by Jill Gregory
“Marital relations?” he suggested helpfully, burying his fingers in the sensuous cloud of her hair.
“Yes! No! I mean no to marital relations! If you touch me, this marriage is over.”
She was shaking from head to toe. There was a panicked wildness in her eyes that Ethan had seen before in hunted animals and that made him release her abruptly.
“You have something against marital relations?” he asked sardonically, but as he studied her pale face, the quivering lower lip, he wondered what in hell she was so afraid of. Could it be that his delectable little bride was a virgin?
Impossible.
“This marriage is a sham. I agreed to it only to stay out of jail, so if you try to take advantage of me, I’ll have no choice but to leave. Do you hear me? I’ll run away, our deal will be over, and you’ll be left to explain the disappearance of your wife. I don’t think you want that.”
His eyes narrowed. “It would be damned inconvenient and you know it.”
“Fine. Then we understand each other.”
He didn’t understand anything about her. A beautiful thief and liar who’d marry a man to stay out of jail, who wore provocative costumes and showed her ankles to a roomful of leering men, but wouldn’t let him touch her. A virgin? A prude? Not likely. Or was she just particular, and he didn’t measure up?
Ethan nearly chuckled. He’d never had any complaints before. Women tended to be downright fond of him, despite his disinterest in fancy wooing. He guessed it was something other than that. She looked shaken still, as if she were clinging to her self-control with every drop of willpower she possessed.
“Have it your way, lady.” Reluctantly he released those springy chestnut curls, undraped his arm from her waist, and took a step back. His eyes lingered briefly, with faint regret, at those temptingly full lips. “It’s just fine with me. I’m not all that interested.”
“Good!”
“Latherby’s arranged separate compartments on this train, and I’ll have him get the same on the ship. At Stonecliff Park, there’s enough rooms for twenty people to live without ever having to see each other. But you and I will see each other. For a few months, we’ll put on quite a show.”
“That’s just fine with me. As long as it’s only in public. You agree to that?”
“With pleasure, ma’am.” He spoke with an exaggerated drawl, and his smile was full of mockery. “I’ll survive somehow without the benefit of your affections.”
“And I without yours. Then our business is finished. Except for some details. When will this... marriage be officially over?”
“Six months. Then you leave and never—and I mean never—show your face to me again.”
“With pleasure.” Josie mimicked his cavalier attitude. Six months. During that time she could begin her search—discreetly, of course. At the end of it, she’d know if it truly led her to her past or only in circles once again.
She’d just have to take what came at that point.
“Don’t you want to know how much money I’m going to settle on you when this is over?” he asked.
Startled, she glanced up from her reverie. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it’s more than I have now.”
He looked surprised, and his glance sharpened on her. Josie took a deep breath. “If that’s all, I’d like to rest awhile in my compartment.”
“That isn’t all.”
She waited, bracing herself for she knew not what. It occurred to her that for the next six months she was going to be very much in this man’s power. Except for that one condition she had set forth, he would control how she spent her time, where she went, how she dressed, what she could do and could not do—in fact, he would control most everything about her life—until this ridiculous charade of a marriage was ended.
And just who was he? What kind of a man had she thrown in with?
She had no clear notion. There was something compelling about him, a rugged, singular strength, a damn-it-all-to-hell arrogance, a seething anger, but beyond that...
She knew there was more. She’d glimpsed it in his eyes when he’d spoken of his father turning over in his grave. And she sensed there was far more driving him to this bargain than mere financial gain.
If there was one thing she’d learned growing up in too many places to count, it was that, for good or bad, people were usually much more than they seemed.
“I’ve already warned you about giving me trouble when we get to England. And I want to be sure you know what kind of trouble I mean.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
“If you steal so much as a button from anyone we meet—if you pick one pocket, pull one trick—”
“I won’t.”
Ethan stretched out a hand and caught her chin. His eyes locked upon hers with ruthless warning. “You’re damn right you won’t,” he told her quietly. “And remember that if you break your end of the bargain, I’ll have no compunctions about breaking mine.”
