Just This Once

by Jill Gregory

Good, he thought, his lip curling as he steeled himself away from sympathy. She wants a strictly businesslike relationship—wants me out of her bed, even with a marriage license that gives me permission to go there—then, fine. That’s what she’s got.

  But how many had gone there before him? It was none of his business. And didn’t matter a damn. She’d made it clear she didn’t want him in her bed—and far be it from him to go where he wasn’t wanted. But now he could only remember with disbelief how lightly and casually he’d made that promise on the train, and assured her he’d have no trouble keeping it.

  What had he told her? Have it your way, lady. It’s just fine with me. I’m not all that interested.

  Somehow or other, he’d gotten to the point where he was a hell of a lot more than interested. On the verge of loco was more like it.

  When she’d almost been run down by that carriage, bringing back hideous memories of what had befallen Molly, he’d had to fight to keep from snatching her into his arms and crushing her against him with relief.

  “Ethan, the music’s stopped. The dance has ended. Ethan...”

  Her quiet, urgent voice recalled him to the present with an unpleasant jolt. He looked down at the heart-stoppingly beautiful woman in his arms and knew he’d better get off this dance floor and away from her pronto. He had to keep up the pretense, and at the same time, keep her at a distance. But this dancing business was pushing things. Holding her in his arms during this damned waltz had made his loins ache and his mind fill with urges he’d never experienced toward anyone he’d done “business” with before.

  He’d be damned if he’d dance with her again.

  “Let’s go.” He half dragged her toward the refreshment table with its snowy cloth and fountains of champagne.

  “Think I’ll join the gentlemen at billiards.” He was no longer in the mood for pretenses. He sketched the briefest of bows and without a backward glance left her with Miss Perry.

  Josie watched him go with torn emotions. Beneath her outward calm, her hands were clammy. She didn’t know how to act with him, what to do or say. Since that day by the river, when they had both apparently realized how important it was for them to keep their distance, and abide by the rules of their agreement, he had treated her with cool formality when they were alone, and with charming attention when they were in public.

  And it was best that way, she knew. But it was also awkward. Not to mention difficult. Always having to guard her tongue, and her heart. Always having to pretend that it meant nothing to her when he touched her, or looked at her, or spoke to her in public in that warm, interested way of his. Because none of it was real, she reminded herself. And if she forgot that for more than a moment, she was nothing but a fool.

  The sensation of dancing in his arms, of being held close and tight, and whisked across the floor as if she weighed no more than a button, had been intoxicating. If only it were real—the light in his eyes as they danced, the intense way he held her, looked at her, listened to her.

  That day on the banks of the river, it had all seemed real enough. And there was no one about but the two of them. But he had only said what he had because of the passion of the moment, she told herself.

  All men said things in passion they didn’t mean, made promises, led a girl on. She’d heard and seen enough in the Golden Pistol to know how men used women when they wanted to get them into their beds. And Snake... Snake had made promises at first when she’d wed him—about giving up the outlaw life, about making her happy, about finding them a place they could call home.

  Each promise had been empty as a valley creekbed in summer. And worse, Snake had hurt her. She’d never known anything could hurt so bad as what had happened when he’d tossed her down on the bed on their wedding night and torn off all her clothes and thrown himself down upon her....

  Ethan just wants to do that, too, she reminded herself. He wanted to do it on the streambank and that’s why he told you all those things. Things he thought you wanted to hear. It was a trick, a ploy, to get you to break the agreement. There was nothing more behind it. He doesn’t care about you. No one’s ever cared about you—except Pop, a little, and Mrs. Guntherson at the orphanage. Why should you think a man like Ethan Savage would care about you?

  “What is it, my dear? What’s wrong?” Poor Miss Perry was staring at her in dismay. “You look positively pale. Are you ill?”

  “No... I...” Josie hastily recalled herself to the present. She wondered for how long Miss Perry had been speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word. “I was only feeling sad that I haven’t seen Colonel Hamring all evening,” she said quickly, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. “And I wanted to inquire about his recovery.”

