Josie couldn’t stop her gaze from focusing on his lips. Perhaps he might be taught to kiss better.
“About the treasure,” he added.
That snapped her attention away from his mouth. “Shh!” She glanced furtively about, hoping no one had heard. “I thought you didn’t believe in the—in it.”
“We need to talk.”
“Not here and not now. Release me.” Stay away, Mother, just for one more moment.
“Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”
Josie gaped at him. “No! I cannot leave with you. I cannot even be seen with you. Now move away.”
“I’m not asking you to leave with me. I don’t want your virtue. We need to talk.”
Josie shook her head. Did the man understand anything she was telling him? Any moment her mother was going to see her and Westman. If that happened, Josie’s next social event would be her own funeral. “What is wrong with you? People will gossip if they see us together.”
“People always gossip. I don’t care about that.”
Josie wished she didn’t care either. It would be such fun to throw all restraint to the wind and thumb her nose at Society. And she would.
One day.
But right now, her mother was lurking, and Josie valued her life enough to be cautious. “Well, I do care. Now, go away.”
He didn’t move.
“Lord Westman! Are you listening to me? Are you mad?” He frowned in annoyance, and she pushed her advantage. “Oh, dear. I forgot you were in India, and you have one of those horrid tropical diseases, don’t you? The kind that rots your brain from the inside out.” She wished he had a disease. That might explain why he’d turned her down last night. His brain was slowly turning to mush.
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” he said, sounding remarkably lucid for a man in his condition. “I don’t have a disease.”
She waved his protest away. “It’s perfectly all right if you do, but as you are mentally incapacitated, you must listen to me. I. Cannot. Talk. To. You. Here. Understand?”
His eyes blazed blue fire. Time to make her escape.
“Must. Go.” She made a good-bye motion with her hand. “Understand? Bye. Bye.”
He finally released her arm, and she scooted past him. She walked away quickly, not looking back. Thank God, she’d fled before he’d managed to make a scene. She was safe now.
And then because she couldn’t help but give Westman one last look, she peered over her shoulder and smacked right into her mother.
“Josephine, I’ve been looking for you.”
“Wh-why?” Josie prayed to God that Westman had walked away and was now out of sight.
“I noticed you weren’t dancing.” Mavis Hale took Josie’s arm and twined it firmly with her own. “I found a partner for you.”
“I can find a partner,” Josie protested. She tried to extract her arm, but her mother yanked her closer.
“What was that, Josephine? Are you arguing with me?”
Drat! “No, Mother. No.” Lord, please don’t let Mother make me write another fifty-page essay about obeying one’s parents.
“Good, then come along. Lord Crutchkins is waiting.”
“Lord Crutchkins? Mother, no.”
Mavis rounded on her, her brown eyes small and determined. “Are you certain you are not arguing, Josephine? Because I promise I can make your life far worse than one dance with Crutchkins.”
