by Jill Gregory
“Uh, do you sir, s-solemnly take this woman—what’s your name again, miss?”
“Josie. Josephine Cooper.”
“Josephine Cooper, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, till death do you part?”
Ethan shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”
“Sir!”
“I sure as hell do,” he muttered. “Satisfied, now? Okay, lady, let’s go.”
“The ring, sir! You didn’t place the ring on her finger.”
Ethan stared blearily down at the ring he wore on his own hand. The one memento he’d kept of his past. He’d never been sure why. It had once belonged to his grandfather, whom he dimly remembered as a kindly old gentleman with very sharp blue eyes who had once given Ethan a puppy. And when his grandfather had died, he’d left Ethan this ring, a heavy gold signet ring, emblazoned with a square, glittering emerald.
“The ring, sir... you must put the ring upon her finger.”
“Not this ring,” he said roughly, glowering into the pale, drawn face of the thief. He rounded on the Englishman. “Latherby, you wearing a ring? Take it off.”
The Englishman opened his mouth to speak, took one look at Ethan Savage’s fierce features, and clamped his lips together. He slipped his own gold ring off his finger and handed it over.
Grimly, Ethan slid it onto the girl’s much narrower finger.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may k-kiss the bride,” the justice murmured doubtfully.
“I don’t think...” Josie started to back away, bumped into a chair, began to tumble down with it, but Ethan’s strong arm grasped her and yanked her upright, then jerked her hard against his chest.
“It’s gotta be official,” he muttered against her lips, half to himself, and then his mouth closed upon hers.
She shut her eyes, horrified, praying the kiss would be short and peremptory. Surely with all these people watching...
But the presence of others didn’t seem to bother her new bridegroom. His mouth claimed hers with the same arrogant force he’d displayed ever since she’d dropped into his arms from the overhang less than an hour ago. It was a hard kiss, hungry and devouring and strangely enthralling. It tasted of anger and mockery and raw physical need. His imperative mouth captured and held hers for what seemed an eternity. An eternity in which Josie forgot to struggle or try to push him away.
The last man to kiss her had been Snake. Snake, with his handsome, leering face, his wheat-blond beard scratching the flesh of her neck, his greedy hands ripping her dress.
The terrifying memory made her stiffen instinctively. Her new husband, somehow sensing her resistance despite his inebriated state, lifted his head and stared mockingly into her widened eyes.
“That’ll do for now.” He no longer sounded drunk. He sounded tired, drained. And very grim.
He pushed her away. “Latherby.”
“Sir.” The Englishman stepped forward, his head tilted to one side as he awaited further instructions.
“Keep an eye on my precious bride. Don’t let her out of your sight.” His voice had thickened, and Josie saw with a glimmer of hope that his face now looked weary and ashen. His lack of sleep was taking its toll. Her opportunity was coming.
“Reckon I’d best... get some shut-eye.”
“Shut-eye?” the solicitor repeated blankly, but even as he spoke, Ethan slid to the floor, his head thumping against the leg of the sofa.
Josie, who’d tried to catch him and missed, now stared down at his prone form in dazed horror. Blood streamed from the reopened cut on his temple.
“Hell and damnation!” Justice Collins cried in a harried tone. “Now what the hell are we going to do?”
“Don’t disturb yourself,” Latherby said quickly, even as Josie knelt down beside the fallen man. “I’ll manage everything.”
“But Mr. Savage is bleeding all over my wife’s new rug.”
“Dear me!” Mrs. Collins shrieked.
“Get me a towel,” Josie ordered, not glancing up. Her fingers tore at the collar of Ethan’s shirt, loosening it.
Concern and rising fear had replaced her hope of only moments before. All thoughts of fleeing had temporarily vanished.
The gunslinger’s skin was ashen beneath its normal bronze, his breathing very shallow. Blood poured from the gash.
“Hurry!” she breathed. “Hurry with that towel.”