  “I haven’t seen him yet myself.” Though her voice shook a little over the words, Miss Perry’s sweet face almost hid her disappointment. But Josie knew it must be intense.

  Only look at how lovely Miss Perry was tonight—Josie had never seen her in such a becoming gown.

  “I see you chose what to wear—it is beautiful,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, well, I had been saving this gown for a special occasion... not that this occasion is special, for why should it be? But... the urge to wear it suddenly came over me...” Her voice trailed off. “Silly, I suppose. Most silly.”

  “Will you walk with me?” Josie took her arm, leaving Miss Perry little choice. She had scanned the crowded ballroom swiftly and could see no sign of the Colonel. Perhaps he was gambling in one of the other rooms, or playing billiards. Perhaps if they strolled around a bit they would spot him.

  But to Miss Perry she only said, “It is so stuffy in here. I need a breath of air.”

  They paced through the garden, chatting companionably, then returned to the house and leisurely crossed the hall. “I’ve heard that Lady Cartwright’s music room is exceptionally beautiful—”

  Josie broke off as she suddenly spotted Colonel Hamring emerge from a room down the corridor, where she had earlier seen men playing cards.

  “Colonel Hamring, do come help me. Miss Perry is feeling faint,” she called softly, and with satisfaction saw his head jerk up.

  “What’s this?” He reached them in several quick strides. “Miss Perry, are you ill?”

  “No, I’m fine—” She nearly squealed as Josie pinched her arm. “Faint, yes, feeling a bit faint,” she amended, casting the girl beside her a frantic glance.

  “Here, ma’am, take my arm.”

  “Colonel, please help me get her into the music room.” Josie allowed an expression of great concern to settle over her features. “Some air will do you good, my dear. Yes, that’s right, do lean upon the Colonel. He won’t let you fall. We’ll be there in a moment.”

  She watched from beneath her lashes as Colonel Hamring—who appeared recovered from his injury—attended to Miss Perry with kindness and concern.

  “Oh, no, I’m feeling much better,” the lady protested when he insisted upon bringing her a glass of water.

  “Now what sort of a gentleman would I be not to take every care of you—especially when you nursed me so bravely after that recent altercation, ma’am?” He patted her small hand with his much larger one, and hurried off with brisk strides.

  “What are you doing, Lady Stonecliff? How could you lie to him that way?” Miss Perry stared at her in dazed shock.

  “It was easy.” Josie clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. “And it’s for a good cause. Now when he comes back... hush, here he comes.”

  And she moved away from the edge of the sofa as Colonel Hamring reappeared with a goblet of water.

  “I’m sure she only needs a few moments of rest and quiet,” Josie murmured. “There was a gentleman who waltzed with her a bit too roughly, I’m afraid, and it made her quite dizzy,” she added, and was pleased when Colonel Hamring scowled.

  “What? No excuse for that,” he exclaimed, tugging on his mustache.

  “No, indeed. Colonel, I’m sure you would
know the proper way to waltz with a lady as delicate as Miss Perry.”

  “Eh? Certainly. Certainly. Well, I haven’t waltzed much in my life, never went in much for dancing, but I would certainly try.”

  “Excellent. I’m sure she wouldn’t refuse you, but you will wait to dance with her until she’s had a moment to recover, won’t you?”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “There’s no need,” Miss Perry protested, but Colonel Hamring shook his head, looking more than ever like a gruff old walrus.

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, madame, than to waltz with you and show you how a gentleman properly treats a lady,” he said. “But not until I’m certain you’ve recovered.”

  “You’re too kind.” Miss Perry threw a desperate glance in Josie’s direction as she saw the Countess edging toward the door.

  “Ah, where are you going, Lady Stonecliff?”

  “To find my husband. He must be searching for me by now. I’ll return as soon as I’ve set his mind at ease.”And she slipped out of the music room, leaving Miss Perry and the Colonel alone.

  Josie was very well pleased with herself. She had no intention of finding Ethan however, for the strain of holding her feelings in check and playacting an all too painful role was wearing on her. Besides, if he was busy playing billiards with the other men, he wouldn’t be missing her in the least—and would probably be annoyed at the interruption.

