Just This Once

by Jill Gregory

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  He advanced on her slowly. The guilty flush of color flooding her cheeks was not lost on him. Suspicion hardened inside him. He’d better be on guard. The devil only knew what she was up to.

  “Maybe you were figuring the odds of making off with these—wondering if you could get clear away without my finding you.”

  He held up a necklace—a heavy strand of rubies set in ornate gold so incredibly beautiful, it made her gasp.

  “No.” Josie could only stare. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t—”

  Red fire flashed bewitchingly before her eyes. Heavens, they were gorgeous. And there were glittering earrings to match. And a ruby-and-gold bracelet that looked to be part of the same set. She couldn’t possibly wear these.

  “They were my mother’s.” His tone was cool, impersonal. She wondered at his total lack of emotion when speaking of his family, as if he had sealed away every human feeling, every intimate connection many, many years ago. “They’re worth a fortune—but I wouldn’t recommend trying to steal them,” he warned softly. “It wouldn’t be healthy.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Not if you know what’s good for you,” he agreed.

  Anger quivered through her then. And with it came injured pride. He thought she had no scruples at all, that she was as devoid of feeling as he was. Challenging him, she lifted her chin and met his gaze directly.

  “If you’re so worried why let me wear them? Why show them to me at all?”

  “Do I look worried?” he asked with a mocking hint of a smile. But there was steel beneath it. “Come on, Josie. They’re yours for tonight, and when needed in London. Put them on fast—we’re late.”

  But because he was so near, and watching her so intently, her fingers fumbled clumsily with the necklace’s clasp, and in the end he had to help her with it. As she stood with her back to him, their bodies were so close, she could almost feel the power-edged heat of him burning through her gown. Josie prayed for her heart to stop its mad pounding, for the feelings inside her to stay locked tight deep within her chest. She held her breath, aware of everything, of the heat and weight of the rubies at her throat, of his strong hands working carefully at the delicate clasp, of his breath warm and steady on her neck. She resisted the urge to spin around, rise up on tiptoe, and taste his kiss again, to give herself up to those warm, slow lips. But she wanted to. Heaven help her, she wanted to.

  “Done. Let’s see.”

  A wave of shakiness swept through her as he turned her to face him.

  Josie met his gaze shyly. She felt her breath coming in quick, ragged bursts. She wondered if he would notice her quickened breathing, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

  Of course he would! He was a man, wasn’t he? All men noticed such things.

  Delicate pink color like the mist of dawn tinged her cheeks as he studied her in silence.

  There was a darkened intensity in his eyes. She searched them, but was frustrated to find that beneath the shock of silky black hair, those gray eyes were as unreadable as always. No recognizable flicker of emotion betrayed what he was thinking—about her, about the jewels, about anything.

  Then, with a light finger he touched the rubies glittering at her ears, then the necklace at her throat.

  “You’ll do.”

  But his voice held a note she hadn’t heard before. Josie stared at him, trying to see beneath the cool crystal gray of his eyes, but he turned away swiftly and handed her the gloves, bag, and fan she’d left on his desk.

  “Come on—before Lady Tattersall decides to box my ears,” he said darkly, and Josie, who couldn’t imagine anyone daring to do any such thing to him, allowed him to escort her to the door.

  In the carriage, with the horses clattering beneath a delicate half-moon, she lapsed into silence. The heat of the necklace pulsed at her throat. She didn’t know that in the light of the carriage lamps, her skin gleamed richly white against the rubies’ dark fire, or that Ethan was having difficulty keeping himself from glancing at the swell of her breasts above the low-cut rose moiré gown. She knew only that he was sitting silently across from her, his expression completely unfathomable as the horses drew them nearer and nearer to the ordeal ahead.

  “Perhaps you should tell me something about Lady Tattersall and the other guests I’m to meet,” she ventured at last as her nervousness mounted.

