Why couldn’t the woman understand that once her reputation was gone, she couldn’t get it back? Once she’d lost her family’s love, it was gone forever.
God, he hated himself sometimes. He hated that he had to be the one to take the light of excitement and exploration out of her eyes.
But what the hell was he going to do if something happened to her? Who was he to protect her? He’d never saved anyone. Hell, he couldn’t even save himself.
She’d be safer at home, safer under her parents’ watchful eyes. Well, he couldn’t exactly say they were watchful as she’d been sneaking out of her house and coming to his every night for almost two weeks now. So perhaps he would have to make them watchful.
With a smile, Stephen reached for the door to the assembly room.
He spotted Josephine Hale immediately. Tall with that flame of red hair, she was easy to spot.
Stephen took a breath. She was going to kill him. He forced one foot forward, then the other, and he was halfway across the ballroom before she looked away from her conversation with her cousins and saw him coming. Her eyes were windows to her thoughts.
Do not do it! she screamed at him silently. Do not come over here.
He marched on, and the heads of the ton began to turn. The whispers rose to a hiss, and the fans fluttered like hummingbirds’ wings.
Josephine turned her back to him and tried to urge her cousins to walk with her. They gave her perplexed looks, and it wasn’t until Lady Madeleine saw him coming and guessed his intent, that her mouth dropped open. “Oh, no,” he heard her say.
With a smile he dropped a bow and held out his hand. “Miss Hale,” he said loudly, so that everyone now watching them—and that was a good portion of those not dancing—could not help but hear or read his lips. “May I have this dance?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Do you see why I hate him?” Josie said, hours later, as she sat crushed together with her cousins on one side of the Valentine town coach.
“I thought your mother would faint,” Maddie said from her right.
“I thought she would cry,” Ashley said from the left.
“You are sadly mistaken,” Josie informed her. “That’s how she looks when she’s contemplating murder.”
“You were only dancing,” Lord Valentine said oh-so-reasonably from the other side of the carriage, where he was seated beside his wife, Catie.
“Dancing with Lord Westman,” Josie shot back. “Do you know what that means?” She was practically screaming, and Valentine shrank back slightly.
“Apparently not.”
“I am doomed. As soon as I step foot in the town house, I will be subjected to tortures none of you can imagine.”
“Lord, Josie! Must you be so dramatic?” Catie asked. “And if you were already in so much trouble, why did you sneak away and come with us? Your mother has probably sent men out to search for you by now.”
“Probably. And it’s all Westman’s fault. The dratted man!”
A Hale and a Doubleday dancing. It was a tale to rival Romeo and Juliet. Josie had been fuming, even as she’d accepted Westman’s hand. What else could she do?
And so Josie had danced with him, and she had told herself that she detested every second in his presence, every touch, every lingering glance. But the truth was that he set her on fire. Even boiling mad at him, she wanted to grab him and kiss him.
What was wrong with her? She should hate him. He’d promised to be her partner and then deserted her. He knew how important the treasure was to her, and yet he virtually insured she would not be able to go after it. He’d lied to her, betrayed her.
Oh, very well. Catie was right. Josie was being a bit dramatic. She was sure he was doing everything for her own good and all that rot.
But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Much.
Or at all. What did she care if Westman worried about her safety and whether or not she was protected? What did she care if he climbed walls to shield her or stood guard over her in Seven Dials? Of course, it made her feel warm and secure and cared for. But what use did she have for those feelings?
Josie was no wilting violet.
