Doubtless, the women he usually spent time with were beautiful and sophisticated; he wouldn’t select them for their ability to broker a trade deal. Georgie might not be as attractive as her sister, but she would use what weapons she had—namely, her fortune.
“I’ll make it worth your while, Mr. Wylde.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “In what way?”
“I would pay you for your trouble.”
He stilled, and she prayed she hadn’t miscalculated. Men, she’d discovered, were oddly unpredictable where masculine pride and money were involved. “You said you hoped to get a reward for foiling this plot for Bow Street? How much is it?”
His eyes narrowed. “Five hundred pounds.”
“Well, then. I’ll pay you double. A thousand pounds.”
Another excruciating silence. Georgie eyed the door with longing. What was she doing?
“Let me get this straight in my mind,” Wylde said slowly. “You want topayme to flirt with you? Is that right?”
His voice held a certain dangerous edge. Was he insulted? Angry? Intrigued?
“To court me,” she amended, then winced at how ridiculous that sounded. Still, she’d come this far. What was a little more embarrassment? “And only when we’re in public.”
They stared at one another for several long heartbeats, and Georgie quelled a rising sense of alarm. She’d been sure he’d jump at the chance to reduce his debts. She’d never faced a situation where the right amount of money hadn’t solved the problem.
“I’m merely suggesting a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she hurried on. “It would be useful to have you around to act as a buffer between myself and my cousin. And to deter other fortune hunters.”
“I see.”
She narrowed her eyes and fixed him with the look she usually reserved for tradesmen who tried to overcharge her simply because she was female. Those idiots assumed she was mentally impaired because she had squashy lumps on the front of her chest instead of something dangling between her legs.
“I do hope you’re not one of these men who have difficulty dealing with a woman. This is no different from me engaging a shipwright to build me a brig, or a cobbler to make me shoes. You are known for your superior skills of social interaction, Mr. Wylde. I am merely offering to engage your services until the end of the season.”
Benedict struggled to keep his face impassive as irritation warred with amusement. Pay him to woo her? What sort of woman suggested such a thing? He didn’t know whether to pity her, laugh at her, or be very, very afraid.
His pride rebelled against her offer of money, but the brutal truth was, he didn’t have the luxury of being able to refuse. Morcott’s survival was more important than any personal humiliation he might endure.
He returned his attention to the woman who was turning his life upside down. This was the first time he’d seen her in full daylight. The morning sun that streamed through the window picked out the copper in her hair and highlighted the fine grain of her skin. She wasn’t one of those women who needed the flattering glow of candlelight to appear to her best advantage. She looked small and fierce, and utterly delectable.
Benedict rearranged himself discreetly in his chair. He’d barely been able to concentrate on what she was saying; he kept getting distracted by those perfect pink lips, the thick sweep of her lashes, and those startling eyes. Every time she looked at him directly, he felt his pulse leap and his blood thicken. Her confidence and clever mind attracted him in ways he couldn’t explain.
He’d never met a more self-sufficient woman in his life. Rather daunting, her intellect. Had she been a man in the army, she would have been a strategist to equal Wellington. A formidable opponent, Miss Caversteed.Or rather, Mrs. Wylde. Thank God she had no idea how appealing he found her—she seemed quite prepared to use every weapon at her disposal to get what she wanted.
Still, she fidgeted under his prolonged gaze. Good. Despite her innocence, she was definitely aware of him as a man. She’d turned the most luscious shade of pink last night when he’d painted a picture of them together in some scandalous situation. He could use that to his advantage.
Benedict hid a smile of anticipation. Flirting with her would be a pleasure, not a chore. He was a scoundrel to take her money for doing something he needed absolutely no encouragement to do, but there was no harm in allowing thetonto think him focused on seducing her rather than ferreting out their secrets. Her thousand pounds would be a welcome addition to Bow Street’s five hundred.
The suggestion that she needed to pay him to court her was laughable. He needed no incentive. His desire for her would pass, just as it did with every other woman he encountered, but there was no reason why they couldn’t both enjoy this situation while it lasted.
She obviously liked to think she was all business, but anyone with half a brain could see she was a passionate woman. She’d lost her faith in mankind—specifically the feckless, fortune-hunting half—each time some idiot had refused to eschew her fortune. Now, she clearly thought of herself as the less desirable of the two Caversteed sisters. Benedict couldn’t wait to show her just how passionate she could be. She’d unwittingly given him the perfect opportunity for a slow campaign of seduction; he’d lay siege to her defenses until she crumbled. It would be both a challenge and a joy.
There was no danger of her falling in love with him. She was far too sensible to fall for a penniless wastrel,and when their physical relationship petered out, they could go their separate ways, perfectly amicably, just as she’d suggested.
Of course, they’d both be stuck in an empty, loveless marriage like the one his parents had endured—something he’d tried his utmost to avoid. But his army years had taught him to accept those things that couldn’t be changed and to make the best of what he’d been given.
Fate, it seemed, had given him Georgiana Caversteed Wylde.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love. On the contrary, he was sure that it existed for some people, somewhere. But personal experience had shown him how rare and unusual a thing it was. How unpredictable and, oftentimes, unpleasant. No, he’d stick with good old-fashioned lust, which had served him perfectly well for the past decade or so.
He cleared his throat and felt the jolt as her eyes met his. He shot her the prisoner’s cheeky, unrepentant grin. “I don’t pretend to be perfect husband material, Mrs. Wylde, but I’ll be a damn sight better than some poxy murderer from Newgate.”
