He almost thanked her before he realized he had not invited her and therefore did not care if she liked the room. “Miss Hale, if you were thinking to form a connection with my family, would it not have been more appropriate for you to call on my sister?”
She snorted. “Mrs. Withrow? Ha! She would never have received me. I’m the granddaughter of Nathan Hale, the pirate. Our families are enemies, you know.”
Out of patience and lacking the strength to follow the twists and turns the girl continually threw at him, Stephen sunk into his chair and lifted the snifter of brandy. The girl moved closer, raising an eyebrow when he drank. He looked at the glass, then at her, and said, “What? Would you like a glass?”
“Oh, you are too kind.” She took a seat in the chair opposite his desk. “Yes, thank you.”
He thought about refusing her. A girl of her age should not be drinking anything stronger than watered wine, but then again, he had offered. What had he expected her to say? With a shrug, he reached for a clean glass, filled it half full, and moved it toward her. She eyed it, then him, then pushed it back at him.
“Ahem.”
Clearly, she did not appreciate only being given a half measure.
Stephen almost laughed, something he could not remember having done in years. Instead, he nudged the glass back with one finger, and said, “Drink it.”
“You are certainly bossy.” She lifted the snifter and took a dainty sip. To her credit, she did not screw up her face. But her eyes watered.
“And you’re certainly forward. I know who you are and who your grandfather was. In light of that knowledge, I must ask why you are here. You realize that we will never be friends.”
“Oh, but I don’t want to be friends,” she said, lifting the brandy and taking another small sip. “In fact, I could not be more pleased that our families are enemies. It serves my purpose.”
Stephen’s hand itched to pour another glass of brandy, but he restrained himself, not wanting to have to offer the girl one as well. “And might one inquire as to your purpose, Miss Hale?”
“Of course. I’ve been trying to tell you.”
That was debatable, but Stephen held his tongue. She lifted her glass and took another drink, this time downing the last remnants. With a thwack, she set the snifter on the desk, rose, and put both hands between them.
“Lord Westman, I have come to be your mistress.”
Chapter Three
Josephine frowned at her choice of words. Mistress was not the term she wanted. Perhaps she should have used lover? To be one’s mistress implied control and protection. Josie didn’t need Westman’s protection, and she certainly wouldn’t allow a man to control her. But becoming Westman’s lover was a good way to get close to him and discover where he’d hidden his half of the treasure map. Not to mention, Ashley was right. He was delicious to look at and beyond the pale as a potential husband.
“Oh, good God.” On the other side of the desk, Westman fumbled for the decanter of brandy and poured himself another glass. He poured carelessly and sloshed a good bit over the rim, staining the documents on the desk. Josie hoped the map was not sitting there. She watched him down the liquid and scrub a hand over his face.
He had a nice face. It was oval with a square, straight nose and generous lips. The lines at his mouth were fine and added character, as did the faint brown stubble on his upper lip and chin. His eyebrows were thick and dark and his long eyelashes framed pale blue eyes.
Josie could have looked into those eyes forever. They were so beautiful, so expressive. His long hair was dark brown and fell in an unruly mop over his forehead. He had either taken the tousled look of the dandies to the extreme or he had not bothered to brush his hair today. Josie was betting on the latter.
Undoubtedly, this man would make a wonderful lover. He was obviously not vain or self-absorbed, and he was handsome, intelligent, and she’d heard him described as witty. He’d been quite the rake in his day, and that meant he probably had the experience she lacked. Best of all, even if her affair with Westman was discovered, there was no way she would ever be allowed to marry him. She could have a torrid affair and find the map, then be free to search for new adventures.
Westman set his glass down and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Hale, what did you just say?”
“I said”—she ran a finger along the crystal rim of her glass—“well, what I meant to say is that I want you as my lover.”
He reached for the decanter again, but Josie put a hand over his.
“I’m sure this must be something of a surprise to you.”
Scowling, he lifted her hand. “You could say that. And while your offer is a very tempting one, I’m afraid I must refuse.” He dropped her hand back on her side of the desk.
Unperturbed, Josie smiled. “I knew you would say that.” She had expected him to refuse at first. Any man with a modicum of honor would refuse her . . . at first.
He frowned at her. “I assure you I am in earnest.”
“Of course, you are,” she said to placate him. “My cousin says you are a rake, but I told her you reformed when you became the earl.”
“I think you mean that as a compliment.” He stood and paced behind his desk.
