Just This Once

by Jill Gregory

  They slammed into that glimmer and exploded. Together—breathless and shuddering and holding to each other for dear life—they embraced the wonder of the moment. Their separate selves joined and clung and then in unison shattered—shattered into a glorious shower of sharp, bright, and radiantly falling stars.

  * * *

  Josie awoke to a seashell-pink dawn floating through the last shadows of night. Creamy light stole through the window of her room and across the pale carpet. It touched the bed, bathing her and Ethan in a delicate morning glow as they lay peacefully entwined.

  Her head rested against Ethan’s broad chest. Their legs were tangled, and the bedclothes were scattered wildly on the floor.

  Josie had never felt so comfortable.

  Beside her, Ethan’s skin felt smooth and warm. She remembered all that they had known together here throughout the night, remembered every joyful moment, and she could no more keep from smiling than she could stop herself from drawing breath.

  She let out a sigh of pure contentment, thinking Ethan asleep. But his leg immediately draped over hers when she let out that sigh, as if to keep her there, close, and she knew instinctively he, too, was awake.

  “Ethan?”

  “I’ve been thinking.” He spoke quietly, his breath ruffling her hair. “You’ve kept a lot of loneliness locked inside you, Josie. A hell of a lot of pain. With everything you’ve known and had to go through, I don’t know how you’ve kept such an open heart.”

  “You have one too.” She pushed herself up on an elbow and smiled at him. “I knew all along that you were just trying to appear tough and mean and ornery on the outside, but that deep inside you were a little itty-bitty pussycat—oh!”

  She gave a stifled shriek as he tugged her over and down atop him, wrapping his sinewy legs about her so she couldn’t escape.

  “Maybe more like a tiger,” she gasped laughingly as he placed one hand behind her head and pressed her face down toward his. He savaged her mouth with a long, devouring kiss that left her mouth bruised and aching for more.

  When he let her breathe again, she leaned both palms on his shoulders and nipped softly with her teeth at his dark-stubbled jaw.

  “Imagine—what if I hadn’t picked your pocket that day?” she mused. “We would never have met.”

  “Want to bet? It was fate, destiny, sweetheart—and you can’t escape your destiny.” He toyed with a long, luscious strand of her hair. Early sun was gilding the chestnut waves to a fire-tinged bronze.

  “Funny thing is, I knew that day in Abilene that something was up. Felt it in the saloon right before Latherby walked in and told me about Hugh and my father. Didn’t know exactly what was about to happen, but knew it was something big.”

  He grinned as he wound the strand of hair round and round his finger. “Truth is, I thought I was going to get shot.”

  “Shot!”

  “Yep. Never was shot before. Strange that in all those years I never caught a bullet. I’d been stabbed twice, and knocked out cold more than once, dragged by a horse, chased by a bear... but never shot. Was damned sure it would be that night.”

  His eyes gleamed at her, twin gray flames in the handsomest face she’d ever seen. “But I reckon what had happened was,” he continued slowly, “I was shot—that afternoon in the alley. Shot not by a gun, but by an arrow.”

  She raised her eyebrows, mystified.

  “An arrow belonging to a pesky critter who goes by the handle of Cupid.”

  She grinned. The smile swept across her entrancing face and lit her eyes with a light so incandescent, it put the dawn to shame.

  “Me too,” she whispered, and reaching up, began to trace the firm lines of his jaw with her fingertip.

  “It’s strange but you sound as if you’re still that other man—Ethan Savage, the gunfighter,” she whispered.

  “I am.”

  She nodded, and gazed down into his eyes with instinctive understanding. “A part of you is still tied to the West, to America. And missing it,” she added, sympathy spilling through her heart.

  “Those were good days, a good life.” His face took on a faraway expression. “Riding through mountains high enough to skim the stars, camping out in canyons so beautiful they’d break your heart, sleeping under a full moon with the coyotes howling in the distance. Or just watching the eagles circle through that great big sky, or some wild horses coming down to drink at a stream. But since I’ve come back—”

  He stopped, then sat up, sliding her over next to him, one arm stroking across her satiny shoulder.

