Just This Once

by Jill Gregory

  “Lady Stonecliff, a pleasure.” His gaze swept over her, head to toe, missing nothing. He didn’t look as if it were a pleasure though. He looked pained.

  Was she so improper then? Could he see that she didn’t belong here just by the way she stood, by something indefinably common in her bearing, in her features? She saw shock, and a twinge of anger as he twisted his small pursed mouth into an artificial smile.

  “We are cousins, my lady. Do call me Oliver. And may I call you—”

  “Josephine.”

  Mr. Latherby coughed, and she added quickly, “Do you know Mr. Latherby? My husband’s solicitor.” She was proud of herself for recalling the word. “Won’t you sit down, Mr.—Cousin Oliver,” she corrected smoothly, and indicated the sofa behind him.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” That simpering, false smile again. His eyes slid to Latherby, back to Josie again, studying her curiously, then darted back to Latherby once more—pointedly curious as to why her husband’s solicitor was chaperoning the Countess in her morning room when he must have work of his own to do.

  And Josie saw Latherby looking torn between excusing himself, which she guessed would be the natural thing to do, or staying to keep an eye on her and step in if she started to do or say something totally unladylike.

  “It’s perfectly all right, Mr. Latherby. I know Lord Stonecliff asked you to keep me company until he returned, but now that Cousin Oliver is here, I won’t... shan’t be lonely at all.” She bestowed on him what she considered her most dignified smile, despite the unease prickling through her.

  And as she had given him no choice, Mr. Latherby left them—but not before shooting Josie one quick warning look while Oliver Winthrop was engaged in settling himself more comfortably upon the sofa.

  Winthrop refused her offer of refreshment. “No, no, dear lady, I came merely to confirm for myself that the rumor I heard this morning was true. Never did I think to see my esteemed cousin Ethan again. Not in England, at least. No indeed, not after the manner in which he took his leave.”

  “Oh?” Josie scarcely knew what to say and hoped the simple word would do. She was fascinated by what Oliver Winthrop had just said, and even more so by the way he had said it. Though polite, his words barely hid a snide dislike of Ethan, and that made her dislike him even more intensely than she had at first sight. But she kept her expression neutral and waited for him to continue. She herself had wondered why Ethan had left England to begin with, why he had traveled to America, why he was so angry about coming back.

  If she played her cards right, perhaps she’d find out.

  “Well, yes, it was quite a scandal you know. A dreadful scandal. It’s doubtful anyone in proper society will accept him back now.” Winthrop nodded with smug assurance. His eyes blinked slowly at Josie and his lips pursed, and she knew what he was deliberately leaving unspoken.

  Nor will they accept you.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong,” she said more sharply than was polite, but at that moment she didn’t care.

  “Oh, don’t be so sure. Between the girl, and the scene he caused, and the bloodshed—”

  “Girl?” Josie heard herself repeating in a thin voice, one that made Oliver Winthrop lean toward her, lips curling.

  “My dear cousin, don’t think I’m trying to discourage you or to cause you any pain. No, my intentions are only to warn you that, well, your husband has a vile temper. And a taste for unacceptable women. At least he did,” he amended with a dry, mocking laugh, and again his eyes inspected her. “My dear, if you think to conquer London society, you are doomed for disappointment. Though I personally find Americans to be quite interesting and amusing, many of my fellows don’t share my sentiments. And Ethan is no favorite due to the way he humiliated his father and brother, and took up with that low-class little tart—”

  “If you say her name, Oliver, you will never live to see the streets of London again,” a low, deceptively soft voice warned from the doorway, and Josie jumped as she turned her head to see Ethan standing just inside the room.

  “Darling,” she cried, frightened by the cold, dark expression on his face. Oh, dear, he was going to kill Oliver Winthrop right this very minute, shoot him dead on this beautiful rug and spatter blood all over those lovely blue curtains, and that would not be a very good beginning to his tenure as the Earl of Stonecliff.

