“Perhaps we should turn back,” Josie said. Her teeth were chattering, and she let Westman hear it. He’d already given her his coat, so it was not as though he could do more to warm her. But it was easier to blame him for her discomfort than her own single-minded search for the treasure. If she’d only been willing to wait until morning . . .
Westman ran a hand through his hair, holding some of the longer strands that the wind whipped out of his face. “You may be right. Even if the rocks taper off up ahead, we must still circle back to Polperro. It’ll take most of the night.”
Most of the night. The words fell heavy as stones on the sand. She was tired and hungry and cold, and she just wanted to be back at the inn. Why had she ever thought she wanted adventure? Her pampered life in London had obviously not prepared her for it.
Now, Westman was another story. She had to admit that he’d impressed her. He wasn’t some spoiled English nobleman. He was cunning and brave and athletic. The climb down the rocks had left her panting for breath. Westman hadn’t even been winded, despite the fact that his leg was injured.
“Look,” Westman said finally, “let’s go a bit farther, past that formation there, to see what’s on the other side.”
Josie studied the black rocks and frowned. “And if it looks like all this just goes on and on, then we turn back.”
“Then we turn back.”
She sighed. “All right.”
He grinned at her and took her hand. “You wanted excitement, Miss Hale. You wanted to be a treasure hunter. Welcome to it.”
“I’m beginning to have a lot more respect for my grandfather,” she said, matching Westman stride for stride as they headed for the rocks ahead. “Do you think he and your grandfather walked along this same beach?”
Westman shrugged. “Parts of it, maybe. If we’ve read the map correctly.”
“And I’m sure they came under cover of darkness. But they didn’t have a warm inn to go back to.” She shivered, thinking about The Good Groom. Had it been a comfortable ship? “If our grandfathers had been caught, they would have been hanged.”
“Piracy was illegal.”
“And yet everyone knew they were pirates.”
“There was no proof.”
No proof, Josie repeated in her mind. If only it worked that way for other scandals. But the ton wouldn’t need proof that she’d slept with Westman to condemn her. Even the mere hint of impropriety could ruin a girl.
Josie figured that by the time they returned to London, there would be more than hints. The thought forced her to push on, jogging a little so Westman would not drag her.
She had to find this treasure. Westman needed the money, and now so did she. What had started out as an adventure, an attempt to prove her grandfather innocent of the murder of Stephen’s grandfather, had become her last chance at freedom.
If she returned to London, penniless, she was doomed. With her reputation in tatters, her parents would foist her on the first man they could find who would have her. She’d be a bride so quickly, her head would spin. And they wouldn’t marry her to a young, handsome man like Westman. She’d get an old man with ten kids, desperate for a nanny/ bed warmer.
She shivered at the thought.
Of course, she could marry Westman. If they didn’t find the treasure, it would be the easiest thing to do, the expected thing. The ton would already be scandalized by their star-crossed love affair. Why not marry?
She glanced sideways at Westman. He had asked her.
And she had said no. And she had meant no. But what if she had no choice? Would he still have her now that she’d refused him once?
She didn’t think so. The more she thought about things and observed him over the last day, the more she realized that he had only asked her to marry him out of a feeling of obligation. Why, he’d even told her this afternoon that he thought he would tire of her in a week or two.
That had hurt. Josie knew she had a liberal dose of pride, but Westman had cut it to the quick. Of course, he would tire of her. What did one expect from a rake? But no woman wanted to be reminded that she was not infinitely alluring.
Especially when she felt no sign of tiring of him. Especially when every moment in his company made her like him more, respect him more, want him more. Lord, she could hardly wait to get back to the inn, not just so she could have something warm to drink and curl up near a fire, but so that she could curl up next to Westman. She wanted his arms around her, his lips close to her ear, whispering . . . whispering what?
That he loved her? The thought made her feel like laughing. Those were words she’d never hear from Stephen Doubleday. Those were words she didn’t need to hear from him or any man.
Stephen looked back at her, and she swallowed quickly, afraid her face would betray her thoughts. “We’re almost there. Are you tiring? Do you need to rest for a moment?”
Drat! She was huffing and puffing again. He must think her a complete weakling. “I’m fine,” she called over the wind and waves. “Keep going.”
She just had to keep that warm inn fire and Westman’s hot body in mind. That would keep her moving.
