The only way to be sure would be to remove her fortune from the equation, which was almost impossible. In weaker moments, she’d imagined running away and starting a new life, incognito, where she’d have the potential to be sincerely loved. But the truth was, she appreciated being rich. She was glad she never had to worry about her next meal, or whether she might be able to afford a physician if her mother or sister fell ill. She gave generously to numerous charities—anonymously—to relieve other, less fortunate souls of the same burden.

The contract she’d made Wylde sign in Newgate had been the best solution she could find to weed out fortune hunters.

Wylde turned to her with a teasing smile. “I am seriously regretting signing your bloody bit of paper now.”

Georgie blinked at the way he seemed to read her mind, then smiled at his unabashed honesty. “I am still paying you a thousand pounds,” she reminded him. “In fact, if you’ll step upstairs to my office, Mr. Wylde, you can have your first installment.”

She headed up the spiral staircase, hotly aware of him close behind her, and entered the office reserved for her use. The leather-topped partners desk had a concealed drawer, released by pressing a lever underneath, which held her ledger books and a stash of banknotes. Georgie counted out three hundred pounds then rounded the desk and leaned against the edge as she held the money out toward him.

He shook his head. “I haven’t earned this. A stroll around Vauxhall and one morning call to your house is hardly enough to convince the ton I’m courting you seriously. Nobody saw us together at the Westons’.” He held his arms out to the side, as if offering himself as a servant to do her bidding. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you, my lady? Here I am. At your service.”

His voice had an ironic, slightly mocking tone, but whether it was aimed at her or himself, she didn’t know. Georgie immediately imagined several, outrageously improper, things he could “do for her.” The air between them became strangely charged. There was some emotion in his face that made her stomach knot. He called to every wild and reckless part of her.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “I may not have brought money to this marriage, but I can certainly bring experience.” His eyes burned into hers as he allowed her to see the hunger there, the desire. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider my offer?”

Her heart began to pound. She didn’t need to ask which offer he was talking about. She’d thought of little else for days.

Taking him as her lover would be morally reprehensible. She was, technically, paying for his company. Which would make him—what? Some kind of male concubine? Her brain went a little fuzzy at the thought.