  Then she saw that he wasn’t wearing his guns—and recalled with relief that he had shed the garb and gear of the gunfighter. This morning he wore the riding breeches and jacket of an Englishman. But standing there, tall, glowering, his booted feet planted apart, his hands clenched in fists, and a savage light in his eyes, he appeared not a speck less dangerous than if he held both Colt pistols drawn and loaded, pointed straight at Oliver Winthrop.

  Winthrop seemed to agree. He sank back against the cushions of the sofa, all the pink color draining from his face. He gaped at Ethan as if the devil himself had materialized in a puff of black smoke.

  “C-cousin!” he croaked out with a pathetic attempt at joviality. “I was just—”

  “Shut up, Winthrop. Not another word. Get out and don’t speak again.”

  “But—but—”

  Ethan came forward with his strong easy stride, and with one hand he lifted Winthrop from his chair.

  “I suppose I’ll be forced to run into you at clubs and balls and card parties,” he said in a calm, pleasant tone belied by the deadly glint in his eyes. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll entertain you here. Don’t call again. Here or in London. Is that clear? You’ve met my wife, you’ve seen that I’m back, and you know now that you’ll never get your muddy little paws on Stonecliff Park, so there’s nothing more to be said between us.”

  “Really, Ethan... there is no reason to bear such a grudge...”

  Ethan dropped Winthrop back on his feet. Then he hit him, his fist slamming into the other man’s face with a whooshing, pummeling force that sent Winthrop toppling backward over the sofa.

  “Ethan!” Josie darted forward as her husband rubbed his knuckles. “You’ll hurt your hand! Goodness, you didn’t have to hit him that hard.”

  “What about me?” Winthrop gasped in horror, grasping weakly at the back of the sofa as he attempted to rise. “I’m blinded. Blinded! I won’t be able to see for a week. Good Lord, man, you’re as mad as ever. Violence. Violence. All because I paid a call.”

  Ethan strode around the sofa and hauled him up on his feet. Winthrop cowered, trying feebly to break free, but Ethan only tightened his grip and marched him to the door. As Perkins came running and yanked the front door wide, Ethan tossed the sniveling man out into the sunshine.

  “He’s not to be admitted again,” Ethan told Perkins as the butler shut the door on the sounds of Winthrop’s outraged howls.

  “Yes, sir. Begging your pardon, sir.”

  Ethan stalked back into the drawing room.

  “Why were you entertaining that son of a bitch?”

  His ferocity shook her. Josie went very still. “Because he came to call. I thought it was the ladylike thing to do. Perhaps you should give me a list of people I can and cannot see,” she added, suddenly angry that he was angry with her, when she’d only been trying to do what she was supposed to do—pose as his proper, dutiful wife.

  “Perhaps I should. Latherby!” The solicitor’s footsteps tapped through the hall as Ethan paced back and forth to the mantel.

  “My wife has just been engaging in idle gossip about me with a member of my family. Obviously, her education is lacking.”

  Latherby shot Josie a glance that made her want to sink through the floor. “Yes, my lord,” he said humbly. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Josie protested, scurrying after Ethan as he paced to the window. “It wasn’t like that at all.”

  She stopped short as he spun about suddenly to confront her.

  “Wasn’t it?” There was a contemptuous curl to his lip as he raked her up and down. “You obviously still have mu
ch to learn about being a proper English wife. Latherby, if you can’t do better than this, you’ll sorely regret it. Work with the girl, night and day if you must, but whip her into shape before I take a crop to both of you.”

  He started toward the door, sparing Josie not even a glance, but paused on the threshold to growl over his shoulder, “I almost forgot. Tonight I’m forced to take her to a damned dinner party, so do what you can before then. I ran into Lady Tattersall while I was out riding and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  He shifted his gaze, leveling a thunderous frown at Josie. “Be ready to depart at seven. And God help me,” he muttered under his breath as he turned and left the room.

  Ethan walked straight out the door, veered down the sloping lane to his left, and cut through the gardens. He needed to be outdoors, breathing in fresh air, clearing his head, calming his temper. He walked quickly, his long legs eating up the ground beneath him, though he scarcely realized where he walked. The sight of Oliver Winthrop had inflamed him as if all of it had happened yesterday. Good Lord, where was his famous cool control, the legendary deadly calm of Ethan Savage, hired gun?

