Cool air rushed into the space between them as Wylde stepped back abruptly. Georgie sucked in a breath, glad of the bookcase to support her rubbery legs. Her lips throbbed, her breasts felt achy and full, and her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs.

He retreated another step, tugging at the bottom of his waistcoat to straighten it. His hair was rumpled from where she’d run her fingers through it.

He cleared his throat. “Right then. Good job.” His gaze dropped to her chest, which was still rising and falling in agitation, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “Excellent distraction, Mrs. Wylde. Top notch. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Georgie pushed off from the bookcase and tried to match his insouciant manner as she followed him back out into the hall.

The fortuitous broken decanter in the card room had diverted everyone’s attention. It was an easy enough matter for them to gather their things and take their leave. Wylde hailed a cab, one with a closed roof, and handed her inside.

She could barely see him in the dim interior. He was a shadowed form on the opposite seat, but his masculine presence filled the space, impossible to ignore. She could hear his breathing, slow and steady, totally in control, as if the passion that had flared between them only minutes before had never existed.

The memory of her enthusiastic response made her cheeks burn. His kiss had just been part of the game. It meant nothing to him. Maybe he’d thought to give the innocent little virgin a bit of excitement to round off the evening.

And yet, he’d kissed her for far longer than necessary.

Glad of the concealing darkness, Georgie edged forward on the seat, tugged up her skirts, and unfastened the rolled papers. The wash of cool air on her upper legs made her acutely aware that she was exposing herself. She thrust papers in his general direction. “Here.”

His hand closed over hers unerringly. God, how much could he see in the dark? She hurriedly fluffed her skirts back down—and was sure she heard him chuckle. The coach slowed as it joined the back of the queue at the Westons’.

“Are you coming in?” she asked.

“No. I want to take a look at our ill-gotten gains.”

She quashed a wave of frustration. She deserved a look at those papers too. But she could hardly demand that he take her back to his lodgings. She’d been absent long enough. “I want to know what’s in them.”

“I’ll call on you soon.”

The door swung open, and the coachman let down the step. Wylde, half-lit by the sudden shaft of illumination, took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her heart gave a funny little thump.

“Thank you for your help tonight,” he said huskily.

“My pleasure,” she breathed.