He released her abruptly as Latherby reentered the car, leaving Josie to wonder if he was referring to revoking the money he’d promised to give her at the end of their “marriage”—or to his promise not to force her to perform her wifely duties. She was left to guess, for the solicitor came forward then, glancing worriedly from one to the other, and giving a little cough.
“Latherby, you’re about to become a very busy man.”
“My lord?”
“We won’t be depositing the lovely Josie at the next stop after all. She will be accompanying us to England—as befits my wife. It occurs to me that she’ll need some instruction.”
“My lord!” Latherby’s jaw dropped. “You can’t mean—”
“The hell I can’t. Are you refusing your aid?” Ethan raked him with a steely gaze that had the solicitor gulping.
“No, certainly not, but... there will be much to do, my lord, if we’re going to embark on this mad scheme. There will scarcely be time—I think we must begin some lessons at once. If this woman is to pass as a lady of quality and win the approval of someone as austere as Mr. Grismore, we have our work cut out for us.”
“You mean you have your work cut out for you,” Ethan snapped back. “You’ve already buried me up to my chin in legal papers and financial documents I need to read and sign. As of now, my wife is your responsibility.”
“My responsibility?” The solicitor blanched. “But what do I know about teaching someone how to be a lady?”
“A hell of a lot more than I do.” Ethan Savage returned to the table and sank wearily into his chair, scowling at the pile of papers before him.
“She’s all yours,” he told Latherby, with a certain cold pleasure. His gaze raked the girl with her simple rumpled gown and her tumble of unruly hair and her blazing, defiant face.
“Take this little gypsy and turn her into a countess.”
“A countess?” It came out as a croak. Blankly, Josie stared at him.
His eyes flickered with a glint of harsh amusement.
She felt horror rise within her. A strange light-headedness swept over her—no doubt because she’d gone so long without a bite of food.
But oh, heavens, for a moment there she’d thought Ethan Savage had said she must be transformed into a countess.
“Yes.” Latherby turned to her when Ethan didn’t answer, only continuing to stare at her with that maddeningly calm expression. “Come along, miss... I mean, ma’am, I mean... my lady. We have much to do. And much to learn. You were married last night to the Earl of Stonecliff. Which makes you, for the foreseeable future, and may heaven help England—his Countess.”
Josie’s knees buckled. She grabbed at a chair for support, missed, and as the train pitched once more around a curve, she tumbled headlong. Flying, she landed smack across Ethan Savage’s lap.
“As I said, Latherby,” Ethan said coolly as he held an armful of soft, mussed woman who for the moment was too frozen with shock to move. “Better get down to business. You’ve got your work cut o
ut for you.”
Eight
“We’re nearly there. Are you ready, Josephine?” Mr. Latherby’s voice sharpened as he studied Josie by the light of the carriage lamps. “Look alert now. This is to be your first real test.”
Even as he spoke the carriage turned wide, clattering down a tree-flanked road shrouded in fog.
Ready? she thought, controlling the panicked urge to push open the carriage door and bolt into the dark night. I’ll never be ready for this.
But there was to be no bolting. Ethan Savage rode beside the coach on a magnificent white horse, which glimmered in the mist like Pegasus. He’d probably lasso me and simply drag me up the drive to the house if I tried to flee, she reflected bleakly.
But then her practical mind recalled that Ethan Savage had no lasso. He no longer even wore a gun belt and holster or the two deadly Colts. Sometime during the course of their journey, he had shed those staples of the American West. He had altered subtly, even his voice losing some of its western inflection. He now wore an English black-and-gray-checked sack coat over gray corduroy trousers. With his gleaming riding boots, top hat, and gloves, he looked every inch the English gentleman, while she...
Well, she thought, staring down at the new scarlet merino cloak Mr. Latherby had purchased for her in New York, and the snug lavender kid gloves and boots—she looked, on the outside at least, like an elegantly proper lady.