  “Lady Tattersall is my godmother. She’s a dizzy, good-hearted old bird—a peacock, more like it,” he added with a curl of the lip. “As I recall, she always loved parties and the whirl of London’s social season more than life itself, but she’s never had an ounce of spite in her as far as I could tell. You don’t have to be frightened of her.”

  “I’m not frightened.” Josie clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I don’t frighten easily.”

  “Damn straight.” Ethan shifted in his seat, edging nearer to her. “You didn’t frighten the first time I caught you stealing my money,” he said softly. “In fact, you had the cold hard nerve to go ahead and steal it again—and to take my pocket watch. Not many men would have dared to cross me like that—especially when they’d been warned.”

  “I was desperate. I had to get out of town.”

  He remembered the terror in her face when she’d seen someone pass in the street while he held her captive in the alley. An echo of it glowed in her eyes even now. He saw her swallow hard in the thin moonlight beaming in the carriage window and wondered just who or what had triggered such intense fear.

  “They can’t get you now,” he said roughly, wondering why he was bothering to reassure her. “But just for the record, who was after you? The law?”

  “No. Just... a man.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “A man I knew,” she finished tautly.

  What had that man done to her to instill such fear? Or maybe more to the point, what was he going to do if he caught her? For a moment Ethan felt a black surge of fury at the hombre who had filled her with such terror, and his muscles tightened as if he were about to do battle, but he immediately relaxed them, angry at his own reaction.

  It meant nothing to him what had befallen her before they’d met. Nothing. And it would mean nothing to him what happened to her after she’d finished this little job.

  And probably, he added darkly, annoyed by his own ready sympathy, she deserved whatever the unknown man had had in store for her.

  “Did you pick his pocket, too?” he asked, his face very hard in the moonlight.

  Josie’s fingers tightened in her lap, the knuckles whitening. “No. But...” What could she say? I did steal from him? Hardly.

  She thought of the beating Snake had given her, how she’d felt the life draining from her as he mercilessly struck her again and again, threw her against the wall, kicked her in the ribs as she lay broken and moaning on the floor. She thought of how she’d fled, battered and terrified, taking the loot-filled saddlebags and Miss Alicia Denby’s stolen belongings with her.

  “It’s a long story,” she said coolly, fighting to keep her expression calm, to not let him see anything of what she was feeling. She leaned back in her seat, ending the conversation by looking out the window deliberately.

  Secrets. She was full of secrets.

  The last thing he needed was to get involved with her and her schemes. It was burdensome enough being back in England, taking up the reins of his father’s empire, and facing down the memories of Molly and the fate she’d met at his father’s hands. He didn’t need to worry about a deceptively angelic piece of fluff whose shady past was very much her own problem.

  “I almost forgot to tell you,” Ethan said as the carriage pulled up before a graceful stone-and-stucco mansion nearly as impressive as Stonecliff Park. “In addition to my godmother’s friend Colonel Hamring, and some stupid young debutante and her chaperon, my cousin will be dining here too. Since he’s in the country, sponging off the few friends he has, he’s wangled himself an
invitation. He’s always had a way with hostesses, and Lady Tattersall has known him since he was a boy.”

  “You’re not going to hit him again, are you?”

  “Who knows?” Ethan shrugged. “Depends on how much the evening needs to be livened up.”

  A giggle burst from her at this, but she quickly smothered it with a gloved hand as he led her up the walk. But not before she heard Ethan Savage’s short answering chuckle.

  It occurred to her that if they’d met under different circumstances, they might have been friends. If he’d watched her dance one night, and had offered to buy her a drink afterward. If she’d entered into that poker game he’d been playing, and won a few hands. She’d certainly have been drawn to his darkly handsome looks, to the cool way he handled himself. She might even have wondered what it would be like to let him take her to his room... and make love to her.

  That thought shocked her. She’d been a virgin until she and Snake were married, and based on the things he’d done to her, she wished she could have remained one forever. Knowing what she did, she ought to run like hell at the very notion of going to bed with a man. Because if what Snake had done to her was what it meant to make love, Josie knew she’d rather go to war. At least then she’d be armed with a weapon with which to protect herself.

