Juliet swayed slightly. “I wish he’d hurry. I really do feel faint.”

Her face had turned quite pale. Alarmed, Georgie put a hand out to steady her.

“Can I be of assistance, ladies?”

Georgie turned at the masculine voice, expecting to see Simeon, but it was Wylde’s handsome face that had appeared next to them. “Mr. Wylde!”

“Miss Caversteed.” He shot her an amused, sympathetic glance then turned to the flustered Juliet and offered his arm. “Miss Juliet, may I escort you home?”

Juliet clutched at his arm like the sole survivor of a shipwreck, her fear of fainting in a public place clearly greater than her desire to wait for Simeon’s aid. “Oh, Mr. Wylde. Thank goodness. Yes, please. Your assistance would be most welcome.”

Georgie glanced across the pond. Simeon had witnessed the entire incident but had been too far away to come to his beloved’s rescue. He hovered at the edge of a small copse of trees, apparently in an agony of indecision now that his chance to play knight-errant had been usurped by another. She shooed him away with a subtle gesture of her hand and turned back to Juliet.

“Were you on your way somewhere, Mr. Wylde?” she asked, as they began to escort Juliet toward the park gate.

“As a matter of fact, I was, Miss Caversteed,” he replied with exaggerated politeness. “I was on my way to call on you.”

Juliet gave a little gasp, which Georgie ignored. “How very fortunate. We are honored, of course.”

They were halfway home when Juliet’s steps faltered, and she touched one hand to her forehead. “Oh! Oh dear. I really do think I’m going to faint.”

Georgie groaned inwardly as her sister sagged elegantly against Wylde’s side.

With a resigned sigh, he caught her before she could crumple to the ground. He bent, hooked one arm behind Juliet’s knees, set the other around her shoulders, and swept her off her feet.

Charlotte gave a scandalized gasp.

He strode along Upper Brook Street like some well-dressed pirate, as if he barely noticed the weight of Juliet’s slim body in his arms—which, considering his wonderful physique, was probably true. Georgie bit back a sting of completely irrational jealousy and tried not to imagine what it would feel like to be held in those strong, capable arms or cradled against that wonderfully broad chest. Darting in front of them, she ran up the front steps, opened the door, and ushered them into the hall.

Wylde, still carrying Juliet, turned this way and that, then shot her a questioning look. “Where do you want her?”

Georgie glanced upwards. “The salon’s upstairs, but you don’t need to—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He simply mounted the stairs two at a time and deposited Juliet gently on the chaise longue in the salon at the front of the house.

He wasn’t even out of breath.