  Seeing Winthrop, the first time since that night all those years ago, had lit a fire in his blood.

  And it had brought Molly’s image searing into his brain again, as if she had never left. And maybe, he thought, stomping through green fields, jumping a brook, heading toward a belt of trees, maybe she never had.

  He almost heard her silvery little voice, almost smelled the fresh rose-and-vanilla scent of her. “Ethan, do come in. I’ve missed you ever so much! Ethan, you shouldn’t have. These flowers must be ever so expensive. You don’t have to bring me something every time you call, you know!”

  Sweet, innocent, unspoiled Molly. His heart tore in two, remembering. Remembering what they’d meant to each other, and how she had trusted him, and what had happened to her for daring to love an earl’s son.

  And Ethan sank down on a fallen log in the wood, and buried his head in his hands. The pain was sharper since his return to England, and he was quite certain that nothing would ever take it away.

  Presently, glancing up, he noticed a cottage several hundred yards ahead, nearly hidden by a rise in the ground and a copse of ancient trees. The stocky figure chopping wood outside struck him as oddly familiar. He rose slowly from the log, staring.

  It couldn’t be. Couldn’t... it was.

  He started forward at a run.

  “They told me you were retired. No longer living at Stonecliff Park,” he said as he slowed to a halt before the wide-shouldered, gray-haired man who set down the ax at the sight of him.

  “I am. And I don’t.”

  “But you’re here... so close....”

  “You want me to leave, lad?” The scraggly gray brows drew together in a questioning glance that pierced Ethan to the bone with its familiarity.

  “No. No.” Ethan stared at the man who had been more like a father to him than his own father ever had, the man who had taught him to ride, to shoot, to mend his puppy’s cut paw, the man who had let a small boy trail after him when he went about his work day after day after day, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat as he started forward, arms outstretched.

  “Ham.” The name burned in his gut, squeezed like an anvil at his heart. He reached the old groom, and with a rough sigh, clasped the bewhiskered old groom in his arms. “Ham, you old gaffer, I’d given up on ever seeing you again.”

  * * *

  “So you never did find it, did you, lad? I’d hoped you would.”

  “Find what?” Ethan peered up from the tin cup of steaming tea Ham had set before him, a baffled expression on his face.

  “Happiness. Peace. A kind woman to love and to love you back.” Ham rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully and watched Ethan, studying the changes in the boy he’d known, who’d now become such an imposing figure of a man. “Yours was always a restless spirit, lad. And when you went to America I hoped you’d find the balm there you needed to soothe it.”

  “I found myself there. That was enough.”

  Ham’s shrewd brown eyes, flecked with olive in the sunlight that streamed into the cottage, never wavered from Ethan’s face. “But you’ve still got that restlessness inside you. You’re still...” He trailed off. He’d been about to say unhappy.

  “I’m resigned to my fate.”

  “Without hope?”

  “Hope of what?” Ethan studied him, amused. “Peace? I haven’t exactly led a peaceful life. But I’ve found some moments of it. Sleeping under the stars in the Arizona desert, or beneath the Mogollon Rim. Riding through the Rockies. Wandering through country so beautiful, it hurts to look at it, with no strings on me, no one to tie me down or pull me back.”

  “Some strings are good.”

  “You want strings?” Ethan’s short laugh filled the tiny spaces of the scrubbed and tidy cottage. “I’ve got plenty now.”

  “Aye, all this rich and beautiful land, the title you inherited from your father. The houses, all of ’em. The responsibilities of wealth most only dream of. And a wife.”

  “That’s right, a wife.” Ethan drained the tea and set the cup down with a rattle on the table, remembering how wildly lovely Josie had looked last night, the impossible brilliance of her eyes, the rich glory of hair spilling across her bare shoulders.

  He scowled at the tin cup, suddenly wishing it was filled with brandy to help soothe and dull the memory.

