“Especially when he thought he was the lead horse in the race,” Georgie finished dryly. She tossed her head. “He won’t find out anything. And besides, even if he does, my marriage was perfectly legal. There’s nothing he can do about it. He’s just furious because the Caversteed fortune has slipped through his greedy, grasping fingers.”

Chapter 6.

Lady Langton’s ballroom was the usual wash of vapid chatter, politics, rivalries, witticisms, and gossip. Georgie stood next to her mother and feigned polite interest in the assorted comings and goings.

She was happy. Really. Everything was wonderful. Today—her twenty-fifth birthday—she’d finally become sole, legal owner of Caversteed Trading and Shipping. The family’s future was secure. Josiah’s plans had been stymied.

So why did she feel as if she were in an odd sort of limbo?

She’d blame it on the usual melancholy of being another year older and still unwed, but she was wed, wasn’t she? Maybe that was the problem. She was a married woman without a husband. A wife, yet still a virgin. What a mess.

She gazed across the dance floor and tried to ignore the sense of dissatisfaction that had plagued her ever since she’d left Newgate. According to her original plan, she should have been a widow by now. Instead, she had a husband, somewhere out there in the world.

Her stomach gave an anxious flutter every time she thought of the rogue she’d married. Their encounter had left her with a restless awareness of her own body, a strange yearning. Looking back, she was amazed at her own boldness. Her memories of that night had taken on elements of a dream, or a bout of madness.

She had to stop thinking about him.

It had been three weeks since she’d summoned her mother and sister into the library and calmly explained that she’d married a convict to avoid Cousin Josiah. Mother had taken the news surprisingly well. She’d long ago abandoned any hope of Georgie landing a decent husband, and she’d never particularly liked Cousin Josiah, so she sympathized with Georgie’s aversion to marrying him, if not her choice of alternative.

In addition, Mother was blessed with a talent for simply ignoring things she didn’t want to acknowledge, like outrageous dressmakers’ bills, the ruinous cost of claret, and wayward eldest daughters who secretly married criminals. Her main concern had been that the ton might find out about Georgie’s “foolish act,” as she called it. No scandal could be allowed to jeopardize Juliet’s chances of a brilliant match. She’d pronounced the whole affair an “unfortunate incident best forgotten,” and had sworn both Georgie and Juliet to secrecy.

“Do try one of these flans, Georgiana.”

Georgie turned. Only her mother ever called her Georgiana. And Pieter, of course, whenever she did something outrageous.