Page 14 of This Earl of Mine

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 dimplecreased his left cheek. “BenedictWylde, 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. Thetonstill 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:Hewas 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? Justthinkof 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 ignorehow 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 withher.

“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 torrentof 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 onyou, 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 theton.” 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.”

Chapter 9.

---