His gaze caught hers, and Georgie thought her body would go up in flames. Good God, what did one say to that? “That’s very magnanimous of you,” she managed weakly.

The corner of his mouth curled upward. “Isn’t it? Now, tell me honestly, when you came up with your lunatic plan to marry a criminal, surely you didn’t intend to eschew male company for the rest of your life?”

“As a matter of fact, I’d planned on taking a lover once I returned to Lincolnshire. A widow can do as she pleases, as long as she’s circumspect.”

Georgie marveled at her own boldness. What was it about him that made her say whatever was on her mind, however indiscreet?

He nodded, entirely unperturbed. Did nothing shock him?

“And now I’ve ruined your plans by refusing to be hanged or shipped off to Australia. I do apologize.” His roguish grin was in no way apologetic. He leaned forward again. “As your legally wedded husband, one could almost argue that it’s my duty to teach you such things.”

Her happiness evaporated. Of course. That’s all she was to him—a duty. An entertaining one, quite possibly, but a duty nonetheless. Theirs was a marriage in name only. Any emotional entanglements—which would naturally ensue if she agreed to such an outrageous offer—would only complicate things when it came time to part ways.

If only it wasn’t so tempting to say yes.

“That aspect of our union is not something I require your help with,” she said.

He accepted her withdrawal with a good-natured shrug. “All right, but if you ever change your mind, do let me know.”

Georgie decided it was time to steer the subject into safer territory. “Did you learn anything of import at Vauxhall?” The only thing she’d discovered was how nice it felt to be in his arms, how quickly he could turn her blood to fire and her brain to mush.

She had to stop thinking about it.

“I did. My contact gave me a lead to a man who could be involved.” He glanced over at Simeon and Juliet, but neither of them was paying any attention. A bomb could have gone off, and they wouldn’t have noticed.

“And—?” Georgie prompted. “Who is it?”

He frowned at her. “I’m not sure I should tell you. Issues of national security, and all that.”

She shot him a pointed look. “You don’t think I can keep a secret, Mr. Wylde?”

“Good point, Mrs. Wylde,” he whispered.

“So who’s the lead?”

He sighed in defeat, as if sensing her determination. “A man named Barry O’Meara.”

“Never heard of him.”