Page 47 of This Earl of Mine

Georgie smiled up at Wylde. “This way.”

Chapter 24.

As soon as Pieter had driven off, Georgie turned to Wylde. “So, next stop Limehouse?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “No chance. My Bow Street colleagues, Alex and Seb, and I will take things from here. We need to proceed with caution, not just go blundering in there, asking questions and frightening people off.”

“I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

His skeptical look made her want to stamp on his foot.

“Believe me, I’ve dealt with situations like this before,” he said. “We need to know how many people we’re dealing with, for starters. You said it yourself; Johnstone could have a whole team of people working with him. They could be armed. I’m not putting you in that kind of danger, Georgie, so you can forget about trying to convince me otherwise.”

Georgie closed her mouth against the urge to do precisely that. He had a fair point. Hewasfar more experienced in this sort of thing. And his desire to keep hersafe from harm was rather sweet. Misguided, of course, but sweet.

As they rounded the end of the street, the wide bowl of the harbor came into view. Georgie grinned at the familiar sight of bobbing, jostling ships and tugged him toward the wharf. There was always something happening here. Cranes and winches were busy unloading crates of produce, while the air swirled with the smell of the refuse floating in the grey-brown water. She shuddered at the bobbing corpse of a bloated rat. She’d once seen a group of boys playing a disgusting game whereby they actually threw the inflated rats at one other, like some sort of revolting exploding missile. It was so unsanitary, she couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. No wonder people said the docks were no place for a lady.

And yet her father had always allowed her to come here with him to watch their ships come in. She’d found it endlessly fascinating, spinning tales in her imagination of all the exotic and wonderful places the goods had come from.

Wylde took her arm, his fingers gentle at her elbow, and they dodged a couple of sailors with tarred pigtails and an oyster seller with his wheelbarrow. Georgie pointed to a vessel farther down the wharf with a proud smile. “That’s one of mine.”

He shielded his eyes against the low, weak sun and read the painted nameplate on the bow. “TheLady Alice.”

“Named after my mother.” Her smile was bittersweet. “Father was always aware that he couldn’t provide her with a real title, despite his wealth. He knew thetonlooked down on her for being ‘tarnished by trade.’ This was the only way he could make her a lady.”

“There’s a measure of security in a title,” he agreed easily. “Just as there is in wealth.”

She nodded, glad he understood. “That’s why Mother’s so keen for my sister to marry a peer. She wants Juliet to have all the advantages she never had.” She gave a half laugh, half sigh. “It drives me mad, but I can’t fault her for it.”

Wylde nodded at the vessel. “What kind of ship is she?”

“A brig. They’re popular among pirates because of their speed and maneuverability, but we use them as standard cargo ships. She’s just about to head off to Boston.”

They stood side by side and watched as men loaded crate after crate of oranges onto the deck.

“What are the oranges for?”

“One thing the navy discovered while fighting Bonaparte was that citrus fruits, like oranges and limes, prevent scurvy. Our sailors stayed healthier than the French thanks to a regular supply of lemon juice and fruit. The Americans call our sailors ‘Limeys’ now because of it.” She glanced up at him. “After reading Dr. Lind’sTreatise on ScurvyI decided to adopt it as a health measure on my own ships. I haven’t lost a man to scurvy in three years.”

“That sounds like thrilling bedtime reading,” he mocked gently. “I applaud the care you take for your crew members, but I truly believe I’d rather read a whole volume of Mr. Pettigrew’s verses than a medical treatise on scurvy.”

Benedict shook his head as he tried to reconcile the vibrant, multifaceted woman beside him with the first impressions he’d made of her. He’d imagined she would turn out to be a prim, haughty, ice princess with no care for anything except the cost of her gown and the elevated title of her next dance partner. He couldn’t have been more wrong. She was astonishing. Her natural aptitudefor the scientific and mathematical was as delightful as it was surprising. He admired her business-like brain, her sharp wit, and the fearsome intellect that challenged him on so many levels. She was in her element here, he realized, surrounded by the cutthroat hustle and bustle of trade.

She didn’t need to work. She could have done nothing with her life and lived off the interest of her fortune, wallowing in luxury in the safety of Grosvenor Square. Instead, she’d chosen to take on the challenge of running a business, to prove her mettle in an overwhelmingly male-dominated environment. His respect for her went up another notch.

He shouldn’t be surprised, though. War had shown him that people were rarely what one expected. He’d seen huge brawny fellows full of braggadocio before a battle cowering and whimpering like puppies by the side of their canon when the battle was in full flow. And he’d seen a skinny drummer boy, pale with fright, bend and pick up the fallen colors and face the enemy with a bellow of defiance. It was what a man—or woman—did when they were tested that showed their true worth.

He’d proved himself during the war. Despite the gut-wrenching, ball-tightening fear, the horror and misery of countless battles, he’d come out of it as a man secure in his ability to face adversity. Georgie wanted to prove that she was worthy of her fortune, of carrying on her father’s legacy. She was doing an admirable job.

She was responsible for the welfare of not just her immediate family, but for the hundreds of other people who relied on Caversteed Shipping for their livelihoods, and yet she shouldered the weight of that responsibility with apparent ease.

The fact that he found her competency arousing wasbarely worth mentioning. He seemed to find everything about her—from her expressive grey eyes to the sly curl of her lip when she thought something was funny—arousing. Just being near her was an exercise in restraint.

He glared across the river at the barren, boggy opposite shore known as the Isle of Dogs in an attempt to ignore the pull of her. The air was foggy, the weak sun filtering through the clouds. He’d forgotten the damp chill of England in March. It was such a contrast to the searing heat of Spain, the harsh glare. He missed the warmth, but not the bullets flying at him. It was infinitely preferable to be standing here with this woman on his arm, chilled or not.

His overstimulated brain dutifully provided a hundred different ways in which he could warm her up. Very few of them required clothes.

She tugged on his arm. “My offices are in that building there, above the warehouse. Come on.”

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