  “Never thought I’d say this or feel this, but England has a hold on me too. It’s different this time. Feels different. Maybe that’s because you’re here.”

  A flush of pleasure swept through her, turning her skin aglow.

  “Josie, tell me something,” he said suddenly. “Do you like it here?”

  “I’m learning to like it. More than I ever thought I would. Especially Stonecliff Park. Something about it... the peace, the beauty. I feel...” She shook her head, wondering. “At home. Strange, but I feel more at home here, and happier, than any place I’ve ever lived before... even with Pop.”

  “Could that be... dare I hope...” His eyes gleamed into hers as he stroked her breasts and watched the violet depths of her eyes sparkle and darken. “Could that have anything to do with the company you’ve been keeping?”

  “You mean Miss Perry? Oh, yes, she’s so pleasant and kind. And Lady Tattersall—I am certainly fond of her... Ethan!” she shrieked as he threw her down among the pillows, climbed atop her, and began to tickle her ribs.

  “Ethan, stop!” she gasped, and his hands stilled, but the dangerous glint still blazed in his eyes, and his mouth was grinning wide with deviltry.

  “Well?”

  “Yes—yes. It has something to do with you—I suppose!” She laughed, and then gave a shudder of pleasure as he lowered himself full upon her and began to nuzzle the delicate shell of her ear.

  “It has... a great deal to do with you,” Josie breathed.

  And in the pearly light of morning found herself in the delightful position of being sweetly, relentlessly, helplessly ravished all over again.

  Twenty-two

  A molten sun sailed through the summer blue sky as Josie’s footman helped her alight from the carriage in Belgrave Square. No breeze disturbed the heavy green leaves of the trees. The street was quiet, elegant. Trees shaded the walk, and there were lovely rhododendrons clustered behind the fence that boundaried the garden.

  She stared up at the imposing house before her, her heart lurching into her throat.

  During the drive to the address Lady Cartwright had given her last night, Josie had gone through myriad emotions: excitement, trepidation, hope, and fear of disappointment being the most prominent. But now as she gazed upward at the handsome house with its elegant portico and large bay windows, it was hope that made her hands tremble.

  Perhaps my luck is finally changing. I found Ethan and he loves me. He loves me! And perhaps now I’ll find out who I am and where I came from.

  “Should I wait, my lady?”

  “Yes, walk the horses, Rupert. I don’t expect to be long.”

  In truth, she didn’t know what to expect. What if no one was at home? she wondered nervously as she went up the steps. What if they refused to see her. What if... what if... what if...

  The door was opened by an immensely tall footman.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked, deferentially, taking in her fashionable gown of Prussian blue silk with its smart lace train, and her pink hat and parasol.

  She presented the small gilt calling card Ethan had ordered made up for her. “I should like to see Miss Denby,” she said with all the quiet dignity she could summon through the waves of nervousness that washed over her.

  She held her breath, half expecting to be told that no one by that name lived there, that Miss Denby did not even exist, even though Lady Cartwright herself had known her!

/>   “Kindly wait in the morning room, my lady. I will inform Miss Denby that you are here.”

  She paced and paced about the morning room, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. In her little silk handbag was the pouch with her brooch and her treasure—or more properly, Miss Denby’s treasure. If nothing else, she could now return it.

  But how in the world would she explain how she came to possess what the stagecoach robbers had taken from Miss Denby?

  Josie bit her lip and strode to the polished marble fireplace, then paced to the window, staring out at the clipped yews and rhododendrons without really seeing them. The lovely blue and green room receded and she was alone with the overwhelming enormity of this step she had taken. What if Miss Denby was as hateful and superior as Miss Crenshaw, and drilled her with questions, the answers to which could be humiliating for her—and for Ethan.

  Oh, why hadn’t she waited until she could discuss this with Ethan and could consider his advice? Why had she been so hasty, after having searched and waited all this time?