  Based on what she’d learned about what went on between married men and women, she knew that if Ethan Savage ever decided to try to break their agreement, she would flee England faster than a bird on the wing.

  She would never be any man’s victim again. But remembering the powerful effect of his kiss, the way his arms felt around her, she felt a piercing curiosity that kept growing stronger. Something deep and secret inside her yearned to find out more, to find out if with another man, with Ethan Savage and the feelings she had for him, things might be... different.

  But she pushed these thoughts away as Ethan raised the knocker. It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. After her experience with Snake, she’d be a fool ever to get within spitting distance of Ethan Savage or any other man ever again.

  When no one answered the loud rapping, Ethan frowned and tried again.

  “Strange. Every light in the place is on and none of the servants are coming to the door.”

  Josie leaned over to try to get a peek through the windows, but the drapes were drawn, and she couldn’t discern any shape or shadow through the heavy fabric.

  “I don’t understand. If they’re expecting us...”

  “Old Whitley must be going deaf as a doornail.” Ethan turned the knob. The door swung open on a wide, elegant hall adorned with handsome French wallpaper, but whose dark marble floor was marred by a servant’s sprawled form.

  The liveried man lay facedown, unmoving. Blood trickled from a gash at the back of his head and dripped into a small puddle on the floor.

  “Oh, my God, Ethan.” But even as Josie started toward the man in alarm, she felt herself grasped from behind and hauled brutally backward. An arm encircled her throat, and she saw the glint of a knife. Her unseen assailant pressed the glittering tip up toward her cheek. At the same time she was engulfed by a stench of garlic, gin, and unwashed flesh.

  “Don’t ye move now, neither o’ you. The lady won’t be so pretty if I have to use this on her, me lord. So don’t you try nothin’.”

  And then she turned her head ever so slightly and saw Ethan, frozen beside her, his features locked in a stone-cold mask of utter calm. But she could also see the big black pistol stuck against the back of his head—though not the man who held that pistol.

  Or the one brandishing the knife an inch from her own face.

  “I said don’t move!” the man behind her roared, and tightened his arm around her throat. The knife angled closer.

  Josie gasped, but managed to remain motionless.

  “If you hurt my wife, all of England won’t save you from me,” Ethan said with deadly calm, and for an instant the blade hovered.

  Then it eased away, an inch. Two. She heard a rough laugh. “Don’t want to hurt her, me lord, but we will if you make any trouble. Now get in there with the rest of ’em. We don’t ’ave all night.”

  And the front door of Lady Tattersall’s house slammed shut behind them.

  Twelve

  Fear tumbled through Josie as she was shoved into the large drawing room that veered off the hall. Someone pushed her so forcefully, she literally catapulted into the knot of people huddled in front of the sofa, and Josie felt herself caught and steadied by a tiny red-haired woman in a high-necked green gown.

  “There, dear, you’re all right. Don’t be f-frightened,” the woman whispered bravely, her fingers clinging to Josie’s arm, whether for Josie’s benefit or her own was a matter of opinion. Her small lips were trembling, and her velvety brown eyes were very wide, but her doll-like face held a rigid calm as she tried to smile reassuringly.

  Behind her, Josie heard rough laughter.

  “All right, ladies and gennelmen. Time to hand over yer pretties.” A stout man of average height addressed the group in a gravelly tone. She realized that he was the one who had grabbed her, for he held a knife in his heavy gloved hands. He wore dark, patched clothes in poor condition and a black cloth face mask that covered all of his features save for fierce, slitted black eyes. “Tiny’s goin’ ter make the rounds now and all ye’ll ’ave to do is drop all your baubles in this ’ere sack,” he growled. “And be quick about it. Wouldn’t want your fine supper ter get cold, now would we?”

  He gave another guffaw of laughter. Then the tallest, broadest, fattest giant Josie had ever seen lumbered forward with a gunnysack clenched in his bear-sized paw.

