by Jill Gregory
“Think you can stop me, old man?” The look Ethan shot him was full of playful challenge. “I’ve chopped plenty of wood in the past ten years and not once for anyone I gave a damn about. I can sure as hell chop wood for you.”
And clapping the old groom on the back, he turned and sauntered back the way he’d come, feeling far more cheerful.
Ham watched him go, torn between gladness at having him back, and concern that the boy he’d taken under his wing so many years ago had never yet found the happiness that had been denied him in childhood.
But he’d seen something in Ethan’s eyes when he mentioned his wife. Something that gave him hope, despite the lad’s harsh words. Something definite enough to make Ham decide that one of these days—and the sooner the better—he’d like to meet the new Countess of Stonecliff and judge for himself.
Eleven
You can do this. Of course you can do this. All you have to do is walk down those stairs and pretend you’re acting in a play. You’re not you—you’re someone else. A countess. A lady. A wife.
“Is something wrong, my lady? Are you not pleased with how I arranged your hair?” Devon asked anxiously, and Josie realized that she’d been scowling at herself in the mirror.
She shook her head, for a moment unable to speak. Then she managed to say in what she hoped was a dignified tone, “It’s lovely, Devon. I don’t believe it’s ever looked as pretty as it does tonight.”
The girl beamed at her. She dropped a curtsy and began moving about the room, tidying the bed, picking up stray items of discarded clothing.
Josie studied her own reflection in the mirror. A sensation of stunned unreality surged through her. The gown of deep rose moiré with its silk overskirt trimmed with black silk roses was without a doubt the most elegant, sophisticated, and gorgeous dress she had ever seen. And it made her look like someone else, she decided on a gulp of nervousness. Like someone she didn’t recognize.
Her upswept hair, gleaming with a coppery sheen in the hissing yellow gaslight, was adorned with a small cluster of silk roses as well. Only a few carefully chosen wisps floated out from that elegant topknot to skim softly about her cheeks.
Her gaze moved lower. Goodness, how slender and—yes—voluptuous she looked in that low-cut bodice and tight skirt with the small bustle and the elaborate lace-edged train. Even her shoes were exquisite—rose satin slippers adorned with pearl rosettes and tiny glimmering jewels.
If only her cheeks weren’t so pale. If only she could catch her breath. Tonight would be her first major test, and if she failed, it would all be over.
Ethan Savage would send her away. He’d probably put her on the next steamship for America himself—and she had never even had a chance to try to find Miss Denby.
The thought that she wouldn’t see Ethan Savage ever again was not lost on her—it made her spirits sink to her toes—but she pushed this prospect from her mind.
She wouldn’t fail. She would succeed.
But first she had to find the courage to leave this room.
She saw Devon casting anxious glances at her beneath her lashes as she gathered up the gown Josie had worn this afternoon to be sponged and pressed. The girl was wondering why she didn’t go down. It was growing late.
“Don’t wait up for me, Devon,” she said, rising from the chair with her knees quivering. “We may be quite late.”
“Yes, my lady.”
And then she gathered up her jeweled evening bag, her gloves, and her embroidered chiffon fan, and swept from the room, mindful to take small, careful steps in the tight-fitting gown, her head held high as Mr. Latherby had instructed. As she descended the staircase she heard footsteps far below and saw Ethan stride to the bottom of the stairs. He put a hand on the banister and scowled up at her.
She wondered if he had scowled at that other girl the same way. The one Cousin Oliver had told her about. No, Josie decided, on a wave of glumness, he had probably smiled at her. And laughed with her. And complimented her. Whoever she was. It sounded as if he had defied his father because he cared for her, so she must have mattered to him—mattered a great deal.
She wished she knew the story of that girl. She had to believe that knowing would somehow help her understand Ethan Savage. And perhaps reach him. Because she knew that beneath his restlessness, his arrogance and harshness, there was not only anger, but a deep, long-buried pain.
Josie wanted... what? To ease it somehow. Perhaps even to heal it, to soothe away the trouble knotting in his soul.
