Chapter 12.

Wylde’s dark brows lifted. “What do you mean?”

Georgie thought quickly. “Well, we can’t announce that we’re already married, obviously. That would be far too scandalous. But what if we led up to it slowly? What if you courted me, quite properly, and ‘proposed’ at the end of the season? Then we could marry again—in public—and our relationship would be out in the open.”

He didn’t say anything, so she rushed on, amazed at her own audacity. “We can both still go our separate ways once we’re out of the public eye. But this way, I’ll have the status of a wife instead of a spinster. Single young ladies of the ton are guarded more heavily than any treasure in the British Museum. As a married woman, I’d have far more freedom.”

She waved her hand in what she hoped was a nonchalant gesture. “I doubt any serious action would be needed on your part. A conversation or two at a party. A few smoldering looks across the dance floor. Drives in the park. Afternoon tea. The usual thing.”

The thought of someone as gorgeous as Benedict Wylde lavishing attention on her—even if it was only for show—made her stomach flutter. He was a creature entirely outside her scope of experience. But she’d already had more excitement in the moments they’d shared than in the rest of her life put together. Why not seize this chance to enjoy the attentions of such a fascinating man? Even if it was only until the end of the season.

Wylde’s expression was bland, but a faint hint of devilry twinkled in his eyes as he contemplated the idea. His lips curved in that provoking, teasing way. “Am I to pretend to fall catastrophically in love with you?”

She levelled him a look that indicated just how unlikely that was. “Of course not. Not a soul would believe it. You can, however, fall irrevocably in love with my bank balance.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she didn’t let him speak. “The ton will assume you’re a fortune hunter, yes, and I’ll be pitied as a foolish, romantic dupe, blinded by your handsome face. But who cares? We’ll both know the truth.”

He chuckled at her cheerful cynicism. “Handsome, eh?”

She sent him a withering look. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. You can’t be oblivious to the hordes of women throwing themselves at your feet at every social engagement.”

“It’s hardly flattering for either of us, is it? And I think you’re underrating your own charms.” His eyes roved over her again, spreading heat wherever they touched. “I happen to find competence and self-possession extremely attractive in a woman.”