  It was then that the fog of shock evaporated and everything clicked into place. The men who’d accosted them were none other than Pirate Pete and his cohorts, the very same thieves Mrs. Fielding had spoken of the other night.

  Thieves. Josie could scarcely believe it. More of her own special brand of bad luck. She’d escaped Snake Barker and his brutal gang of outlaws only to end up robbed at knifepoint by England’s most notorious bandits.

  Instinctively, her hands flew to the ruby necklace at her throat, the one that had belonged to Ethan’s mother. A tiny sound of dismay escaped her, and she peered quickly over at Ethan, who had been herded with the other men near the far end of the sofa.

  But Ethan wasn’t looking her way. He was studying Pirate Pete and the third man, the tall, slim, muscular one brandishing the pistol. He, too, wore a black face mask like Pirate Pete and the giant, Tiny.

  Oh, please don’t let Ethan get himself killed, she prayed instantly. The expression on his face frightened her. Josie had only known Ethan Savage for a short time, but she knew him well enough to be convinced that he wouldn’t stand idly by and allow himself to be robbed—not without putting up one hell of a fight.

  But how could he fight? He was unarmed. And these men had knives and guns.

  Yet one look at his set, cold face told her that Ethan would not let such minor inconveniences stop him.

  Tall and lean in his dark evening clothes and white tie, he stood a little apart from the other men. Far from looking the least bit cowed by the outlaws, he looked faintly bored. But Josie saw the tension in his shoulders, the tautness of his long fingers as he gripped the back of a chair.

  And she knew that he would try something, anything, rather than let these thieves make off with his jewels and money without a fight. Panic sparked through her.

  He would get himself killed.

  Beside Ethan, Oliver Winthrop trembled like a rabbit who’d stumbled into a fox den. He kept rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture that failed to keep the uneasy twitch from his neck. Beside him was a stocky older gentleman with an imposing mustache and the stern face of a walrus. He was scowling from beneath heavy black brows at the giant who had halted before the ladies and was now holding out the open gunnysack.

  “Oh dear, oh dear. Why me?” The buxom woman in the elaborate dress a
nd glittering jewels wailed. Her red face was puffed with fear. Josie guessed that she was Lady Tattersall, for the word “peacock” never could have applied to the tiny auburn-haired woman in her rather old-fashioned plain green dress, and the only other lady present was a rail-thin black-haired beauty with extraordinary lily-white skin and perfect features who was much too young to be Ethan’s godmother.

  “There are surely scores of dinner parties going on all over the county tonight—why on earth did Pirate Pete have to choose mine?” she uttered miserably.

  “ ’Urry up with it, my lady, or I’ll see you ’ave some-thin’ else ter weep about,” Tiny grunted. Josie felt a surge of sympathy for her as she fumbled in terror with the clasp of her diamond necklace.

  “Come on! We don’t ’ave all night.”

  Behind the mask, his eyes were opaque and empty, like blank wooden coins. The massive girth and size of him dwarfed all three women, and instilled such terror in Lady Tattersall that her fingers trembled all the more.

  “Here, let me help her,” Josie said, stepping forward. The small auburn-haired woman gave a small gasp as Josie slipped past Tiny and put a steadying hand on Lady Tattersall’s wrist.

  “Let me do it,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, thank you... Lady Stonecliff. We haven’t been properly introduced, but since you came in with dear Ethan, or actually were pushed in with dear Ethan, I have assumed—”

  “Quit yer squawkin’!” Pirate Pete stuck his knife in his belt, strode forward, and without warning, grabbed Lady Tattersall by the throat. He ripped the necklace from her as Josie’s fingers fortunately finished unlocking the clasp. “And them rings and earrings, too,” he barked.

  “And you’re next, me li’l pretty,” he told Josie, his gaze skimming over the rubies at her ears and throat, then lingering a tad longer over the enticing whiteness of bosom showing above the bodice of her gown.

  “Maybe ye’d like ter come with us when we’ve finished ’ere,” he invited with a wide, crooked-tooth grin. “You’re a good mite prettier than all these ’ere baubles.”