Then she saw that the others had not moved. They stood gaping in frozen confusion—even Latherby remained rooted to the spot.
“For God’s sake, don’t just stand there,” Josie cried. “He’s reopened his cut, and I must stanch the blood! Hurry! There’s no time to lose—or do you want to watch him bleed to death all over Mrs. Collins’s new rug?”
“No!” Latherby shook his head fearfully. “Good God, no!”
“Then do what I say.” Josie reached up and tore a lace cloth from the occasional table, heedless of the knickknacks that went tumbling. She rolled it up and pressed it firmly against the gunslinger’s cut. “Get me a towel, and a basin of water, and then fetch a doctor. Quickly.”
Six
A profusion of summer flowers bloomed across the Missouri countryside as the great black train thundered along its mammoth swath of iron tracks. With sunlight dappling the windowpane beside her, Josie leaned back against the upholstered seat of the first-class train car and stared unseeingly straight ahead. One finger absently stroked the frayed cuff of her sleeve—she’d changed this morning back into her reliable gingham gown—but she was unaware of the gesture. Beside her was her valise, and within it, still, were her treasures, along with the scrap of letter that was more precious to her than gold.
But everything else was different. Her life, her future... so different than it had been yesterday this time. Yesterday her only thought had been to scrabble together enough money to purchase a second-class train ticket east, and eventually to try to raise enough for passage to England. And to try to stay two steps ahead of Snake while she did it. Today...
Today she was married to a stranger, traveling in a luxurious first-class railroad car to New York and then on to England. She shook her head a little, dazed by how quickly her circumstances had changed and how, last night, after that unorthodox marriage ceremony, the efficient little Mr. Latherby, true to his word, had indeed “managed everything” with wizard-like skill.
While Josie had stanched the blood of her unconscious bridegroom’s wound, Mr. Latherby had at last sprung into action, summoning a doctor in the middle of the night, seeing Ethan Savage carried upstairs to Justice Collins’s spare bedroom, ordering everyone about with a clipped authority that brooked no argument. He’d somehow managed to keep Josie in his sights at all times, as if worried she would slip away, which she’d been far too busy to do, and yet he had also arranged, through Mrs. Collins, for three first-class tickets to New York on the 8:15 a.m. train and had managed to bundle all three of them aboard without mishap.
Josie had felt only a kind of drained relief this morning as the train chugged out of the station. There had been no sign of Snake since that one glimpse in the alley yesterday, and he hadn’t seen her at all—and now she was headed east, where he wouldn’t possibly think to look for her.
She ought to be able to relax. But she was on edge, her nerves frayed by the strangeness of her circumstances, as well as by the lack of food and sleep, for she’d scarcely had the time or the inclination for either one. As she sat alone in the plush red seat of the first-class car, she thought of the man she’d married last night, and realized that the strongest effects of the liquor must be wearing off by now. In the cold light of day, just what must Ethan Savage think of the situation he’d plunged both of them into?
His words about his father and his reasons for marrying her made little sense. But Josie sensed that beneath the handsome gunslinger’s anger and drunken sneering, there had been pain. Deeply hidden pain, but pain nonetheless.
; Just who was this Ethan Savage? she wondered, tapping a finger absently against her chin. And why in the world had he insisted on marrying her?
Don’t start worrying about him, she admonished herself, her fingers digging into the soft upholstery of the seat. He’s not one of the orphan children, or a stray cat or a dance hall girl being misused by her boss. He’s well able to take care of himself without any help from you.
One thing was certain. Judging by all this luxury and the way Mr. Latherby jumped to do his bidding, it was clear that her new husband—her supposed new husband, who was still in his Pullman convertible berth sleeping off the enormous quantity of alcohol he’d consumed yesterday—must have a great deal of money. Far more than she’d guessed when she tried to pick his pocket.
Well, it wasn’t money she wanted—it never had been. Josie’d been without money all her life, and she knew that it couldn’t buy her what she was after. She wanted only the chance to get to England and search for someone she’d never met, someone who might prove very important to her.
