Just This Once (30 page)

It didn’t surprise him that Josie was
interested in helping too. Mrs. Fielding had mentioned to him
before he left Sussex that the new lady of the house was seeking
ways to aid the poor of the district. And considering her own
background, it made sense. But not everyone would take action as
she was doing, Ethan reflected. Some would simply exult in their
own good fortune and the luxuries that had fallen into their
laps—and not give a damn about anyone else.

“We’d better be going.” As she set down the
goblet, he took her arm. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss one
moment of Miss Crenshaw’s scintillating company,” he added
wickedly.

As Latherby watched Ethan Savage hand his
delicately beautiful wife up into the carriage, the astounding
thought that had entered his head earlier returned, even stronger
than before.

Ethan Savage was falling in love with that
chit—or more likely, had already fallen. And fallen hard.

What in heaven must the old earl be thinking
now, providing he could think from his grave? His plan for
manipulation and revenge was possibly bringing his wayward son
happiness
—not the misery and entrapment he’d planned.

But, Latherby pondered as the carriage
clattered away into the misty night, how long would it continue
so?

Especially in light of a certain visit he
himself had been paid only this afternoon by Mr. Oliver
Winthrop.

A most interesting and highly profitable
visit.

Latherby grimaced, remembering with a heavy
heart the way Ethan had looked at his wife tonight in the
library.

He squared his shoulders, put his bowler on
his head, and set off into the darkness.

I
don’t care a fig
for what Rosamund Crenshaw says—it is my belief that Lady
Stonecliff is a breath of fresh air.”

Lady Cartwright held court at the center of
a small group of ladies near the refreshment table. Behind her in
the brilliantly lit silver ballroom, fragrant with cut flowers and
perfume, men and women in all their bejeweled finery drank
champagne, chatted, strolled, and danced.

“In the short time I’ve known her, I’ve not
once found her lacking in courtesy—and there is something so sweet
about her. Perhaps it’s the American touch, which I happen to find
appealing. She has even offered her help at the foundling home. I
like her—I like her very much.”

Lady Cartwright was pleased to see Lady
Tattersall nodding agreement with her. “Oh, yes, she’s a dear
girl.” Lady Tattersall turned slightly so that she could catch
sight of Lady Stonecliff as she was whirled across the dance floor
in her husband’s arms. With approval she noted how closely Ethan
was holding her, how adorably Josephine tilted her head up to gaze
into his eyes. They appeared oblivious of everyone and everything
else.

“She is exactly the sort of wife my godson
needs—vibrant, you know, not the least bit insipid. Ethan would be
bored to tears with someone strictly conventional.”

“Well, I have heard some rumors about her
background in America,” sniffed the third matron present, the pale,
broad-shouldered Duchess of Melling. Her beetle eyes narrowed on
the waltzing couple, who appeared, at least from this distance, to
be very much in love. Which in itself, she concluded, was a vulgar
display and wholly inappropriate. What person of quality married
for love? “And if there is any truth to them—”

“Of course there isn’t,” a new voice piped
in. “And it is unbecoming to accept as truth that which is only
idle gossip.”

In surprise, all three women turned
simultaneously to find Miss Clara Perry regarding them with a
martial light in her eyes.

As they parted to admit her to the circle,
Lady Cartwright, Lady Tattersall, and the Duchess all had to
suppress gasps of astonishment. The mousy Miss Perry never spoke up
so forthrightly—particularly to a group of ladies she only happened
to be passing by and had overheard.

There was something else unusual about her
tonight. In place of her usual plain gray or russet gown of
somewhat old-fashioned style, she was wearing a fashionable
ensemble of water-green taffeta, embellished by a black-silk sash
and buttons and a narrow paneled skirt complete with a quite
elegant lace train.

“Forgive my intrusion, your grace,” she
continued, peeping up at the Duchess with nowhere near her usual
shyness. “But I have found it wise not to believe hearsay. From my
own knowledge of her, I can say that Lady Stonecliff is everything
admirable. And aside from that, if she has won the heart of the
Earl of Stonecliff, who are we, or even my own dear cousin, Miss
Crenshaw, to argue?”

Lady Tattersall beamed. “Quite.”

“I wholly agree, Miss Perry.” Lady
Cartwright smiled warmly at the woman she’d never really spoken to
before, someone she’d only noticed at the fringes of the
fashionable crowd. “Well said, my dear.”

“Hah!” The Duchess flushed, her skin taking
on the shade of rotten grapes. She was not going to be bested by
some insipid poor relation of the Crenshaws! “Don’t be so sure of
Lord Stonecliff’s taste when it comes to females,” she snorted. “Or
have you forgotten that he once bestowed his deepest affections
upon a shopgirl?”

Miss Perry opened her mouth to reply to
this, but before she could utter a word, Lady Tattersall fired the
parting shot. “You really ought to pay a bit more attention, my
dear—and make use of your eyes, your ears, and your wits as well as
your tongue. Anyone with any degree of sense can perceive that Lady
Stonecliff is certainly not a shopgirl!”

And with this, she tucked Miss Perry’s arm
in hers and swept off with her. Lady Cartwright, smiling, quickly
excused herself from the Duchess of Melling’s company, leaving that
fuming lady to stare balefully at the handsome young couple still
waltzing dreamily across the marble floor.

But things weren’t going quite as smoothly
between the Earl and Countess as they appeared.

The evening was taking its toll on Ethan.
Hell, the whole week was taking its toll. Every moment he spent
with her, playing the smitten husband, filled him with a seething
frustration. Because after only a few minutes in her company, he
always found himself wishing they could cast off the pretenses and
just be themselves. Wishing he could say things, think things,
do
things proper English peers didn’t say and think and
do.

“You dance well,” he told Josie as they
whirled past velvet curtained alcoves and potted palms. But what he
really wanted to tell her was:
You feel like an angel in my
arms. I’d like to show you heaven in my bed.

She answered in the same polite tone he had
used. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Practice? She meant at the Golden Pistol.
Dancing with cowboys, miners, townsmen—old drunks and overgrown
boys and every kind of scoundrel from gambler to gunman. The image
of her dancing with them, flirting with them, possibly sleeping
with them, set his teeth on edge.

“Ahuh. I’ll just bet you did.”

His mocking tone and narrowed eyes brought a
flush to her cheeks. Her chin flew up at a defiant angle.

“That offends you? I don’t see why it
should.”

“It doesn’t. I don’t give a damn what you
did before, or what you’ll do after.” Beneath her perfectly poised
expression, Ethan thought he saw her flinch.

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.”