Just This Once (15 page)

She felt wretched. The poor night’s sleep
had left puffs beneath her eyes, and her brain felt as if it had
been buried in gritty desert sand. Simple Josie Cooper Barker felt
like an imposter in the elegant teal silk morning gown Devon had
laid out for her. Before, she’d owned one gown—one simple gingham
gown. Now her closet was filled with scads of gowns—morning gowns,
walking gowns, tea gowns, traveling gowns, evening gowns. They were
made of lace, of silk, of velvet, of muslin and satin and
tulle.

In the chest of drawers were piles of
gloves, fans, handkerchiefs, stockings, petticoats. All purchased
by Mr. Latherby in New York. All belonging to this phantom
countess, this creature married to the Earl of Stonecliff.

And somehow,
somehow
, she had to
convince everyone she was to meet in the coming days and weeks and
months that she was that creature, that lady, that elegant,
well-bred, and proper bride.

And no longer only for her own sake.
Something had changed last night. Perhaps everything had changed.
Now she thought not only of herself, of her goals and needs, of the
bargain she must keep.

She thought of Ethan Savage. Of the duty he
felt toward this house and those who inhabited it, a duty toward
his heritage that seemed to resonate deeply even though there was
no love lost between him and the father who had left all of this to
him.

She didn’t know the reasons, the whys or
who’s, she only knew that it was important to him—important enough
to bring him back to England despite his misgivings, to compel him
to take his place in this house and in London society, though from
what she’d observed he would much rather be in a saloon in Abilene
up to his elbows in smoke and whiskey and cards.

“This is dreadful, Lady Stonecliff, just
dreadful.” Mr. Latherby blew into the library in a feverish rush,
his spectacles sliding down his nose in his agitation. “Callers.
Already. And we haven’t had a moment to
review
. And I saw
his lordship ride out not a quarter of an hour ago. He’ll be gone
for some time and we—you must deal with them all alone!”

He finished just as Perkins appeared in the
doorway. “My lady, Mr. Oliver Winthrop has called to pay his
respects.”

“Who?” Josie wrinkled her nose. The name
sounded familiar. “Who the hell...” she mused, then gasped as Lucas
Latherby gave her elbow a vicious pinch. “I mean, how delightful.
Send him... show him in.”

Apoplectic rolling of the eyes from Mr.
Latherby had her amending quickly, “To the morning room,”
remembering at the last moment that this is where the lady of the
house customarily received her early visitors.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she told Latherby
crossly, the moment the butler had departed. “But he took me by
surprise, and as you said, there was no time to review—” She broke
off, suddenly recalling where she had heard the name before.
Winthrop was the awful relative who would inherit Stonecliff Park
if Ethan Savage did not meet the terms of the will. She disliked
him already.

“Come on, guess we can’t keep him waiting,”
she muttered, and started toward the door, but Latherby let out a
smothered oath.

“No, no, no! Josephine—Lady Stonecliff—how
many times must I tell you it’s unladylike to careen across a room
like... like some kind of racehorse headed to the finish line.”

Josie stopped short, cursing her own
carelessness. He was right.
Slow down, Jo. Think before you
speak, move with grace, keep your fingers from fidgeting, don’t
shuffle your feet, don’t laugh too loud, don’t plop into a chair,
don’t stare at people, cover your mouth when you yawn.

Reciting this litany mentally, she forced
herself to walk with careful dignity through the hall. Only then
did she remember that she didn’t know which of the numerous doors
led to the morning room. Panic surged through her, faltering her
steps, but even as she half turned to confess her ignorance to Mr.
Latherby, she saw Perkins, waiting patiently to open the door for
her.

“Thank you, Perkins,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome, my lady.”

So far, so good. Her heart pounding, she
passed into the morning room, and there, in a wide sunlit parlor
fronting the gardens, she found a rotund little man with a high
forehead, smooth baby-pink cheeks, and little milky blue eyes that
for some reason made Josie think of a pig.

He had been pacing back and forth before the
mantel. But he froze when she entered the room, and she saw his
hands tighten on his ebony-handled walking stick. He wore jaunty
striped trousers and a black-braided sack coat. His dark brown hair
was parted down the middle and flattened on top. It shone with a
thick layer of Macassar oil.

“Good morning,” Josie said politely, not at
all liking the way his little pig’s eyes bulged out as they
fastened on her. “You are my husband’s cousin, I believe. I am...”
She paused, suddenly realizing she didn’t know quite how to
introduce herself. I am Lady Josephine? Countess Josephine? Call me
Josie? Lady Savage? All Latherby had told her about rank and
nobility and titles flew out of her head, and she repeated blankly,
“I am. . .” then gulped and said, “very happy to make your
acquaintance.”

“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
much 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.”