But she’d wanted a lover, had she not? And here she was, legally married to this ridiculously attractive man who sounded more than willing to accept the role. He wasn’t pretending to love her. He was simply offering physical pleasure in response to a blistering mutual attraction.

What was the worst that could happen? There was a risk that she could conceive a child, but according to Tilly, there were ways to prevent such things. Georgie was rather vague on what they were, admittedly, Tilly not having been forthcoming with the details, but a worldly man like Wylde would know what measures to take, surely.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as he took a step closer.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been giving serious thought to what you said the other day,” she managed.

“Have you indeed? And what have you concluded?”

She gripped the edge of the desk. “That I should like to take you up on your offer.”

He stilled, and she thought she saw a flare of triumph in his gaze. And then his focus flicked to the desk behind her, as if he were actually contemplating taking her right then and there. Her knees almost buckled. He took another step, deliberately crowding her between his hard body and the edge of the desk, and she swallowed, almost sick with anticipation. To be pursued with such purposeful intensity was terrifying. And wonderful.

She gave a half laugh, half gasp. “I didn’t mean—”

Without a word, he lifted her by the waist and sat her on top of the desk. The money rustled against his shirt as she splayed her hands on his chest. Her knees parted automatically, and he stepped between them. His body was vibrating with desire, his heart pounding beneath her palm. Only a few layers separated them—his breeches, her skirts. She could feel the heat of him.

Their eyes met and held as he grasped the hem of her skirts and slid his hand over her knee. The rustle of wool and cambric was deafening. Suddenly impatient, Georgie reached up, caught his nape, and tugged his head down to hers. She parted her lips, desperate for a taste of him, just as Edmund Shaw’s jovial shout echoed up the stairs.

“Are you up there, Miss Caversteed? I do apologize. I just went to get some lunch. I wasn’t expecting you. Is there something I can help you with?”

They sprung apart guiltily, and Georgie was sure her own face held the same look of burning frustration as Wylde’s. She cleared her throat and called down.

“No, no, it’s quite all right, Edmund. This was an impromptu visit. I was just giving Mr. Wylde a tour. We must be getting on now.” There was only a slight, betraying quaver in her voice, thank goodness.