The service proceeded with all due solemnity. Georgie, comparing this wedding to her first one, in the dark and gloomy bowels of Newgate, shook her head in wonder. Who would have thought that such an inauspicious beginning would end so happily? This time, there was no hint of uncertainty or trepidation in her breast. She meant every word of her vows, and she was equally confident that Benedict meant his.

She couldn’t wait to start their life together. Benedict was a far cry from some idealized courtly lover, but life with him would never be dull. It would be fun, irreverent, playful, breathless, and passionate. It would be the best adventure ever.

There was a moment of levity when the vicar came to the part in the ceremony where Benedict promised to endow Georgie with “all his worldly goods.” Benedict rolled his eyes and sent her a droll glance, and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing out loud. And when the vicar pronounced them “man and wife,” Benedict swept her into his arms and kissed her so soundly that she dropped her wildflower bouquet. Mother resorted to her smelling salts.

Now, three blissful weeks later, Georgie sat in her new office in the town house she and Benedict had rented a stone’s throw from Grosvenor Square, and gazed at her handsome husband across the large leather-topped desk.

“What is it?” Benedict asked. “You said you wanted to see me. Is anything the matter?”

She smiled at his concern. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I had Edmund Shaw drop these off a short while ago.” She tapped her fingers on the two folded vellum pages in front of her. “It’s just a small business matter we need to attend to.” She unfolded the first document and handed it to him. He took it reluctantly, and she watched in amusement as his brows lifted.

“This is the contract I signed in Newgate.”

“It is, indeed. Would you mind throwing it on the fire, please?”

He frowned at her, uncomprehending. “What? Why?”

She broke the red wax seal on the second document. “I have a different agreement for you to sign.”

He let out a good-natured groan. “Not another one. You’re obsessed, woman. What is it this time? Names for our future children?”

“No.” She rounded the desk, took the paper from his hands, and carefully ripped it in half. Then in half again. And then she threw it on the fire. The dry vellum burned cheerfully in the grate.

Benedict looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. She waved at the paper on the desk. “That new document gives us both equal access to my fortune. With sensible stipulations, of course. Any withdrawal of over five thousand pounds will require joint signatures, for example.”

He seemed to be a little dazed. “That’s—very sensible.”