Ben got to his feet too. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
Seb chuckled and drained the last of his brandy. “Sounds like you’re going to need all your wits about you tomorrow, dealing with that wife of yours. Think she’s ever seen the inside of a gaming club before? Maybe you should bring her downstairs and teach her how to play roulette. I’d be more than happy to—”
“She’s not going anywhere near the public side,” Ben said firmly. “And you’re not going to be teaching her anything.”
Seb gave a chuckle. “Spoil sport. In that case, I’ll wish you good night. And good luck.”
Chapter 10.
The Tricorn Club in St. James’s was a newly established gentlemen’s club, but in the few months it had been open, it had, according to Pieter, gained a reputation for deep card play and extravagance in both food and “gentlemanly entertainment,” which Georgie took to be a euphemism for “attractive, available women.”
At ten o’clock in the morning, however, this enclave of elegant depravity was remarkably quiet. Pieter turned the carriage into the stable mews behind the imposing stone-clad building.
“Georgiana Caversteed, this is a—”
“—terrible idea,” Georgie finished with a grimace. “Yes. I know. I know.”
She’d told Pieter of Wylde’s reappearance, of course. The Dutchman had simply raised his bushy brows and said he’d warned her against her foolish scheme at the outset. He opened his mouth to say more now, but Georgie was in no mood for a lecture. She raised the hem ofher cloak, stepped down onto the cobbles, and tried to ignore the butterflies churning in her stomach.
She’d barely slept a wink last night, turning over all the possible outcomes of this meeting in her mind. What did Wylde want? A monthly allowance? A lump sum? How much would this debacle cost her?
“Please wait for me here. I shouldn’t be long.”
The back door of the club swung open to reveal a mountain of a man dressed in black-and-gold livery. His size was such that Georgie wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was a former boxer or wrestler. Certainly, his crooked nose and cauliflower ear spoke of an interesting life.
Pieter stepped forward protectively, but Wylde appeared behind the behemoth and shot her a welcoming smile.
“Stand down, Mickey, the lady’s here to see me.”
The mountain nodded respectfully and stepped aside to let her pass.
“Good morning, Miss Caversteed,” Wylde said, and for one moment Georgie imagined herself poised at the door of some sinister castle—like the one in Mrs. Radcliffe’sMysteries of Udolpho—a foolish, unsuspecting traveler about to discover something very unpleasant inside. She gave herself a mental shake. She had to stop sneak-reading Juliet’s gothic tales. She was getting overly fanciful.
“I’ll be right here,” Pieter said gruffly. “If you’re not out in half an hour, I’m coming in to get you.”
Georgie nodded. She mounted the stairs, stepped over the threshold, and entered the lion’s den. She followed Wylde’s broad shoulders along a marble-tiled hallway, up a set of curving stairs, and into a surprisingly light and airy sitting room. Despite having always wondered what the inside of a gentleman’s lodgings might look like, she wasted no time examining the furnishings. She sank intothe seat he indicated and arranged her hands primly in her lap. “I’ll come straight to the point, Mr. Wylde. What game are you playing?”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Not one to mince words, are you?” He crossed to an elegant French fauteuil and sat, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, the epitome of relaxed masculinity. “No game, Miss Caversteed.Youfoundmeat Newgate. Our meeting was purely accidental.”
She raised her brows, inviting him to explain what he’d been doing there.
He tilted his head and fixed her with an accusatory look. “I, for one, had no plans tomarrywhen I entered the building.”
Guilty heat warmed her cheeks.
“I applaud your ingenuity,” he said dryly. “There was no chance your suitor would escape, that’s for sure.”
She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He deserved an explanation. “It was an unusual course of action, I know—”
He raised his brows, silently mocking the understatement, and she looked at her hands. “Until a few weeks ago I had no desire to marry anyone. Ever. I do not, after all, need the money. And I have no desperate hankering for a title.”
“You might be the first woman of my acquaintance to say that and actually mean it,” he replied amiably. “Few would deny the desire to be one day addressed as ‘my lady,’ or ‘Your Grace.’”
“Not me.”
His gaze flicked to her stomach. “So, why the sudden need for a husband? Are you anticipating a happy event in around nine months’ time? Seeking a name for another man’s brat?”
Georgie couldn’t contain her gasp of shock. “What?No! Of course not! I’ve never… I mean…” She trailed off, utterly mortified at the suggestion, and took a deep, steadying breath. She should have anticipated such an assumption. “No. That’s not it at all. The problem was my cousin, Josiah.”
