“You haven’t told anyone you’re married,” he whispered.

She stiffened. Was that a threat? Did he mean to blackmail her? To demand money for his silence? “We need to talk, Mr. Wylde. Somewhere private.”

His teeth flashed white. “Somewhere private? At a ball? Unlikely. What if we’re caught alone together? Just think of the scandal.” His tone was deeply ironic. “Why, we’d probably be forced to marry. Again.”

Georgie dragged air into her constricted lungs. “No, thank you, Mr. Wylde. Marrying you once was quite enough.”

They completed another turn, and she tried to ignore how effortlessly they seemed to fit together, despite his greater size. He somehow managed to position his thigh intimately between hers with alarming regularity. Her entire body was warm, humming. The waltz truly was an indecent dance.

“I don’t even know your full name,” she hissed irritably. “Are we even legally married?”

He’d signed the name Ben Wylde in Newgate, but it seemed his given name was Benedict. That suited him—something lordly and autocratic. And rather fitting that it should include the word “edict.” No doubt he was accustomed to bossing people around. Well, he wouldn’t succeed with her.

“The name I gave in Newgate wasn’t my full name, but yes, it was enough to bind us together. I checked. Our marriage is legal.”

Georgie was finding it hard to draw a breath. She forced herself to look away from his sinfully inviting lips—even more noticeable now he’d removed that scruffy beard—and exhale slowly. “You know I had no expectation of you remaining in the country.”

“I had no plans to be transported.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you say something?”

His fingers tightened on hers. “I don’t recall having much say in the matter, madam, when I was dragged from my cell in manacles and forced to the altar.”

A guilty heat warmed her neck. He had a point. She might as well have held a gun to his head, for all the choice she’d given him.

“We can’t talk here,” he murmured. “Come and see me tomorrow.”

Georgie glanced around. Mother had rejoined Juliet at the side of the dance floor. Both of them wore identical expressions of avid curiosity. Georgie bit back the torrent of accusations that were on the tip of her tongue and shot them a bright, reassuring smile before turning back to Wylde. “What do you mean ‘come and see me’?”

“I can’t very well call on you, can I? Not if you want to avoid a scandal—which I assume is the case, since you’ve kept the news of our marriage from the ton.” His gaze met hers. “I’m sure a woman who can arrange a clandestine visit to Newgate can get herself to the back entrance of the Tricorn Club in St. James’ at ten o’clock tomorrow morning without being seen.”