  “I heard about her already.” Ham picked up his pipe and tobacco, and shifted his weight in his chair, noticing that the dull flush that had entered Ethan’s cheeks at mention of his wife was the same brick-red hue as the rag rug beneath the young earl’s feet. He suppressed a smile and spoke with deliberate casualness. “Word spreads fast, it does. They say she’s a lovely thing. That’s why I was a mite surprised—”

  He broke off.

  “Surprised about what?” Through narrow eyes, Ethan watched the groom tamp down tobacco as if nothing else mattered.

  “To see you still so restless. I thought if you were married... unless, lad, you didn’t marry for love.”

  Ethan gave a harsh bark of laughter. He raked a hand through his hair, then stood up and began to pace. “Still as keen as ever, aren’t you, Ham? Well, you’re right. I didn’t marry for love. I married because of my father’s will—because I was drunk, because I acted in haste, and anger, and spite. I married a damned thief—and now I’ve got to pass her off as a lady.”

  He sighed as Ham stared at him incredulously.

  “No!” the groom exclaimed.

  “Yes.” Ethan’s lips twisted with cynical amusement. “Reckon I’d better explain.”

  When he was done, the old groom whistled slowly through his teeth. “So, there’s no feeling at all for this lass? You’re going to send her away in six months?”

  “Sooner, if she fails at any point along the way and brings the whole scheme crashing down.” Ethan was surprised by the clenching of his gut as he thought of this possibility. He recalled how Josie had knelt beside him last night when he’d been so wound up about being back—of what she’d said about her past. That she’d never had a home either.

  Could it be true? Was the sweetness and concern he’d seen in her eyes real, or was it all part of her act? And today, she’d actually worried about his hand when he’d struck Winthrop—any other woman would have gone weak in the knees over witnessing that sort of violence, or would have tried to tend to the fallen man, offering apologies and excuses—but not her.

  Something about that made him think of Molly, though why, he didn’t understand. Those two were completely dissimilar, in looks as well as in nature. Molly had been small, exquisite, and dark, her hair black and sweeping down her back like a midnight waterfall. Her skin had been very white, her cheeks pink and round in a beautiful Irish face that was lush with sweetness. And she had been innocent, shy, sheltered from the ways of the world, unsuspecting of the casual cruelty that had been visite
d upon her. Josie Cooper, on the other hand...

  His jaw tightened at the thought of her. She was stunning too—with her luscious cloud of curls, the seductive uptilted shape of her eyes, their astonishing violet color. She was taller than Molly, not so round, more slender, yet every bit as alluring, with a coltish sensuality that heated his blood despite all his efforts to remind himself that she was a common pickpocket and liar, the last person he could afford to get involved with—especially now.

  And he told Ham exactly that as the groom watched him through the smoke that rose from his pipe.

  “Seems to me you’re already mighty involved with her, lad.”

  “Not for long.”

  “What’ll become of the lass when she leaves?”

  “That’s her problem. She’ll have money. She can do as she pleases. So long as she doesn’t trouble me.”

  Ethan stood, his chair scraping across the rug. “Reckon I’d best get back, Ham. But what about you? Are you comfortable here? Happy? Why don’t you come and live back at the house? There’s a dozen empty rooms in the east wing. You could take your pick.”

  “This is my pick.” Ham clapped a gnarled hand on Ethan’s shoulder as together they walked to the door. “If I’ve got leave to fish in your duck pond, to pick berries in those woods, to do a bit of hunting without being arrested for poaching”—he grinned at the quick sharp look Ethan threw him—“then I’m fine and dandy.”

  “You damned old curmudgeon,” Ethan growled, struggling to conceal the emotion that welled up in him as they walked out of the cottage into the blazing golden afternoon. He turned to stare long and steadily at the old groom with whom he’d wandered this rolling, fragrant green land on so many other days just like this one.

  “Anything you need, Ham. Anything at all. It’s yours.”

  “I have what I need.”

  “Next week, when I get back from town, I’ll come chop firewood for you.”

  With a small choking sound, Ham yanked his pipe out from between his lips and shook his head at the younger man. “No, Ethan, my lad,” he said firmly. “You won’t. That wouldn’t be fitting. Not fitting at all. You’re the earl now, not a boy out on a lark.”