And then suddenly they tripped over the books Josie had left out, and she almost fell. Westman caught her, pulling her close. Close enough for her to remember that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Close enough for her to remember the way it had felt in his arms last night. Close enough that she had to get away.
Struggling, she separated from him and turned, attempting to catch her breath and her lost composure.
“I’m sorry,” he said from behind her.
She wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but she nodded her acceptance anyway. “I found the journal in this crate,” she said. “I suggest we search the rest of its contents and see what else we find.”
But two hours later, they had nothing to show for their work except the journal. They’d been through almost all the crates, but only the one Josie had searched seemed to hold anything of James Doubleday’s. Exhausted, and knowing she had to get home before sunrise, Josie plopped on the floor beside the journal. “I can’t look any more,” she wheezed, out of breath, her lungs choked from the dust. “I can hardly keep my eyes open, and I have to be at Catie’s by ten for more ball preparations.”
“Catie is your cousin?” Westman asked, piling items back into a crate. He glanced at her. “The one who just married Lord Valentine?”
“The very same.”
Still crouching, he ran a hand through his hair, probably trying to put it to rights, but he left a smudge on his forehead. “There was some interesting talk surrounding that marriage. Something about him being tricked.”
Josie kept her mouth closed. As a rule, she didn’t gossip. As a law, she didn’t talk about her cousins’ personal matters.
“I am acquainted with Valentine,” Westman said. “I know he was planning to marry Elizabeth Fullbright, Lady Valentine’s sister.” When Josie still didn’t reply, he said, “You have some interesting relatives, Miss Hale. Are all of you troublemakers or only the women?”
At that, she laughed. “I assure you that neither Lady Valentine nor my cousin Lady Madeleine are troublemakers. As for myself and Miss Brittany, I will not venture to say.”
“And only Lady Valentine married?” He shook his head. “Unusual family. I would have thought the four of you would be mothers twice-over by now.”
Josie snorted. “Not likely. We’re not only friends and cousins, but we’re also members of the Spinster’s Club.”
Westman looked unimpressed.
“It’s a club we formed as children. We promised never to marry.”
“Obviously Lady Valentine broke the rules.”
“She did, but don’t think it will happen again. The circumstances of Catie’s marriage were rather unconventional, as you’ve said. The rest of us will remain unmarried.”
“But not virgins,” he said, giving her an appraising look. “Your behavior when we first met makes a bit more sense to me now. But do you really think you’ll never marry? How old are you?”
Josie huffed. “As though I would answer an impertinent question like that!”
He rolled his eyes. “Eighteen? Nineteen?”
“Eighteen.”
“Why, you’re still a child. You’ll marry,” he said, with a decided nod.
Josie glared at him, then leaned over and poked him in his arrogant chest. “Statements like that are precisely the reason I will never marry. I don’t know what decisions my cousins will make, but long ago, I made a vow to myself that I would never marry a man who acted like—well, like you!”
He sat. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. You’re exactly like every other man.”
“Sweetheart,” he said with a rakish grin, “I assure you, I’m not.”
“Oh, please.” She pushed away from him, fanning her face. The room felt too hot and too small, and her gown felt too small. “You are. I am so tired of arrogant, domineering, bossy men. I am so tired of uninformed, egotistical men like you telling me what I will and won’t do. You don’t know me,” she shot at him, her voice rising more than she would have liked. “You don’t know my heart or my mind. If I say I won’t marry, I mean it, and all you’ve done is give me every reason to keep reaffirming that vow.”
“For a woman who has her own good measure of arrogance and who is more than a little bossy, you certainly have a low opinion of men.”
“No,” Josie said, rising. “I don’t. I love men. I want to be in love with a man, and I want to be loved by a man. I want what you did to me last night to happen again a hundred times. But I will be damned if I am going to shackle myself to a man so I can have it. I’ll be an independent woman, if it kills me.”
Westman rose beside her, his face now devoid of the earlier humor. “And exactly how do you intend to be this independent woman? You are a lady, the niece of an earl. You can’t go about seducing men all over London. You don’t have the same liberties lower-class women have.”