But she realized as he stared up the staircase at her with such remote coolness that she had a better chance of sprouting wings and flying than of ever getting the chance to try.
How devastatingly handsome he looked in his black evening coat and vest, his high-collared, snowy linen shirt looking even whiter against the bronze of his skin, his raven hair gleaming in the light of the chandelier. Somehow the elegance of his attire, its very correctness, made him look all the more rugged and dangerously handsome. His expression didn’t change as she descended toward him. Well, perhaps a bit. His eyes grew even frostier. Josie fought back disappointment.
What had she expected, that he would gape at her openmouthed and spew out a babble of compliments he couldn’t contain?
She told herself she’d best forget about dazzling Ethan Savage, and concentrate instead on not falling down the stairs.
Ethan, meanwhile, had all he could do not to grit his teeth. Damn, the vision coming toward him was enough to make any man drool. The little thief he’d dragged into the garbage-strewn Abilene alley looked as if she’d been born in a palace. Her hair shone like copper in the chandelier light, her fine-boned face held the delicate beauty of some long-ago storybook princess, and the eyes gazing down into his with eager brilliance shook him to his soul.
And mixed in tantalizingly with all this heart-stopping loveliness was the unconsciously sensual sway of her hips as she took her dainty steps, the slender curves accentuated by the tight sweep of her gown. It didn’t help that he remembered all too well the feel of her atop his lap. He battled a fierce urge to vault up the stairs, scoop her into his arms, and savor the softness of her pressed against him once more.
Lunacy, to be sure. The last thing he could afford to do with his untrustworthy new wife was display any sign of affection or weakness. Then his goose would be cooked for sure.
But what grist for the mill it would provide the servants, Ethan thought, suppressing a devilish grin. His sense of humor could readily appreciate the gossip that would fly belowstairs if he were to dash up the steps and sweep his wife into his arms before one and all. He was almost tempted to do it—not only to experience the delights of Josie Cooper Savage pressed up against him, but to see the expression of shock on the faces of the servants gathered in the hall.
John, the footman, stood at attention, ready to open the door for them when they departed. Rupert, another footman, and Perkins had been passing through the hall, but now each had come to a complete halt and all three servants were staring up as if transfixed at the sight of the delicate, exquisite woman descending the staircase.
Ethan was sorely tempted. But sanity won, and he stayed where he was, concentrating on maintaining his equanimity. It helped to remember just who that woman coming toward him really was: not a princess, not an angel, not even a lady, just a thief and dance hall girl who’d steal him blind if he gave her half a chance.
But if she was going to continue to look this fetching every time he encountered her, he’d need to find himself a mistress in London pretty damn quick just to keep himself distracted.
Josie’s stomach fluttered more and more nervously as she neared the bottom of the staircase. When she saw that the butler and two footmen had paused in the hall to watch her progress, her breath locked in her throat. The way they were staring at her, she wondered frantically if the silk buttons of her bodice had come undone, or the ribbons of her shoes had come untied. She offered the servants a hesitant smile, then couldn
’t resist glancing down at her shoes, just to make sure.
“Don’t look down!” a voice hissed angrily from a doorway below. Latherby’s voice. Her glance flew toward him uncertainly, and her hand faltered on the banister. The sudden movement sent her teetering over the step, and the next thing she knew her fan went flying and she was pitching forward, a scream bubbling in her throat.
Then she was caught in a powerful pair of arms that were beginning to feel treacherously familiar. Ethan clutched her fast against his chest.
“You clumsy girl, this will never do,” the solicitor groaned, rushing forward, then suddenly froze as Ethan’s gaze swerved to him, and Latherby saw that the Earl’s eyes were like gray ice. Too late the solicitor became aware of the presence of the servants, of the horrified shock with which they were staring at him.
He had just insulted the Countess of Stonecliff, his employer’s precious bride.