But she guessed that her needs, her wants, would not matter much to Ethan Savage. He was a man determined to see his way to his own ends, and damn whoever got in his way. Like Snake, she told herself, hardening herself against him. All men basically are like Snake, wanting, using, hurting—trampling over any who get in their way, threatening and punching and even killing when thwarted.
If she was any judge of looks and behavior, Ethan Savage would be every bit a match for her other husband when it came to being ruthless. He was even taller and more muscular, and he wore his guns with a confident ease that suggested he’d be good at using them. She’d already seen him use his fists during the brawl at the Golden Pistol. He was good at that, too.
Her heart shivered. She already knew firsthand that Snake could throw a good punch.
Her jaw throbbed at the memory, and Josie forced her thoughts back to her present situation. It was true enough that Ethan Savage might be ruthless and tough at getting what he wanted, but right now, it seemed possible that what he wanted might also be good for her. If this little arrangement he’d made with her enabled her to get to England and possibly learn something about her family, it was a good bargain. And eventually, he’d promised her, she’d have her freedom. He obviously didn’t want this to be a real marriage any more than she did.
He’d better not, she thought fiercely, twisting Latherby’s gold ring round and round her finger. Seems to me I’d best make clear right from the start, that this marriage is going to be in name only.
Especially since it wasn’t even legal. But there was no way Ethan Savage would ever find out about that, she told herself, fighting off a twinge of uneasiness. Not unless Snake showed up blabbing that she was married to him—and that wouldn’t happen. At least she prayed it wouldn’t happen, prayed that Snake would never track her to England. She nibbled at her lower lip, trying not to think of how Ethan Savage might react if he ever learned that the woman he’d married during that ridiculous ceremony wasn’t truly his wife.
And thank heavens I’m not, she thought, a frown creasing her brow. One unwanted husband who demanded wifely duties of her had been quite enough—enough to last her an entire lifetime, she thought, her flesh growing chilled at the thought.
Ethan Savage may have kissed her at the wedding ceremony, but Josie intended to make clear that that was the closest he would come to claiming his husbandly privileges.
A flush burned her cheeks as she remembered that kiss. She unfastened the top button of her gown as her throat contracted. Then another one. Arrogant, drunken man, she told herself, yet wondered that the kiss hadn’t repulsed her as Snake’s had. Probably because it had taken her by surprise, she told herself. It had swept her up before she’d realized what was happening.
Well, that won’t happen again. She’d simply lay out a few crucial ground rules for Ethan Savage, and then chances were they would get along just fine until this sham of a marriage ended.
Go ahead, then. What are you waiting for? she asked herself as she sat up a little straighter in her seat. You need to set things straight with him so there are no misunderstandings. And there’s no time like the present.
She rose with a determined set to her shoulders and plucked up her valise. She wasn’t sure if Ethan was in his compartment or in the parlor car, and she had no idea where Mr. Latherby was, but she decided to try the parlor car first. And as she edged along the aisle she made another decision: If Ethan Savage wouldn’t promise to keep his distance when it came to matters of the flesh, she’d leave. She’d flee this husband, just as she’d fled the other one. Once they arrived in the crowded jumble of New York City, Josie reflected, her courage mounting, that shouldn’t prove difficult at all.
When she reached the door leading to the maroon and gold parlor car she saw her husband at once. He was sprawled in a wing chair before a large table near the rear of the car. Somehow, even in his rough western clothes, with a bandage wrapped around his head, he looked right at home in the sumptuously appointed car with its gold damask curtains and deep chairs. Latherby stood beside him. Neither man was facing her as she entered the long, luxurious car, yet their voices carried to her clearly.
“So you see, my lord, this will never, ever do. I tried to tell you last night—the fine print in your father’s will clearly states that the woman you marry must be a lady of quality.”
