Page 82 of This Earl of Mine

“The Rifles are sharpshooters. Snipers and skirmishers. We’re supposed to blend in. You have to admit that red is a ridiculous color for a soldier. It makes the perfect target.” He leaned over and reached inside a cut glass bowl, apparently searching for something. A muddle of assorted items swirled around haphazardly, and Georgie gasped as she caught sight of his campaign medals lying carelessly amongst the cufflinks and penknives.

“Why don’t you ever wear your medals?”

He let out a tired sigh. “Because I don’t deserve them.”

“What? Of course you do! You were at those battles, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then why—?”

He stared at the bowl as if struggling to find the words. “I suppose I still feel guilty, for making it through the war almost unscathed when so many of my friends didn’t. I didn’t earn those medals for anything other than staying alive. I couldn’t control whether a bullet hit me or the man next to me. I couldn’t change the trajectory of a shell. It was more dumb luck than skill.”

Georgie’s chest contracted at the pain in his voice.

He glanced over at her and met her eyes. “That’s why I work for Bow Street now. If I can foil plots like that one yesterday, maybethenI’ll have done something actually worthy of a mention in dispatches.”

She wound her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Well, you’remyhero, Benedict Wylde, whatever medals you’ve earned. And we should both be extremely proud of what we achieved yesterday. Think of the trouble Napoleon could stir up if he ever escaped St. Helena.”

He grunted in grudging agreement. “Ah, here we go.” He hooked a familiar chain from amid the clutter, and Georgie saw it was her wedding band—which had been joined by his plain gold ring. The last time she’d seen that, she realized, was at Newgate; she’d assumed he’d pawned it or sold it.

He uncoupled the clasp of the chain and slid both rings free, then took her left hand and solemnly slid hers onto her fourth finger. Her heart glowed with pride and love.

She winced when his fingers touched her palm, however, and he frowned as he turned her hand over and noticed the skin was red and torn from handling the submarine. “You idiot,” he chided softly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Georgie shrugged. “I truly didn’t notice at the time.”

He pressed his lips to the tender skin on the center of each palm, then straightened and kissed her mouth. “God, the next month is going to be torture. We’ll have to wait three whole weeks for the banns to be read, and we’ll be under the eagle eye of thetonthe entire time. I’ll actually have to behave myself.”

She chuckled, and he looked into her face with a wry smile and a shake of his tousled head. “I still can’t believe you want to be married to me. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? What if I turn out to be a terrible husband? I don’t have the first clue how to be happily married. My own parents barely spoke to one another. They ended up living apart for almost twenty years.”

“We are nothing like your parents, Benedict. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

He tilted his head as another thought struck him. “I still need to introduce you to my brother, John. He’d have been a far better choice for you, you know. He’s the earl. He’s solid. Dependable. Steadfast. He can run an estate. Organize tenants. He doesn’t run around getting himself thrown into prison.”

Georgie shook her head. “You’re a good man, Benedict Wylde. Despite what you might believe. It’s you that I love.” She sent him a teasing glance, determined to lighten the mood. “Do you think it’s actually legal to marry the same man twice?”

“Of course. One wedding doesn’t cancel out the other. That’s not how it works. We’ll just be doubly married.” He bent and kissed her again. “Besides, I don’t care. I’ll marry you every week if that’s what it takes to keep you happy.” His expression clouded, and he glanced down at her warily. “You don’t want to get married at St. George’s, Hanover Square, do you?”

“No. The Caversteed family will provide thetonwith quite enough entertainment with Juliet’s wedding there. How do you feel about a small, select wedding at my home in Little Gidding?”

He let out a sigh of obvious relief, gave her another quick kiss, then swatted her playfully on the behind. “Perfect. Now, go and tell your mother.”

“Mother, I have a confession to make.”

Georgie, freshly bathed and dressed in a flattering morning gown of sprigged muslin, strode into the drawing room. Juliet and Simeon had gone for a drive in the park. Mother looked up from pouring the tea with a questioning look, her brows drawn together.

“Not another one. Really, Georgiana, I do think you should consider my poor nerves. I’ve come to live indreadof you saying things like that. What is it this time? Should I brace myself for the revelation that you’re leaving us to join the circus? Becoming a clairvoyant?”

Georgie stifled a laugh at her mother’s peeved sarcasm. “Cousin Josiah was blackmailing me.”

“Blackmailing you? About what?”

“My husband. Josiah discovered the truth about him.”

Mother sniffed. “Oh. Well that’s hardly a surprise. I told you marrying a convict was a recipe for disaster, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You did. But I didn’t actually marry a convict. I married Benedict Wylde.”

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