“My lady? You must remember to answer when someone speaks to you. It is rude merely to stare into space.”
“Sorry, Mr. Latherby... er, I beg your pardon,” she amended quickly, lifting distressed eyes to him. “Damn it, I’ll never pass inspection, not even by the servants.”
“Calm yourself, do calm yourself,” Latherby urged. Nervously he snatched his spectacles off his nose, frantically polished them with the sleeve of his coat, and then shoved them back in place. “I beg you to remember what is at stake. His lordship could not only lose everything, he could lose face, irrevocably, if this debacle is discovered.”
“You care about him, don’t you, Latherby?” Josie asked suddenly, as she observed the beads of sweat forming on the solicitor’s high brow. Latherby didn’t normally get himself so worked up, she’d noticed during the time she spent with him on the Atlantic crossing.
“Of course. He is my client. I’m responsible—”
“It’s more than that. You like him.”
“I do.”
“Even though he’s rude to you, he is arrogant, insufferable, and orders you around.”
“Here we are.”
Panic squeezed Josie’s heart and she forgot all about Latherby as she turned stricken eyes to the window and gazed out at the long gravel drive. The horses were flying along it far too quickly. When she saw the house looming up out of the fog, her throat constricted.
This was to be her new home. Temporarily. But, of course, temporary was the only kind of home she’d ever known.
It was a great house, huge beyond words, beyond anything her imagination could conjure. She had an impression of vast spaciousness, of lofty white stone that gleamed like pearl in the night, of graceful columns and arched windows, of tall, ghostly trees and damp rolling lawns. Through the swirls of mist she glimpsed the outline of gardens, of bordered flower beds, shrubs, statuary, and thought she could make out the shadows of the vast luxuriant park Mr. Latherby had described to her while they were at sea. Leaning forward on her seat, she thought she saw in the distance the silver-blue glimmer of a lake.
She had only a glimpse of everything, an impression, but she saw enough to know that it was finer, grander, more awe-inspiring than anything she could have dreamed of—like something out of a storybook.
Before she could collect her wits, the carriage door was flung open by her husband, and Ethan swung her down without ceremony. She had no sooner recovered from the sensation of his warm, strong hands clamped around her waist than he gripped her arm, as if afraid she really would bolt, and he was half dragging her toward the battalion of servants who had streamed out of the great white house upon hearing the sounds of their arrival.
The Sussex country air smelled of rich damp earth and grass and roses as Ethan propelled her toward the line of servants. For one brief moment Josie lifted her face to the mist and let it soak into her upturned cheeks, hoping it would revive her. She felt faint. Despite the fringed cloak that enveloped her in such luxurious warmth, she felt as cold as the icy churning sea she’d crossed to reach this destination.
Ethan Savage greeted his obviously atwitter staff with a curt nod, his handsome face a dark mask locked in frozen civility. He proceeded to present his wife with a swift series of introductions. Josie nodded inanely at Perkins, the butler, who studied her with somber, knowing eyes that seemed able to pierce her soul and see at once that she was as phony as the thin smile he bestowed on her. Dry-mouthed, she moved on, murmuring “how do you do” to Mrs. Fielding, the housekeeper, who beamed at her with real warmth. Despite her nervousness, Josie found herself beaming back.
But then disaster struck. Lulled into a false sense of security at having gotten past the first two members of the staff, Josie unthinkingly began to return the curtsy of Agnes, the cook, sinking into a curtsy of her own before she heard the collective gasp of those watching and Ethan seized her elbow with a fierce pinch.
She jerked upright, the enormity of her error striking her. A gasp of horror escaped her lips, and her pale skin turned red as a strawberry. As her eyes met those of the astonished cook, Josie saw reflected the same stupefaction now mirrored in the gazes of the rest of the assembled staff.
“I—I—” she stammered, fumbling for a way to explain, but Ethan, tight-lipped, merely yanked her ruthlessly forward, and she realized too late that explaining herself to a servant was every bit as improper as curtsying to one.
