Page 7 of This Earl of Mine

The prisoner repeated his vows, his voice low and confident, his accent less pronounced. Perhaps he was making an effort to speak properly for the occasion.

Pieter had purchased two plain gold rings, which helaid flat on the open Bible in the ordinary’s hands. Cotton launched into a blustering speech about the sanctity of this and submitting to that; Georgie barely listened. But her heart jolted as the prisoner took her left hand and slid a ring on her fourth finger. The metal was cool, but quickly warmed to her skin.

His own hands were large and capable; she felt the heat of his palm, the strength in his long fingers, as they reversed positions and she threaded the ring onto his left hand. It stuck on his knuckle, but she wriggled and twisted, and it finally slid on. Instead of letting her hand drop, his fingers threaded through hers, steady and oddly comforting.

And then it was over. Cotton added their names to the marriage license Pieter had obtained from a bribable clerk at Doctors’ Commons. The prisoner released her hand to sign the register, the gold ring on his finger glinting in the candlelight. Georgie bent her thumb inwards and touched her own band. It felt strange, foreign. She would remove it as soon as she was in the carriage.

The prisoner straightened and caught her eye. “In the absence of anything more rousing, may I be permitted to kiss the bride?”

Her pulse leapt, but she saw no reason to be churlish. She had what she’d come for, after all. She adopted an expression of bored resignation. “Oh, very well.”

He leaned forward. Georgie sipped in a breath and held it, determined not to inhale his undoubtedly repulsive odor. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Martyr-like, she waited.

And waited.

She heard him chuckle. His fingers settled on either side of her face and tilted her chin up. His thumb brushed the indent at the corner of her lips.

Her stomach flipped. She opened her eyes, caught a brief glimpse of his dark irises as his face descended to hers, and waited for something like Josiah’s greedy lechery: a wet, sloppy assault.

He did not kiss like Josiah.

His mouth brushed hers, his lips a shockingly soft counterpoint to the prickles on his jaw. Something hot and achy bloomed inside her, from her breastbone to the pit of her belly. It was a tease of a kiss; a light, questioning touch that somehow managed to both madden and promise at the same time. His lips moved on hers as if testing his welcome, and Georgie found herself leaning up into him, enthralled. Wanting more. She softened her mouth just as his tongue traced the seam of her lips. Seeking entry.Tastingher. She jolted back in shock, suddenly recalling where she was. Who he was.

Heat flooded her face. Thoroughly mortified, she stared up into his laughing eyes.

“Hello, Mrs. Wylde,” he whispered, just for her.

She ignored her hammering pulse and the weak sensation in her knees and tried to appear entirely unaffected by the kiss. Good God, that was her name now.Mrs. Wylde.She took a decisive step back. “Goodbye, Mr. Wylde,” she said firmly. Her lips still tingled. “And thank you,” she added. “You have done me a great service this night.”

The corners of his lips twitched, and he swept her another magnificent bow, as perfect as if they stood in the receiving line at Carlton House. “My pleasure, Mrs. Wylde.”

She did not fail to detect the sarcasm in his tone. They both knew he’d taken no “pleasure” from her.

“Any time you need another ‘service,’ do ask. I would be honored to assist.” Those wicked eyes flicked to her lips and back up again.

Georgie turned away, flustered, and gestured to Pieter. “Let’s go.” Suddenly, all she wanted was to be home. She needed to think, and her wits seemed to have gone begging in the presence of this exasperating man.

Pieter collected the marriage license from Cotton and tossed a jingling purse to Knollys, who grinned and touched his forelock.

“Nice doin’ business, milady,” he sneered. He crossed to the prisoner and began to refasten the manacles around his wrists. Wylde submitted to the imprisonment without comment, and Georgie bit her lip to quell an instinctive protest. There was nothing more she could do for him now.

She took one last glance at the prisoner. What did one say to a handsome stranger you’d just married and would never see again? It was not a situation often covered in etiquette books. She couldn’t very well wish him a good life.

“I wish you a safe journey,” she said at last. And then, on a whim, added the words she’d always said when taking leave of her father, “Fair winds and a calm sea.”

Those dark eyes met hers and held her captive for a long moment. “Thank you, my lady. If fortune is kind, perhaps we’ll meet again—under more auspicious circumstances.”

It was all she could do to nod.

Once the outer door of the prison clanged behind her, Georgie took a deep, cleansing breath. Her hands shook as she raised the hood of her domino, but a mad sense of relief washed over her. She’d done it! For six long years, she’d endured awkward matchmaking and unconvincing proposals, the never-ending sting of gossip and speculation. Josiah’s thinly veiled threats and disapproval. She’d bowed to convention, done what others expected of her,from the moment she’d entered theton. Now, for the first time in her adult life, she was free to start doing exactly as she pleased.

Ben Wylde, criminal rogue, had given her freedom.

Chapter 5.

A disturbance in the hallway and the angry scuffle of feet was the first indication of Cousin Josiah’s arrival. His voice, low but threatening, carried through the half-open salon door.

“No, curse you, I’ll announce myself!”

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