She lunged at him again, this time with teeth bared, but Stephen avoided the thrust by cutting to the side and, in the same motion, pushing her hard on the bed. She went down in a tangle of soft feminine flesh and wild red curls.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He grasped the hand she raised to hit him and pinned it to the mattress with its twin. He was on top of her now—naked—straddling her hips, his eyes locked with hers.
“Good morning to you too, my lord.” Her tone was acerbic, her face a mask of calm. She could pretend to be unmoved by her position all she wanted, but he could feel her tremble, and he’d seen the fright in her eyes when he’d first grabbed her.
“Don’t play games with me, Miss Hale. How did you get here?”
“The same way you did. By horse and carriage.” She tried to wriggle one wrist free and scowled at him when he held it fast. “You’re hurting me,” she said.
“I don’t care.” But he loosened his hold a fraction. “How did you find me?”
She gave an exaggerated sigh and looked away, turning her head to the side. “You really don’t have very much faith in me, do you Lord Westman? Surely you realize anyone with half a brain could follow a nobleman traveling in his own coach.”
“Goddamn it!” he said. Of course, he knew that, but why was she following him to begin with? Why wasn’t the little hellion at home? Why hadn’t her mother grabbed her after the ball and locked her away for the next decade?
“Blaspheming won’t change anything,” she said, and he glanced back to see those bright green eyes staring at him, hard as emeralds. “I’m not going home, and if you try and get rid of me, I’ll only show up where you least expect it. I will find that treasure.”
And she meant it, too. She’d do exactly as she said, and what could he do to stop her?
Tie her up and leave her? She’d find a way out.
Take her home? She’d proven too many times she could escape.
The sad truth was that if she weren’t with him, she would probably be roaming the countryside by herself.
For once in his life, a woman was safer with him than away from him. He wanted to put his head in his hands and laugh at the irony.
She must have felt his capitulation because her next words were spoken more gently. “I’ll make you glad I’m with you.” Her voice was husky and low, and Stephen felt his body react instantly. Without intending to, he’d put himself in the worst position imaginable—in bed with Josephine Hale. She was too close, too available, too beautiful.
“I’m regretting it already,” he whispered, refusing to meet her gaze, knowing he’d see the same desire he felt reflected in those green depths.
“This might be our last chance,” she said, and Stephen had to meet her eyes then.
Did she mean what he thought she did?
One quick glance at her face told him she did. Arms shaking with the enormity of restraint he was exercising, Stephen released her wrists and pushed away from her.
He was naked, and the proof of his arousal was evident. She didn’t look away, like a lady should. But, hell, she didn’t do anything a lady should.
Stephen began searching the room desperately for his trousers. Had he left them on the floor or . . . There on the chair.
Like a man fleeing an angry mob, Stephen flung himself from the bed and toward the chair. Snatching up the trousers, he leaned over to pull them on.
“You’re wasting your time,” Josephine said from the bed behind him. “They’ll only come off again.” Stephen turned to look at her. She gave him a cat smile, then reached up to unfasten the buttons of the man’s shirt she was wearing and tugged it out of the waistband of her trousers. Stephen swung back around, but as if to punctuate her statement, her shirt fluttered like a white flag onto the floor before him.
Oh, God. Oh, no.
This was too much temptation. This, no mortal man could resist.
He closed his eyes to shut out the picture of Josephine, bare breasted on the bed behind him. But the action only served to enhance the mental image.
He had to get out of here. He had to escape, now, while he still could.
He fastened his trousers and looked about for his shirt. “I’ll check on the coach and horses,” Stephen managed to sputter out. Where the hell was his damn shirt? “I’ll return in a few moments. In the meantime, I suggest you dress yourself.”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured, still behind him. And he could have sworn he felt the tip of her fingers on the back of his leg. He jumped forward.
“In fact, I don’t think you’ll make it out the door.”
