Just This Once (18 page)

Holding up her hand, he clamped hold of her
wrist. “No jewels. Lady Tattersall and the other women at that
dinner party tonight will know instantly that something’s dead
wrong with this marriage if you’re not wearing diamonds or rubies
or emeralds in all the right places.”

Jewels. Of course. She thought of the
portraits she had seen in the gallery upstairs, of all the ladies
in their fine dresses and even finer jewels. Her thoughts jumped to
the brooch and ring, but she could scarcely whip them out and wear
them—Ethan Savage would accuse her of stealing them!

“Well, goodness, I left every single one of
my diamonds back home,” she murmured. “And I believe my rubies must
have fallen overboard into the Atlantic, and as for the
sapphires—”

“You’ve made your point.” He released her
wrist and started toward the door, half smiling. “Don’t wander off.
I won’t be long.”

Josie threw her gloves, fan, and bag down on
the desk and began to pace. Trying to blot out everything else, she
frantically reviewed all that Latherby had told her up until now.
If she made some terrible mistake, she knew, it would all be over.
She’d be shipped back to America—and Snake. And she’d never have a
chance to find Miss Alicia Denby.

And she’d never see Ethan Savage again.
Never have a prayer of making him think of her as anything other
than a worthless thief.

“What in hell were you thinking about just
now?”

His voice made her jump. How long had he
been gone?

She’d been spinning wool; she hadn’t even
heard him open the door when he returned.

“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.