“Good heavens! They’re coming this way.”
Georgie barely heard Juliet’s scandalized gasp. What should she do? Run? Scream? Faint? She’d never swooned before—that was Juliet’s forte—but now seemed like an excellent time to start. She shot a desperate glance to her left, but the crowded refreshments table barred her way. Unable to move right without pushing Juliet into an urn full of foliage, she watched in mute horror as the two men approached. Wylde led the way, pausing as he was hailed by acquaintances, but still closing the distance inexorably, like a panther stalking its prey.
Perhaps, by some amazing coincidence, he had a twin.
Georgie bit the inside of her lip. Now she sounded like Juliet, making up fanciful tales.
Then he was there, bowing with the same athletic grace she’d witnessed in prison, and it was too late to run. Heat washed over her in waves. This was going to be disaster. He stopped right in front of her, impossible to ignore, but it was his friend who spoke first.
“Miss Georgiana Caversteed, Miss Juliet Caversteed.”
They both bobbed a curtsey. At least, Juliet did. Georgie’s knees simply buckled.
Juliet dimpled prettily. “Mr. Harland. How good to see you again.”
The darker-haired man half turned to his companion. “And you. May I present my good friend, Benedict Wylde?”
The rogue nodded to Juliet then glanced at Georgie, a hint of devilry sparkling in his eyes, as if they shared a private joke. “Miss Caversteed, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Georgie waited for him to add “again,” but mercifully he did not. Instead, he narrowed his eyes as if struggling to recall something and tilted his head as his gaze roved over her face.
“I must say, you look extremely familiar. Have we met?”
Oh, the beast. So, he’d decided to torture her, had he? Georgie swallowed and willed her voice to come out steady. “I can’t imagine where we might have crossed paths, Mr. Wylde.”
“You’re right, of course,” he murmured. “I’m sure I would have remembered such an encounter.”
His voice might have lost its rough slang and harsh guttural edges, but it was still the same deep rumble that had played havoc with her pulse. Georgie glanced at Juliet and found her sister watching their byplay in open-mouthed astonishment. It was usually she who captured the attention of the gentlemen, but Wylde had barely spared her a glance.
He bent his arm at the elbow and offered it forward in unmistakable invitation. “Would you care to take a turn about the room, Miss Caversteed?”
The coiled tension inside her eased a fraction; he was going to pretend they’ve never met. Thank heaven.
“Or perhaps you’d care to dance?”
“Dance?” she repeated stupidly.
“It is a customary activity, at a ball.” His eyes shone with silent laughter.
She’d rather dance with a Bengal tiger. While naked. But people were already watching them curiously; she couldn’t turn him down without eliciting all manner of comment. “Yes, all right, then.”
He bowed again, mocking her ungracious acceptance with his courtly manners. “My lady.”
Was it her imagination, or had he placed a slight possessive emphasis on the first word? With great reluctance, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. He took her right hand in his and slid his left hand around her waist to rest at the small of her back. The heat of his palm burned through the layers of her dress, and the warmth of his chest bathed her front, even though they were still several inches apart.
Georgie took a deep breath and inadvertently inhaled the scent of him, a subtly masculine cologne, clean and earthy, a million miles away from the stench of that hellhole in which they’d first met. Her blood started a slow simmer.
Naturally, the musicians struck up a waltz. Fate would never be so kind as to provide a lively reel. She focused on the plain gold stick pin that fastened his intricate cravat.
“You, sir, are supposed to be on your way to Australia! What are you doing here?” She raised her head and met his amused gaze with a glare. “I don’t know what happened in Newgate after I left, but somehow you bribed the jailers to let you escape. You probably used my money! Are you a wanted criminal? On the run?”
He shook his head. “Ben Wylde the smuggler is on his way to Australia, alone and unlamented.” A dimple creased his left cheek. “Benedict Wylde, on the other hand, brother of the Earl of Morcott, is very much present and correct. And delighted to renew his acquaintance with you.” He passed an idle glance around the room and lowered his head to her ear. “I do believe we’re setting tongues wagging, Miss Caversteed.”
Georgie shot him a cynical look. “I doubt anyone here will think it odd that a man known to be permanently in need of funds should be dancing with the richest single woman in the room.”
Her acerbic response seemed to amuse him. “Ah. My reputation precedes me.” He guided her into a turn, and she clutched his shoulder as the room spun. “As does yours. The ton still thinks you’re quite the catch on the marriage mart. The rich Miss Caversteed, princess in her ivory tower, untouchable by mere mortals like myself.”
His grip tightened on her waist, as if to give lie to the words: He was touching her. She missed a step, but plastered a smile on her face, intensely aware of the surrounding couples all shamelessly trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“You haven’t told anyone you’re married,” he whispered.
She stiffened. Was that a threat? Did he mean to blackmail her? To demand money for his silence? “We need to talk, Mr. Wylde. Somewhere private.”
His teeth flashed white. “Somewhere private? At a ball? Unlikely. What if we’re caught alone together? Just think of the scandal.” His tone was deeply ironic. “Why, we’d probably be forced to marry. Again.”
Georgie dragged air into her constricted lungs. “No, thank you, Mr. Wylde. Marrying you once was quite enough.”
They completed another turn, and she tried to ignore how effortlessly they seemed to fit together, despite his greater size. He somehow managed to position his thigh intimately between hers with alarming regularity. Her entire body was warm, humming. The waltz truly was an indecent dance.
“I don’t even know your full name,” she hissed irritably. “Are we even legally married?”
He’d signed the name Ben Wylde in Newgate, but it seemed his given name was Benedict. That suited him—something lordly and autocratic. And rather fitting that it should include the word “edict.” No doubt he was accustomed to bossing people around. Well, he wouldn’t succeed with her.
“The name I gave in Newgate wasn’t my full name, but yes, it was enough to bind us together. I checked. Our marriage is legal.”
Georgie was finding it hard to draw a breath. She forced herself to look away from his sinfully inviting lips—even more noticeable now he’d removed that scruffy beard—and exhale slowly. “You know I had no expectation of you remaining in the country.”
“I had no plans to be transported.”
“Then why on earth didn’t you say something?”
His fingers tightened on hers. “I don’t recall having much say in the matter, madam, when I was dragged from my cell in manacles and forced to the altar.”
A guilty heat warmed her neck. He had a point. She might as well have held a gun to his head, for all the choice she’d given him.
“We can’t talk here,” he murmured. “Come and see me tomorrow.”
Georgie glanced around. Mother had rejoined Juliet at the side of the dance floor. Both of them wore identical expressions of avid curiosity. Georgie bit back the torrent of accusations that were on the tip of her tongue and shot them a bright, reassuring smile before turning back to Wylde. “What do you mean ‘come and see me’?”
“I can’t very well call on you, can I? Not if you want to avoid a scandal—which I assume is the case, since you’ve kept the news of our marriage from the ton.” His gaze met hers. “I’m sure a woman who can arrange a clandestine visit to Newgate can get herself to the back entrance of the Tricorn Club in St. James’ at ten o’clock tomorrow morning without being seen.”
Georgie recognized the challenge for what it was. And she had absolutely no choice but to pick up the gauntlet. “All right. I’ll be there.”
The waltz ended, and they swirled to a breathless stop. Wylde’s grip tightened for a moment before he released her. She tried to calm her racing heartbeat as he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. Even through her gloves, the back of her fingers tingled. She snatched her hand away and held it behind her back.
His laughing eyes mocked her evasion. “Until tomorrow, Mrs. Wylde.”