  Ethan had been called away on business early this morning—he was interested in becoming involved in Parliament and had been invited to a meeting with several influential lords. Josie had been soaking in the bathtub when he came to find her. She’d scarcely had time to do more than sputter a surprised good-bye and give him a soul-tingling kiss before he’d strode out, whistling, and she was alone, with no opportunity to tell him about the jewels she’d been keeping hidden, her hopes about Miss Denby, or her intention to find and question her today.

  When you come home this afternoon and find him, you’ll both sit down to tea, side by side upon the sofa. And you’ll hand him one of Mrs. Chupp’s delicious savories and you’ll tell him then, you’ll tell him everything. And maybe you’ll even have some answers. Maybe you’ll even know who you are.

  Not that it would matter to Ethan. The wonderful thing was that he loved her for who she was—herself. She couldn’t see that changing, no matter what she learned today.

  But this did matter to her—the prospect of finally knowing. It mattered a great deal.

  The sound of the door opening had her whirling around, eager and afraid all at once.

  She went very still when she saw the girl hesitating on the threshold.

  The girl was perhaps two or three years older than she, and taller by several inches. Like a pale flower stalk, Josie thought. She looked delicate and shy. Clad in a simple olive-green tea gown, she had a narrow figure, and gold curls lighter than sunshine. Her eyes were of a soft porcelain blue set within a pretty, sensitive-looking face.

  Those blue eyes were fixed upon Josie with something close to wonder.

  She came into the morning room slowly and paused, her head tilted to one side as she studied her guest.

  “Do I know y-you, Lady Stonecliff?” she asked softly, the glimmer of a shy smile on her lips.

  “No, Miss Denby, we’ve never met.” Josie hoped her own smile would put the other girl at ease. Miss Denby seemed timid as a mouse! Though her manner was friendly, it seemed as if she wasn’t used to receiving company.

  “Lady Cartwright is a friend of mine. She told me how to find you.”

  “How to find me?” Surprise rounded Miss Denby’s long-lashed eyes. With a start, Josie noticed their shape—they were uptilted at the corners. “I’m s-sorry.” She sounded flustered, and threw Josie a look of quiet dismay. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t get much company. I don’t go out into society very much—” She blushed richly. “Please won’t you be seated,” she said with a slight shake of her head, and indicated with a small, graceful gesture the yellow sofa opposite the window. “And t-tell me what I can do for you.”

  “My question might sound odd, but...” Josie took a deep breath and plunged on. “Were you held up by outlaws some months ago on a stagecoach in America?” she blurted out, suddenly too excited for slow, polite explanations.

  Miss Denby, who had just seated herself in a wing chair, gripped the arms. “How did you know that?”

  “Because... oh, damn it, I mean, drat it, I... I think I have your jewels. Do these belong to you?”

  And Josie unclasped her handbag, drew out the pouch with shaking fingers, and dipped her hand inside. When she pulled out the opal-and-pearl ring, the bracelet, and the precious scrap of letter, the fair-haired girl gaped at them.

  “Yes. Those are mine!” A smile of joy lit her face. She stared in rapt amazement at the ring, unable to tear her gaze from it. “Oh, but this is w-wonderful. How kind you are to return them! How did this come about? Did the sheriff catch those men and... no, no, that isn’t it, is it? It c-couldn’t be. He would hardly have sent you—”

  “I found them. I mean, the outlaws had them and I... I stole them back for you.” The irrepressible grin sparkled across Josie’s face. Her heart was suddenly full of a light, fluttering hope. The words poured out in a torrent.

  “When I saw a painting of your mother last night at Lady Cartwright’s home, I noticed the brooch she wore. It’s almost identical in design to this ring.”

  “Yes, they’re from the same set.”

  Josie felt a rising excitement. “That’s what I guessed. I’ve been looking for you so that I could return the ring, and I asked Lady Cartwright the name of the lady in the painting. When she told me, she said your mother was her cousin. And when I mentioned I was looking for a Miss Denby she told me about you....”

  She drew breath, then her voice dropped lower with contained excitement.

