How to put a stop to this farce? He had no cash to bribe his way out. A chronic lack of funds was precisely why he’d been working for Bow Street since his return from France, chasing thief-taker’s rewards.

Could he write the wrong name on the register, to invalidate the marriage? Probably not. Both Knollys and Cotton knew him as Ben Wylde. Ex-Rifle brigade, penniless, cynical veteran of Waterloo. It wasn’t his full name, of course, but it would probably be enough to satisfy the law.

Announcing that his brother happened to be the Earl of Morcott would certainly make matters interesting, but thanks to their father’s profligacy, the estate was mortgaged to the hilt. John had even less money than Benedict.

The unpleasant sensation that he’d been neatly backed into a corner made Benedict’s neck prickle, as if a French sniper had him in his sights. Still, he’d survived worse. He was a master at getting out of scrapes. Even if he was forced to marry this mystery harridan, there were always alternatives. An annulment, for one.

“Might I at least have the name of the lady to whom I’m about to be joined in holy matrimony?” he drawled.

The manservant scowled at the ironic edge to his tone, but the woman laid a silencing hand on his arm and stepped around him.

“You can indeed, sir.” In one smooth movement, she pulled the hood from her head and faced him squarely. “My name is Georgiana Caversteed.”

Benedict cursed in every language he knew.

Chapter 3.

Georgiana Caversteed? What devil’s trick was this?

He knew the name, but he’d never seen the face—until now. God’s teeth, every man in London knew the name. The chit was so rich, she might as well have her own bank. She could have her pick of any man in England. What in God’s name was she doing in Newgate looking for a husband?

Benedict barely remembered not to bow—an automatic response to being introduced to a lady of quality—and racked his brains to recall what he knew of her family. A cit’s daughter. Her father had been in shipping, a merchant, rich as Croesus. He’d died and left the family a fortune.

The younger sister was said to be the beauty of the family, but she must indeed be a goddess, because Georgiana Caversteed was strikingly lovely. Her arresting, heart-shaped face held a small, straight nose and eyes which, in the candlelight, appeared to be dark grey, the color of wet slate. Her brows were full, her lashes long, and her mouth was soft and a fraction too wide.

A swift heat spread throughout his body, and his heart began to pound.