“I... I beg pardon.” He shoved his spectacles up onto his nose with fingers that visibly trembled. He stared from Ethan to the servants and back to Ethan again with deepening red color splotching across his face as Perkins dashed forward and scooped up the fallen fan, presenting it to the Countess with a bow.
“My dear Countess, I, uh...” Latherby seemed to be choking out the words. “Forgive me, I was, er, only concerned that you not hurt yourself.”
“It’s quite all right,” Josie managed to say with a weak smile. She bestowed a stronger one on Perkins as she accepted the fan in trembling fingers. “Don’t give it another thought.”
Ethan set her down and turned toward Latherby. “Your services are no longer required in this house.”
“What? My lord... I beg you...”
“You are to leave at once.” Ethan flicked a glance at Rupert, the taller of the two footmen. “Bring another carriage to the door for Mr. Latherby. My wife and I will be leaving for Lady Tattersall’s directly—tell Charles to walk the horses while he waits. I need a few words with Mr. Latherby before he departs.”
Taking Josie’s arm, Ethan took her into the library. Latherby followed, head bowed, well aware of the three servants’ stunned and disapproving gazes that bored into his retreating back.
No sooner did he close the library door than the solicitor began to speak. “My lord, I didn’t notice them standing in the hall. I didn’t think.”
“That’s right, you didn’t think. There’s no way you can stay here now, after insulting my ‘Countess.’ And you.” Ethan turned to Josie. Glowering, he studied her, his gaze raking her from head to toe. “You were doing just fine until you let yourself get sidetracked. You even had me fooled—almost. It’s that dress, I reckon. Makes you look downright respectable.”
Respectable? Was that the best he could do? He made it sound as if she resembled a wrinkled, cherub-cheeked preacher’s wife!
Beautiful, was what she longed to hear. Or elegant. Maybe ravishing. It didn’t matter that respectable was what she was aiming for.
“You’re too kind.” Violet sparks began to flash in the depths of her eyes. She arched her brows, regal as a duchess. “I’m overwhelmed by such flattery.”
Ethan fought back a grin. Wasn’t that just like a woman to take a compliment the wrong way? Those adorable lips were actually pouting.
“Josephine,” Mr. Latherby cut in desperately. “Stop fiddling with your fan. I’ve told you time and time again that ladies don’t—”
“Latherby, that’s enough!” Ethan glowered at him, all of his amusement vanishing. “Damn it, man, you don’t let up. Are you always this tough on her?”
“This tough on her? Whatever do you mean, my lord? I’m only doing what you told me to do. You explicitly instructed me—”
“You tell me,” Ethan commanded, swinging his attention impatiently to Josie. “Does he treat you like this all the time?”
Surprised, she weighed how to answer. Poor Mr. Latherby was terribly critical, but he was only doing his best to fulfill the job Ethan had given him. He was even now staring at her beseechingly, as if begging her not to crush him any further in the eyes of his employer.
“I guess I make a lot of mistakes,” she said carefully, not meeting either man’s eyes.
She felt Ethan’s gaze resting on her speculatively, and twitched a nervous hand across her skirt.
“The lady”—was it her imagination, or did he emphasize the word—“is trying to protect you, Latherby. Which is a hell of a lot more than you deserve.” He paced to the window, then swung back, frowning at the solicitor. “So listen to me. You’ve got to clear out. The servants here will know something’s not right if I let someone who spoke so insultingly to my wife stay under my roof—and in my employ. So from now on you’ll work for me from London.”
“But—but—she’s not ready. I can’t be responsible—”
“I’ll be responsible.” Ethan cut him off. “Go to London, tell Grismore my wife and I will receive him in town next week. And get my town house ready for our arrival. We’ll be coming up tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Does my father—did my father keep a separate staff for the Stonecliff House?”
“Oh, yes. Stonecliff House is completely staffed. But your lordship, who’s going to help this girl—er, Lady Stonecliff?” Latherby put in anxiously.
Josie had been wondering the same thing.