Josie shrank back behind the draperies. Hot color flooded her cheeks as Latherby’s words penetrated.
“That... that girl in there is hardly—begging your pardon—a lady, much less a lady of quality. She is not at all what your father had in mind—”
A brutal bark of laughter cut him off in midsentence. “Damn my father to hell. Serves him right. I married her, and that’s that. Who’s to know or care anything about her, Latherby? You?”
“Ah, no, sir. However, Mr. Grismore, senior partner in the firm, has been charged with overseeing the fulfillment of the terms of the will. He will no doubt call upon your lordship after your arrival in London, and when you inform him that you have wed he’ll naturally have to make a determination. Your father entrusted him to see that his wishes were carried out.”
So that explained it. Josie swallowed hard as she huddled behind the curtain. Ethan Savage was after an inheritance. He’d needed a wife for that—but a very different sort of wife than the one he’d chosen in a drunken frenzy.
Not an orphan, a thief, a girl who’d marry a man to keep herself from going to jail—no. He needed a lady, a woman who bathed in scented water, who wore satins and silks, one who dressed her hair in a different fashionable style each day. Someone with accomplishments, who could manage servants, do needlepoint, and play the piano, not to mention make cool, polite conversation with other elegant people at a dinner party without spilling soup in her lap or dropping her elegant silver fork. Not me, she thought, swallowing hard. Not me at all.
So it will be over as soon as we reach New York, she realized, her fingers tight on her valise. He’ll want an annulment. We’ll go our separate ways. She was surprised by the little rush of disappointment that welled up in her chest. Wild as this whole marriage business had been, it had served her purposes admirably, at least for the time being. And she’d felt needed, important, for a very little while. But now, of course, Ethan Savage would wish to be rid of her as quickly as possible.
That would mean getting to England on her own.
Well, fine, she told herself, setting her lips together and clinging to the side of the car with her free hand as the train rocked and clacked down the track. She’d managed everything on her own all her life, and she could manage this too. Darned if she couldn’t. At least she was out of Abilene, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath. And with Snake none the wiser.
“I should strangle you and Grismore.” Ethan Savage bit the words out with grim fury. Josie peeked around the curtain, her eyes widening uneasily as he rose to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You wouldn’t let me, sir!”
“Damn you to hell. That little two-bit hussy is wrong for this. She’s all wrong. I can see it now—she’d pick Grismore’s pocket and then where the hell would I be?” He began pacing back and forth, his long legs moving swiftly up and down the aisle. Josie suddenly realized on a needle of panic that at any moment he’d probably send Latherby to fetch her so he could announce that their little farce had come to an end.
He couldn’t catch her here, listening, or he’d call her an eavesdropper as well as a thief. She had to go, to sneak back out to the other car. Cautiously she eased toward the door.
But suddenly the train rocked around a bend with a heavy jolting motion, and before Josie could catch herself she’d lost her balance and sprawled forward on the floor. Her valise went flying. And she landed with a graceless thump square in the carpeted aisle.
“What the hell?”
Ethan spun around at the commotion. When he saw his bride draped across the floor, his mouth tightened.
Latherby exclaimed, “Dear heavens!” but Ethan was already striding past him. As Josie tried to scramble up, he hauled her to her feet none too gently.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m fine, thank you, so don’t bother yourself on my account,” Jo muttered breathlessly. She tried to shake free of his arm, but when she couldn’t, she lifted flashing eyes to his face. “Don’t worry—I’m not hurt at all.”
“You will be hurt if you don’t answer my question. What are you doing in here?”
“I was coming to see you.”
“Why? To eavesdrop?”
“Of course not!”
His fingers tightened painfully on her wrist. “You, my sneaky little bride, are a liar as well as a thief.”
He said it with certainty, with disgust, with crude frankness that sent blood roaring into Josie’s face. Fine, if he wanted to think the worst of her, let him. She didn’t care.
“Let me go!”
“When I’m ready.”