Page 49 of This Earl of Mine

Her heart twisted painfully. Father had always smelled of tea leaves and sandalwood, like fragrant pencil shavings. Being subtle about it, she leaned closer to Benedict and took a surreptitious sniff. He smelled gorgeous. Of the sea, the sun, the earth. Like she imagined the breeze from a Mediterranean island might smell as it wafted over the sea, a clean, masculine version of rosemary and pine, with a delicious salty tang of skin beneath. She groaned silently as her knees turned to jelly.

“This place always reminds me of that children’s rhyme,” she said. “You know, the one that goes: ‘Sugar and spice and all things nice. That’s what little girls are made of.’”

He nodded. “I know it. Little boys are made of slugs and snails and puppy dogs’ tails. Hardly flattering. There’s a second verse too. ‘Ribbons and laces and sweet pretty faces, that’s what young women are made of.’”

His eyes roamed her face, and her heart skipped a beat. “I’d prefer to be associated with something a little more exotic,” Georgie managed. She waved her hand at the surrounding shelves. “Like ambergris and sandalwood, jasmine and kohl.” Scents that could seduce and stupefy the senses. She wanted to be the type of woman who had that effect, who made men dizzy, who could bring a man like Wylde to his knees.

She almost snorted aloud.Some hope.

She cleared her throat. “Tea imports are some of my most profitable shipments. We trade British woolens and Indian cottons for Chinese tea, porcelain, and silk.”

“Do you import opium?”

“No. The East India Company does, though.” She frowned. “I understand from Mr. Pettigrew that poets like Byron use it for inspiration, but I can’t say I’m convinced. I suspect it’s one of the reasons my cousin is in such debt. Have you ever tried it?”

“Never smoked it. But I was given laudanum when I was wounded in my shoulder. It helped with the pain, but not with my dreams. It made them even worse, even more vivid.” He stopped abruptly, and a flush crept up his neck as if he were embarrassed to have revealed such a human failing.

“Do you recall unpleasant things from the war?” Georgie ventured cautiously.

“Sometimes. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t really think about it much, but sometimes, when I’m asleep, or very tired, memories come back to me, so real I think I’m back there.” He shrugged. “I can understand why some men might want to drug themselves in an effort to gain oblivion, but I’m not sure it’s the best way to deal with it. A life spent half asleep isn’t much of a life at all. I’m glad you don’t sell it.”

“Yes, well, there are equally profitable cargoes that don’t endanger people’s health.” Georgie waved a hand at the goods on either side. “Like silk. Velvet. Glass.”

The existence of her fortune always provoked fierce and conflicting emotions in her breast. When she’d come out, aged sixteen, and found herself instantly popular with the gentlemen, she’d been flattered—until she realized they were only after her money. She’d found it hard to make female friends too. Her peers had resented herability to afford expensive jewels and gowns and spread jealous gossip about her.

Georgie had spent years wondering how she would ever know if a man really loved her.

The only way to be sure would be to remove her fortune from the equation, which was almost impossible. In weaker moments, she’d imagined running away and starting a new life, incognito, where she’d have the potential to be sincerely loved. But the truth was, she appreciated being rich. She was glad she never had to worry about her next meal, or whether she might be able to afford a physician if her mother or sister fell ill. She gave generously to numerous charities—anonymously—to relieve other, less fortunate souls of the same burden.

The contract she’d made Wylde sign in Newgate had been the best solution she could find to weed out fortune hunters.

Wylde turned to her with a teasing smile. “I am seriously regretting signing your bloody bit of paper now.”

Georgie blinked at the way he seemed to read her mind, then smiled at his unabashed honesty. “Iamstill paying you a thousand pounds,” she reminded him. “In fact, if you’ll step upstairs to my office, Mr. Wylde, you can have your first installment.”

She headed up the spiral staircase, hotly aware of him close behind her, and entered the office reserved for her use. The leather-topped partners desk had a concealed drawer, released by pressing a lever underneath, which held her ledger books and a stash of banknotes. Georgie counted out three hundred pounds then rounded the desk and leaned against the edge as she held the money out toward him.

He shook his head. “I haven’t earned this. A stroll around Vauxhall and one morning call to your house is hardly enough to convince thetonI’m courting youseriously. Nobody saw us together at the Westons’.” He held his arms out to the side, as if offering himself as a servant to do her bidding. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you, my lady? Here I am. At your service.”

His voice had an ironic, slightly mocking tone, but whether it was aimed at her or himself, she didn’t know. Georgie immediately imagined several, outrageously improper, things he could “do for her.” The air between them became strangely charged. There was some emotion in his face that made her stomach knot. He called to every wild and reckless part of her.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “I may not have brought money to this marriage, but I can certainly bring experience.” His eyes burned into hers as he allowed her to see the hunger there, the desire. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider my offer?”

Her heart began to pound. She didn’t need to ask which offer he was talking about. She’d thought of little else for days.

Taking him as her lover would be morally reprehensible. She was, technically, paying for his company. Which would make him—what? Some kind of male concubine? Her brain went a little fuzzy at the thought.

But she’d wanted a lover, had she not? And here she was, legally married to this ridiculously attractive man who sounded more than willing to accept the role. He wasn’t pretending to love her. He was simply offering physical pleasure in response to a blistering mutual attraction.

What was the worst that could happen? There was a risk that she could conceive a child, but according to Tilly, there were ways to prevent such things. Georgie was rather vague on what they were, admittedly, Tilly not having been forthcoming with the details, but a worldlyman like Wylde would know what measures to take, surely.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as he took a step closer.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been giving serious thought to what you said the other day,” she managed.

“Have you indeed? And what have you concluded?”

She gripped the edge of the desk. “That I should like to take you up on your offer.”

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