Page 31 of This Earl of Mine

“I’m serious. Choosing a bride in thetonis worse than selecting a horse at Tattersall’s. At least at Tat’s, you get to look at their teeth.” Seb subtly inclined his head toward the next female to stroll past. “Shall I try to get Miss Asquith to smile so you can get a glimpse of her pearly-white gnashers?”

Alex gave a theatrical shudder. “Please don’t.”

Benedict scanned the crowd, searching for Georgie, and finally located her coming down one of the tree-lined walks. It was time to set tongues wagging about the two of them. He downed his drink, vaulted easily over the low wall at the front of the booth, and stalked toward her.

She saw him approach, and then pretended she didn’t, and he smiled at her evasion. She hadn’t been so coy when she’d kneed old Josiah in the crown jewels earlier. He stepped into her path and bowed low to her mother,who preened a little at the attention, then at Georgie and her sister.

“Ladies, what a pleasure to see you all again. I hope you’re having a pleasant evening?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Caversteed enthused. “It is a little chilly, perhaps, with this breeze, but the fireworks were wonderful. And did you see Madame Saqui descending her rope? Extraordinary.”

Benedict caught Georgie’s eye. “It has been a most enlightening evening.”

Color rose in her cheeks as she caught his double meaning, and she shot him a chiding “don’t-you-dare-say-anything” look from behind her mother’s back. He sent her a bland, angelic smile in return.

“May I walk with you a little way, Miss Caversteed?” He offered her his crooked arm, and after a small hesitation she took it, leaving Juliet and her mother to follow on behind.

He steered them away from Seb and Alex’s avid interest and along a row of vendors’ stalls, pointing out various foodstuffs and trinkets along the way, and making sure to smile brightly at every gossipy old biddy he encountered while simultaneously keeping his head bent toward Georgie as if enchanted. It wasn’t as difficult as he’d imagined; watching her expressive face as she enthused over such simple things as toasted chestnuts or a gaudy fan was entertaining in itself. She seemed to find delight in everything.

They stopped to watch a Punch and Judy show, laughing as the shrill-voiced puppet of Judy battered her poor husband over the head with a rolling pin and tried to prevent an incongruous crocodile from stealing a string of fabric sausages.

“Poor Mr. Punch,” Benedict murmured under his breath.“I do hope you won’t treat your own husband quite so poorly, Miss Caversteed.”

Georgie chuckled. “Only if he deserves it, Mr. Wylde.”

He smiled down at her. “I do believe we’ve just given Clara Cockburn something to discuss at her next dinner party. I’ve spent a conspicuous amount of time escorting you through one of London’s most popular attractions, in the very proper company of your sister and mother. Not once have I attempted to lure you off the path of virtuousness and into the shrubbery. People will be wondering what’s wrong with me.”

As one they turned, and sure enough, Lady Cockburn’s fan had whisked up to cover her mouth as she leaned in to speak to her companion. Her eyes flashed over at Georgie and Ben with speculative interest.

Benedict raised Georgie’s hand and kissed the back of it in farewell, just to fan the flames. Her cheeks pinked charmingly.

“I can guarantee that within a quarter of an hour Whites’ betting book will be filled with speculation as to whether you’re to be my next mistress . . or something more permanent,” he said.

“Well then, I suppose we can call the evening a success,” Georgie murmured back. “Since that is precisely what we set out to achieve. Your work here is done, Mr. Wylde. At least for tonight. You are released from your duties.”

“Your servant, ma’am,” Benedict said, with only a trace of irony. He bowed and left.

Chapter 18.

Georgie was still trying to decide what to do about Josiah’s assault and Wylde’s almost-kiss two days later.

Mother had finally yielded to Juliet’s moping and allowed Simeon to call at the house, but since she was upstairs with a headache, Georgie had been designated as her sister’s chaperone. She was now trapped in the upstairs parlor pretending to read a book and being forced to listen to Simeon compose his latest masterwork: “The Ballad of the Bee Sting.”

Georgie was seriously considering singeing her own skirts as an excuse to leave the room when Mrs. Potter announced a new caller. She glanced up, pathetically grateful for any interruption, and her heart stuttered as Wylde stepped into the room. His hair was windblown, and he looked as devastating as ever in a pair of buff breeches, a snowy-white shirt, and a forest-green jacket.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Wylde,” Juliet said listlessly, and immediately turned back to her beau.

Simeon looked up from the bureau and sent him a cool nod of acknowledgment. “Wylde.”

Benedict returned the nod solemnly. “Pettigrew.” He crossed the room and took a seat next to Georgie on the sofa. “Afternoon, Miss Caversteed. I trust you’ve recovered from your adventures at Vauxhall?”

Georgie cleared her throat and tried to ignore the heat that spread through her limbs every time she recalled their almost-kiss. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Wylde.” She glanced at the small bunch of flowers in his left hand, a posy of tiny dark purple violets and drooping snowdrops, the kind sold on street corners by ragged flower girls. They looked comical and fragile in his large masculine hands. She recalled those hands on her and her blood heated.

He offered them forward with a self-deprecating look. “What does one get for the girl who has everything?”

The men trying to court her usually sent great overblown bouquets, huge hothouse flowers that always made her a little sad. Everyone assumed she’d scorn something cheap, but she greatly preferred these hand-picked weeds. They had personality.

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