She tried to ignore the feeling his appreciative gaze produced; it was as if she were basking in the warm glow of his approval. But it was a rare thing, to encounter a man who was neither astonished nor disgusted by her knowledge.

“The man who makes the instruments for my ships would be one of those experts,” she said. “His name is Mr. Harrison. Perhaps he can give you some insight. He may have supplied parts for this submarine or be able to suggest the name of someone else who might have.”

“That is a capital idea.” Wylde slapped his palms on his knees and stood, apparently having decided it was time for her to leave. Georgie did the same, swallowing a twinge of pique. She’d been enjoying their discussion.

He stepped around the desk, picked up her bonnet, and handed it to her. “Since you know this chap, and where he works, that makes you the ideal person to accompany me and make the introductions. Shall we say tomorrow, ten o’clock?”

She paused in the act of retying the ribbon of her bonnet and tried not to let her inner leap of excitement show. “You want me to pursue this case with you?”

He placed his hands on his hips in a vaguely combative stance. “What of it? Fate, or luck, or whatever else you want to call it—maybe some higher power with an exceptionally warped sense of humor—seems to have thrust you, someone with an exceptional knowledge of seafaring matters, into an investigation that requires precisely those same skills. Who am I to ignore that kind of assistance, hmm?”

She had no answer to that.

“Don’t think you’ll be getting half the reward money if we catch Johnstone, though,” he cautioned. “This is still my case. You’re just assisting.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of it,” Georgie protested truthfully.

“Well, good. You have quite enough money of your own.”

She choked back a surprised laugh. Nobody had ever dismissed her fortune with such casual levity before.

He tilted his head and surveyed her from head to toe. “I never thought you’d end up being useful, Mrs. Wylde. Decorative, yes. Irritating? Undoubtedly. But useful? Never.”

Georgie opened her mouth to berate him, but he laid his index finger over her lips, and she sucked in a little gasp of surprise. Her stomach swooped as if she’d just driven over a jolt in the road or cleared a fence on her horse. The contact of his warm skin made her lips tingle.

“Perhaps if we’re successful, I’ll quit Bow Street and we can set up a rival agency: Wylde and Wylde, independent investigators. No job too small. No reward too big.”