“I never was, officially. As far as the ton is concerned, I was languishing in the Fleet for a gambling debt.”

“So why—?”

“Since leaving the army, I’ve been working for Sir Nathaniel Conant, Chief Magistrate of Bow Street.”

Her surprise must have shown on her face because he smiled. “Bow Street usually deals with lower and middle-class criminals, so when a case comes up that involves the ton, none of the regular runners can get very far. That’s where I come in. I have access to all levels of society. I assist with any cases that require contact with the aristocracy.”

Georgie’s mind reeled. Why would a man like him choose to fight crime when he could be sunning himself like a gilded peacock on some country estate or living on credit and his aristocratic name and sponging off friends and relations, like half the ton?

“I’m trying to discover the connection between some wealthy nob, a bunch of Kent smugglers, and a plot to rescue Bonaparte from exile.”

She sat back in her chair. Of all the tales she’d expected him to spin, this one topped the lot. What he was describing was dangerous work. “Why?”

He slanted her an ironic look. “Not from any burning sense of patriotism, I can assure you. Patriotism got me shot in Spain and nearly blown to pieces in Belgium. I need the money.”

Disappointment made her stomach sink. Ah. He’d merely been biding his time before asking for cash. “Did you know who I was, when we wed?”

“I knew of you. Georgiana Caversteed, the shipping heiress.”

She tightened her grip on her reticule. “Did you think you would become rich by marrying me?”

His lips quirked again. “Not after I read and signed your waiver. That was well done, by the way. Wonderfully emasculating. Although the five hundred pounds was most appreciated.” He shrugged, as if the loss of the rest of her fortune was of no consequence to him.

Georgie didn’t know what to make of that. No one had ever dismissed her money quite so casually. Her wealth usually hovered in the background of every conversation, a silent, unacknowledged barrier to true friendship and trust. She shook her head. Everyone wanted something, and Wylde was no different. She just had to find out what it was.

“So, we can’t get an annulment. What about a divorce?” he asked.

“You would have to petition that I had been adulterous.”

His quizzical gaze raked her, from the top of her head, down over her breasts, to her toes and back, as if he could somehow see whether another man’s hands had touched her. “And that hasn’t been the case?”