  She slipped among the other guests ambling through the house, many of them couples strolling arm in arm. A flutter of loneliness stole through her.

  She shook off the sensation, drawing on her common sense. This was no time to be mooning over a man who could only hurt her. This was a perfect time to find Lady Tattersall and question her about Miss Denby.

  She smiled and nodded politely to those she passed, but made her way purposefully through the various lovely rooms and passageways until she at last spotted Lady Tattersall.

  Ethan’s godmother was emerging from the sitting room into a wide hallway set with gilt chairs and small marble-topped tables. The carpet beneath was a rich floral, and there were several gold-framed paintings on the walls. She was speaking to Lady Cartwright—they appeared deep in conversation, but when they saw Josie they paused and smiled, beckoning her to join them.

  She came forward into the hall, but before she could say a word, her gaze was drawn to the lustrous painting hanging just above Lady Cartwright’s head. There two fair, elegantly clad young women were seated upon a sofa, while another stood just behind and to the left of them, holding a small bouquet.

  Something about the woman who was standing drew her attention. She stared at the heart-shaped, angelic face, the uptilted eyes as blue as violets, the full, smiling lips. And then her gaze moved to the soft sky-blue crepe gown and fell upon the delicately glinting brooch.

  Shock jolted through her. The brooch.

  Her brooch!

  With her throat closing, Josie stepped closer, then craned her neck, staring at the pearl-and-opal brooch in the portrait.

  “Who... is this?” she heard herself ask in a voice that was thick and raspy and totally unlike her own.

  “My dear, are you well?” Lady Tattersall stared at her in concern. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost!”

  “Yes, I’m quite well, but... who is this? Lady Cartwright, please tell me.”

  “Well, that is a portrait of me, dear. There, sitting on the sofa beside my sister, Georgina. I’m in the peach gown and she is in white. And the girl standing beside us in blue was our cousin, Charlotte. Heavens, Lady Stonecliff—do sit down. You look positively faint!”

  “No, I’m not going to faint. I’m not. I’m fine.”

  Trembling and white, Josie struggled to take in the meaning of Lady Cartwright’s words. Instead of sitting down, she continued to stare at the painting, at the face of Charlotte, at the brooch glittering upon her breast.

  “Your cousin?”

  “Why, yes. Our mothers were sisters. We were very close growing up, but... my dear, why are you so curious?”

  “Lady Cartwright, do you know of a young woman by the name of Miss Alicia Denby?”

  There was silence as Lady Cartwright stared at her, stared at the young countess with the pale face and the intense, almost pleading eyes.

  “Why, yes,” she said slowly, and beside her, Lady Tattersall gave a slight, surprised nod of recognition as well.

  “Why, yes, I do. She’s Charlotte’s daughter—and therefore my cousin. But she rarely goes out in society. How, my dear, did you come to know of her?”

  Josie felt the room start to spin. “Lady Cartwright,” she gasped, pressing both hands to her suddenly light head. “I think I should sit down after all.”

  * * *

  “Stonecliff can’t seem to lose tonight,” young Lord Willowton grumbled as he and his companion, the Marquis of Cavenleigh, eldest son of the Duke of Melling, stalked out into the garden for a breath of air. They’d both drunk more than enough for one night and they’d both lost heavily at cards and billiards to the Earl of Stonecliff.

  “Well, if you had a wife who looked like that one, you’d be flying pretty high too.” Lord Cavenleigh scowled.

  “Don’t want a wife. Don’t want to be married,” Lord Willowton mused, sinking down upon a marble bench and sighing heavily. “But wouldn’t mind finding the Countess of Stonecliff in my bed. Wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “From what I hear, my friend, it could well come to pass. The beauteous countess might not be quite the lady her fine clothes and elegant face would have you think. I heard a rumor, a tantalizing rumor... quite scandalous really.”

  “Really? Do tell all.”