“My wife, Lady Stonecliff,” Ethan muttered grimly to a bow-kneed little man with eyes that were no more than mud-colored slits. “Ostley, our groundskeeper.”
“How do you—”
But before she could even finish murmuring the words, he hauled her forward yet again to nod dimly at a pair of grooms. Her spirits sank down to her kneecaps as she realized he didn’t even want her to risk saying anything to these people, that she had already teetered out on shaky ground, and all he wanted was to get this over with as quickly as possible.
There was scarcely time after that to nod, much less smile or try to speak as Ethan drew her along past an assortment of staring footmen, housemaids, scullery maids, and gardeners who bowed or curtsied respectfully, and whose names and faces were immediately after an indistinct blur. As they finally reached the end of the line, Josie heaved a sigh of relief. Ethan nearly dragged her up the stone steps and through the handsome carved portals of Stonecliff Park.
Then she was inside a magnificent towering hall nearly as large as the entire main room of the Golden Pistol Saloon. A dazzling crystal chandelier, marble floor, and lovely, intricately carved furnishings surrounded her with timeless beauty.
“Mrs. Fielding, kindly see to my wife.”
Ethan threw Josie the briefest, most disinterested glance before shrugging out of his coat and handing it and his hat to a waiting footman.
“Yes, my lord.” The housekeeper’s face beneath her white lace cap was wreathed in smiles. “Allow me to show you to your rooms, my lady.”
Feeling almost numb, Josie allowed Mrs. Fielding to lead her toward the wide central staircase. Ethan was already disappearing into one of the drawing rooms, followed by Mr. Latherby.
Josie concentrated on reviving her composure as she was bustled upstairs, through a stately portrait gallery, and along a series of elegant gaslit corridors where an occasional potted palm, gilt chair, or mahogany table adorned with a vase of flowers broke the pleasant monotony of gray-painted walls and rose and gray carpet.
At last Mrs. Fielding ushered her into an enormous bedchamber and sitting room furnished in pale yellows and creamy whites. Everything was so
lovely, Josie could only stare in wonder. Though it was summer, a cozy welcoming fire in the marble hearth filled the room with lovely radiant warmth against the chill of the fog-laced night.
“You’ll want a tray sent up, my lady, with some tea and biscuits and perhaps some soup after your journey,” Mrs. Fielding said kindly. “Ah, it’s dreadful to have to be traveling the roads on a night such as this.” She tsked regretfully and moved a chair closer to the fire. “Especially with some of the dark doings that have been going on of late. I’m sure you’ve heard of Pirate Pete and his gang of cutthroats. Nasty scoundrels whose grandfathers were buccaneers, they say—they fancy themselves as pirates who do their plundering on land. They’ve been crawling out of the slums of London where they belong to rob decent city folks in their homes—and now some say they’ve even ventured into the countryside, if you can believe that. I wouldn’t want to be out and about on a night like this, with the likes of them roaming about.”
She caught herself up quickly as she saw the surprise on Josie’s face. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady. Don’t you pay any heed to my rattling on.”
“The roads are not safe?” Josie asked, surprised because she had thought that compared to life on the western frontier with its outlaw gangs, Indian raids, gunmen, and wild, lawless towns, England would be tame and peaceful and quiet.
“Oh, yes, quite safe,” Mrs. Fielding assured her instantly. “And especially here in Sussex. We’ve never had a bit of trouble. Ah, here’s Devon now, to take your cloak. My goodness.” She chuckled as she helped Josie slip out of the garment and then handed it to the slender, pink-cheeked housemaid who looked to be no more than sixteen. “His lordship did not even give us a chance to take it from you in the hall, but never mind that. Here, come sit before the fire, you’re quite chilled, and I’ll go fetch that soup. If there’s ever anything you need, only tug this bellpull here, my lady. In the meantime, Devon is to wait upon you and I’ll bring your tray up myself directly.”