  “I have something else to show you, Miss Denby.” She drew out the brooch. Now that the moment had come, she felt unexpectedly calm. Except for the seesawing of her stomach.

  “This brooch. It looks the same as the one in the portrait. The one your mother was wearing. But... it’s mine.”

  She halted at the stunned expression that had come over Miss Denby’s face. The girl looked as if she’d been dunked in a vat of ice water.

  “Miss Denby?” Josie jumped up, still clutching the brooch and her handbag. “Are you all right?”

  “Y-you... you... Where d-did you get that brooch?”

  “I’m an orphan. The woman who ran the orphanage where I spent my first years told me this brooch was pinned to my swaddling clothes on the day I was found.”

  Alicia Denby looked as if she would swoon. She was staring at Josie with wide, glazed eyes. She came to her feet, swaying a little.

  “Dear God. It’s you. You’re her.” She gazed in shock from Josie’s face back to the brooch, and then gazed frantically back at her guest again, scrutinizing her with swift, desperate intensity.

  Her entire body began to shake. Then she darted forward so suddenly, Josie stiffened. Alicia Denby clutched her arm with trembling fingers.

  “Lady Stonecliff... you must be—unless this is some h-horrible mistake—you must be... you must...”

  “Who?” Josie could barely speak. “Tell me please. I’ve been trying to find out my entire life!”

  “Josephine!”

  “Yes, that’s my name.” Now it was her turn to clutch Miss Denby’s arm. “There was a note with the brooch. It said Baby Josephine!

  Miss Denby stared wildly, searchingly into her eyes, her face taut with shock, joy, wonder.

  “You are my sister!”

  Twenty-three

  A bird warbled in the garden. Its voice lilted through the beautiful, silent morning room. Josie found that for once in her life she couldn’t speak a word. She could only stare with mute shock into Miss Denby’s overjoyed face.

  “How do you know?” she finally managed.

  “I know. Believe me, L-Lady Stonecliff, I know. Why, look at your hair. It is the same shade, the same as Papa’s. Our papa. I resemble Mama more, but you and I both have her eyes, these uptilted eyes. Don’t you s-see?”

  And then, before giving Josie a chance to reply, she clasped her hands together almost in supplication, as if fearful that this wonderful gift might be only a dream that would vanis
h in a moment.

  “Oh, Josephine, I can scarce believe it. Is it really you?”

  Suddenly she began to smile, a wide, delicately beautiful smile that transformed her face, lighting it with such incandescent happiness that the whole room seemed to glow.

  “Grandpapa,” she breathed, and her fingers excitedly squeezed Josie’s arm.

  “Oh, we must tell Grandpapa. Come, Josephine, we can talk later—you’ll tell me everything and I shall tell you... how we came to be s-separated, and how frantically we searched.”

  “You searched for me?” Josie felt something thud deep inside her heart. “So you... they... wanted me. I wasn’t given away?”

  “Given away? No, good God, no! It was the w-war, Josephine, the War Between the States... I was only three, but I made it home to England while you, just a babe, ended up—”

  She stopped suddenly. “I’ll explain everything, I promise,” she said quietly. “But Grandpapa has given up on f-finding you. He is old and no longer strong. We must tell him at once. He’ll be beside himself with happiness. . .”

  “I have a grandfather. And a sister.” Josie broke away suddenly, and paced to the mantel, feeling overwhelmed. She was shaken by all the information the girl was rattling off to her, and far too stunned to begin to absorb it all.

  “Are you sure there isn’t a mistake?” She whirled back toward Miss Denby, her lips dry. “I’d hate to tell him and get his hopes up if it wasn’t true.”

  “You have the brooch. Our mama’s brooch. And the r-resemblance... now that I know, it is easy to see. Come.” Miss Denby, with surprising determination for one who had seemed so diffident, took her arm again and pulled her from the room. They ran through the hall to a music room, a wide, lovely chamber furnished with teal sofas and deep wing chairs, and an exquisite rosewood piano that gleamed in a place of honor beneath a gold-framed painting.