“And we can keep a watch on Westman’s town house,” Ashley said, indicating Maddie and Josie. Josie just shook her head. “This is never going to work. Even if Westman comes back, how can I prove our families are no longer enemies?”
“We’ll work that out later.” Catie took her hands and pulled her off the bed. “Right now, we’d better get you back to your room.”
“Wonderful.” Josie gathered up her gloves. “What am I supposed to do in there for hours and hours and hours?”
Catie smiled. “Plan your wedding?”
Chapter Twenty-three
It was late when Stephen strode out of Thomas Coutts & Company. His business had taken longer than he’d anticipated, and he was tired and far from finished with his plans for the evening. Raising his hand, he summoned a hack and directed the jarvey to drive to the Doubleday town house in Mayfair.
But he wasn’t on his way home. Not yet. Not until he had the promises he craved from a certain feisty redhead. He’d already heard word she was home. Her irate parents had put her under lock and key, and Stephen was glad of it.
It meant she would be there when he came to fetch her.
He patted his pocket, where the special license felt thick and heavy. He would have been finished here earlier if he hadn’t had to see the Archbishop of Canterbury first.
Stephen continued patting his pocket and stared out the window, his heart thumping hard against his rib cage when the cab turned down his street.
The windows at the Hale household were full of light. He would have no reprieve.
He straightened his cravat as the coach slowed.
They were home. She was home. Good. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to have done with it, and the sooner the better.
The coach stopped, and Westman climbed out, tossing the jarvey the fare. The coach drove off, and Westman stood in front of his own house and stared at his next-door neighbor’s home.
He took a deep breath and tried to make his leaden feet move.
Now or never, he reminded himself.
Of course, now was a relative term. What was one more hour within which to think things over, plan which words to say? Maybe he would have a drink first, change clothes . . .
And put the whole damn thing off.
No. Stephen forced his feet to move, marched himself up the front walk of the Hale house.
He wasn’t waiting. He didn’t care if the words were right. Josie was his, and he wouldn’t wait another second to claim her.
He reached the door and pounded hard three times. “Open up!” he ordered. “This is Stephen Doubleday, Earl of Westman. I demand entrance.”
A meek butler opened the door a moment later, and Stephen took a step back. Perhaps he had been a bit too enthusiastic.
“My lord,” the old man said. “May I help you?”
“I must see Miss Hale at once.”
The butler raised an eyebrow. “She is not at home, sir.”
“Then Mr. Hale.”
“Not at home.”
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Hale.”
“Not at—”
“Bloody hell. I’m coming in.”