“Let me worry about that.” Ethan waved a hand at Latherby. “Get going. Josie and I have to get along to Lady Tattersall’s dinner party before the other guests drop dead of starvation waiting for us.”
Lucas Latherby bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered in a resigned tone. “I was only trying to help. Josephine,” he said, shaking his head as Josie regarded him expectantly, “don’t ever look down at your feet while you’re walking down the stairs.”
“I know that,” she grated out.
“Then why did you do it?”
“I just forgot... because Ethan and Perkins and Rupert and that other footman were all staring at me and I thought my shoes were untied or something else was wrong—”
“They were staring at you, no doubt for an entirely different reason!” Latherby snapped. “Now, I thought you were a sensible girl at least, if not a true lady, but if you’re going to act like a witless goose, it’ll never serve. See that you do everything Lord Stonecliff tells you to do. And observe the ladies you’ll meet tonight—they will be your best teachers. Behave exactly as they do. And don’t say damn or hell or—”
“Latherby, shut up!” Ethan interrupted, staring back and forth between the two of them in amazement. “You can’t stuff a lifetime’s worth of knowledge into her head in the space of a minute, and you’re just going to confuse her.”
“I’m not confused,” Josie snapped, gripping her fan more tightly because her palms were beginning to sweat. “I’m nervous. Let’s just go. And get it over with.”
Ethan jerked a thumb toward the door. “You heard the lady.”
“That’s the problem, my lord,” Latherby fretted as he moved reluctantly to the library door. “She’s not yet a lady, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be one.”
“From now on, that’s my problem,” Ethan growled. “I’ll see you in town.”
When the door finally closed behind the solicitor, Josie began to pace around and around the walnut-paneled room, suddenly overcome by an urge to delay the ordeal of the party.
“This won’t work,” Ethan remarked suddenly.
“What?” She stopped short, staring at him. “I mean... I beg your pardon,” she added in frustration.
“This won’t work,” he repeated. “The way you look...”
Her heart sank. So it was obvious even with the dress, the fan, the gloves, the fancy shoes, the upswept hair, that she was only an orphan who’d done odd jobs all her life and struggled to get by, not a fine lady. If he could tell, so could everyone else.
“Give me a chance,” she exclaimed. “I’ll change my dress... something fancier, I’ll stand
straighter, I’ll—”
“It’s not you.” He snagged her wrist as she tried to rush past him toward the door. He held her still. “It’s this.”
With his finger he traced an invisible arc across her throat.
Not understanding, Josie lifted wide, questioning eyes to his.
“And this,” he added, lightly pinching the bottom of her ear as he tried not to drown in the ocean blueness of those magnificent eyes. “And this.”
Holding up her hand, he clamped hold of her wrist. “No jewels. Lady Tattersall and the other women at that dinner party tonight will know instantly that something’s dead wrong with this marriage if you’re not wearing diamonds or rubies or emeralds in all the right places.”
Jewels. Of course. She thought of the portraits she had seen in the gallery upstairs, of all the ladies in their fine dresses and even finer jewels. Her thoughts jumped to the brooch and ring, but she could scarcely whip them out and wear them—Ethan Savage would accuse her of stealing them!
“Well, goodness, I left every single one of my diamonds back home,” she murmured. “And I believe my rubies must have fallen overboard into the Atlantic, and as for the sapphires—”
“You’ve made your point.” He released her wrist and started toward the door, half smiling. “Don’t wander off. I won’t be long.”
Josie threw her gloves, fan, and bag down on the desk and began to pace. Trying to blot out everything else, she frantically reviewed all that Latherby had told her up until now. If she made some terrible mistake, she knew, it would all be over. She’d be shipped back to America—and Snake. And she’d never have a chance to find Miss Alicia Denby.
And she’d never see Ethan Savage again. Never have a prayer of making him think of her as anything other than a worthless thief.
“What in hell were you thinking about just now?”
His voice made her jump. How long had he been gone?
She’d been spinning wool; she hadn’t even heard him open the door when he returned.