He smiled down at her. “I do believe we’ve just given Clara Cockburn something to discuss at her next dinner party. I’ve spent a conspicuous amount of time escorting you through one of London’s most popular attractions, in the very proper company of your sister and mother. Not once have I attempted to lure you off the path of virtuousness and into the shrubbery. People will be wondering what’s wrong with me.”

As one they turned, and sure enough, Lady Cockburn’s fan had whisked up to cover her mouth as she leaned in to speak to her companion. Her eyes flashed over at Georgie and Ben with speculative interest.

Benedict raised Georgie’s hand and kissed the back of it in farewell, just to fan the flames. Her cheeks pinked charmingly.

“I can guarantee that within a quarter of an hour Whites’ betting book will be filled with speculation as to whether you’re to be my next mistress . . or something more permanent,” he said.

“Well then, I suppose we can call the evening a success,” Georgie murmured back. “Since that is precisely what we set out to achieve. Your work here is done, Mr. Wylde. At least for tonight. You are released from your duties.”

“Your servant, ma’am,” Benedict said, with only a trace of irony. He bowed and left.

Chapter 18.

Georgie was still trying to decide what to do about Josiah’s assault and Wylde’s almost-kiss two days later.

Mother had finally yielded to Juliet’s moping and allowed Simeon to call at the house, but since she was upstairs with a headache, Georgie had been designated as her sister’s chaperone. She was now trapped in the upstairs parlor pretending to read a book and being forced to listen to Simeon compose his latest masterwork: “The Ballad of the Bee Sting.”

Georgie was seriously considering singeing her own skirts as an excuse to leave the room when Mrs. Potter announced a new caller. She glanced up, pathetically grateful for any interruption, and her heart stuttered as Wylde stepped into the room. His hair was windblown, and he looked as devastating as ever in a pair of buff breeches, a snowy-white shirt, and a forest-green jacket.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Wylde,” Juliet said listlessly, and immediately turned back to her beau.

Simeon looked up from the bureau and sent him a cool nod of acknowledgment. “Wylde.”

Benedict returned the nod solemnly. “Pettigrew.” He crossed the room and took a seat next to Georgie on the sofa. “Afternoon, Miss Caversteed. I trust you’ve recovered from your adventures at Vauxhall?”