and breeches; he looked comfortable and relaxed. He crossed to a sideboard and picked up a cut glass decanter. “Brandy?”
She nodded. A fortifying shot of liquor sounded just the thing to bolster her confidence. His fingers touched hers as he handed her the tumbler, and she took a tentative sip to quell the quivering that had started in her belly. If they did this, she would be his wife in truth. Their marriage would be consummated. Legal. Binding.
She jerked when he reached up and stroked her cheek. Brandy sloshed onto her wrist.
His mouth curved in an endearingly crooked smile. “Stop thinking, Georgie girl.” He raised her hand and licked the brandy from her skin, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She shivered in anticipation, but to her surprise, he stepped away and slid open a drawer in his desk.
“First things first.” He withdrew a sheaf of banknotes and counted out fifty pounds onto the leather. “Here. Take it. I’ll pay back everything, including the five hundred from Newgate, as soon as I can. I won’t sleep with you if I’m taking your money.”
Georgie’s spirits plummeted. “What? No! You need that money. I know you do.”
He shook his head. There was a determined glint in his eye that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He left the cash on the desk and stepped back to her. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear.” His gaze held hers, and her knees went weak at the intensity that burned in his eyes. “I am going to sleep with you for no other reason than because I am dying to do so.”
Georgie bit back a moan. An element of doubt had still persisted at the back of her mind, an ingrained mistrust of his motives that said this was all too good to be true. A man like him couldn’t possibly desire a woman like her. And yet the hoarse yearning in his voice was unmistakable.
She felt like an ancient explorer, Marco Polo or Vasco da Gama, about to set sail. Unsure of the mysteries and dangers that lay ahead, but certain they were out there, just over the horizon. Tonight, Benedict was her uncharted territory. And she couldn’t wait to uncover his secrets.
She put down her glass. “All right then, Mr. Wylde. Show me what I’ve been missing.”