“Thank you. They’re lovely,” she said, and genuinely meant it.
Wylde glanced over at Simeon and Juliet. “So these are the star-crossed lovers, eh?”
“Mr. Pettigrew has impressed Mother with his ‘stalwart persistence.’ She’s decided to give him a second chance, although he’ll find it hard to convince her he’s a more acceptable match than someone with a title and a fortune.”
“It doesn’t look like his drenching did any lasting harm.”
“No.”
Juliet was perched delicately on the chaise longue nearest Simeon, one elbow resting on the scrolled arm asshe gazed worshipfully at him. The morning sun haloed her dark hair and showed off the smooth perfection of her skin. She looked luminous and delicate, like one of the porcelain Meissen shepherdesses on the mantelpiece. Doubtless Wylde, a connoisseur of the female form, was enjoying the view.
“I think Simeon sees you as something as a threat for Juliet’s affections,” Georgie whispered.
He raised his brows. “There’s no danger of that.”
She shot him a disbelieving look. “Are you seriously telling me that you don’t find my sister attractive?”
He shrugged. “Oh, she’s beautiful, I grant you. A diamond of the first water. But not my type, at all. She’s too young, for starters. And too docile. I like my women with a little more spark.” His smile could have melted rock. “Someone who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to stand up for herself.”
Georgie’s body warmed at his insinuation, then reminded herself that he was being paid to be attentive. His flippant charm meant nothing. It was as natural to him as breathing.
“Simeon is writing me a sonnet, Mr. Wylde.” Juliet sighed soulfully. “Isn’t that romantic?”
“I’m sure you think so, Miss Caversteed,” he said politely.
Georgie fought a snort. Her idea of romance wasn’t a man composing her sonnets. Romance was a strong man standing aside, letting her fight her own battles, and only stepping in if she needed help. What would Simeon have done if he’d been faced with Josiah at Vauxhall? Hit him over the head with a poetry book? She suppressed a smile at the ridiculous image. They said the pen was mightier than the sword, but she’d take Wylde’s swordstick over Simeon’s pencil any day.
“I have immortalized the events in verse,” Simeon announced grandly. “I shall read it to you if you like, Mr. Wylde.”
“Oh, God, no,” Benedict groaned,sotto voce.
“That would be lovely, Mr. Pettigrew,” Georgie said with a wicked glance at Wylde. She lowered her voice. “Juliet thinks Mr. Pettigrew is extremely talented.”
He sent her a droll glance. “Yes, but I bet Juliet also thinks rainbows are made from magical fairy dust and that dragons live in Scotland,” he muttered.
“Who’s to say she’s not right about the dragons?”
“Basic common sense? Complete lack of empirical evidence? Zero credible sightings for hundreds of years?”
“There are plenty of wild, unexplored places in the world—”
He shot her a wicked, glinting look from under his lashes and raised his eyebrows. “I have Wylde places you can explore any time you like, Miss Caversteed.”
She fought an answering smile. Really, it was scandalously improper, to be flirting with him like this. Even worse to be enjoying it quite so much.
Simeon cleared his throat.
“O, thou naughty stripy felon,
Round thou art, just like a melon.”
Wylde gave her a horrified, disbelieving look, and Georgie stifled a laugh. She’d been the unlucky recipient of Simeon’s performances before.
“You are a wicked little fellow,
With your stripes of black and yellow.
Your tiny body is covered in fuzz