  “Spent some time at my club today and the word going around is that she used to work in a dance hall in America. In the West, you know, on that wild frontier.” He began to snigger as his friend’s eyes widened. “It appears she’s nothing but a cheap little hussy Stonecliff picked up on his travels.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, indeed.” He laughed uproariously. “So you might well be able to lure her to your bed, Freddy—only don’t let Stonecliff catch you. What I heard is that she’s as common as—”

  He never finished the sentence.

  Ethan Savage grabbed him up by the scruff of the neck, spun him around, and glared like the devil incarnate into Cavenleigh’s pale green eyes.

  “Stonecliff... er... I didn’t mean... believe you’ve misunderstood...”

  “Let me make sure you don’t misunderstand this,” Ethan snarled, and slammed his fist into Cavenleigh’s jaw. The young lord went down with a muffled groan.

  Ethan seized him, hauled him up, and hit him again, this time in the midsection. Lord Cavenleigh landed in the flower bed.

  Lord Willowton backed away in terror.

  “Not so fast.” Ethan stepped over Cavenleigh’s moaning form and grasped Willowton by his pristine silk lapels.

  “If you or your friend say one more word about my wife—to anyone, ever, anytime—I’ll beat you both to such bloody pulps, your own mothers won’t recognize you.” His tone was soft, silky smooth, but laced with unmistakable, very lethal danger. Willowton quailed beneath the murderous gleam emanating from deep within the other man’s eyes.

  “I won’t... I wasn’t... but I won’t... I was only admiring—”

  Ethan punched him in the chin, and watched as Willowton sank to his knees, blood spurting from his soft, weak mouth.

  “Don’t,” Ethan advised in a voice thick with fury. “Don’t you or your pompous little friend even dare to look at her.”

  Nineteen

  It was no use.

  No matter how hard Josie tried, she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in the soft wide bed, twisted and punched her pillows, kicked off and yanked at the blankets.

  She was wide-awake.

  Outside, a mist-white moon rode the midnight sky. Wind fluttered the pale curtains at her window and brought with it the perfume of roses f
rom the small, gated garden.

  Long hours stretched until dawn. But she couldn’t stay in bed one minute longer.

  Feet bare, she padded into the hall, her hair loose and flowing. She wore only her white silk nightgown—no need for a wrapper since no one would be up and about at this hour. Any sane person would be sound asleep.

  Perhaps a dish of tea would help. Dish of tea? Josie grinned ruefully at herself. She was beginning to think like an Englishwoman.

  With a candle held aloft she made her way through the darkness and slipped into the kitchen. There she lit a lamp and put a kettle on to boil. She whisked toward the cupboard in search of cups, then nearly screamed as she saw Ethan in the doorway.

  His tall form filled the narrow opening. He was watching her, an unreadable expression in his eyes, a brandy goblet held carelessly in one hand.

  Her fingers flew to her mouth to smother the scream. “Are you trying to scare me to death?” she managed to croak when she could find her voice again.

  He didn’t answer. He simply looked at her.

  Josie felt her heart begin to hammer. There was something about him tonight—something sleek and perilous. The aura of danger clung to him as it had that first day in Abilene.

  He still wore his evening clothes. But his tie was loose, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, open to reveal an expanse of dark muscled chest. His eyes glittered.

  “You’ve been drinking,” she murmured, half to herself.

  “Not enough, sweetheart. Not nearly enough.”

  He wasn’t drunk. She could see that as he swaggered into the kitchen and came toward her. Beneath their glitter, his eyes were keen and cold. There was tension in him, coiling through the powerful muscles of his wide-shouldered frame, hardening the set of his jaw.

  “Would you like tea?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Nope.”

  “Eggs and ham and buttered toast, and some jellied tarts?” She was only half joking. “I’m a cook, remember. I could whip up any of those things before you could say—”

  “I’m not looking for sustenance.” He drained the brandy in one burning gulp and set the goblet on the table with a sharp ping. He advanced a step, closing the distance between them to a mere two feet, watching her eyes go wide and a pulse jump in her throat. “At least, not that kind of sustenance.”