Just This Once by Jill Gregory Page A

father’s death. Of the old retainers he would
remember from his childhood, some had been more like family to him
than his own father and brother. And now they were depending on
him.
    Their lives, he knew, would be better
entrusted to his own hands than to Oliver Winthrop’s pale,
limp-fish, greedy ones.
    He’d never thought to have the
responsibility of rank and property and title—as a younger son it
had never been a fixture of his future. Now circumstances had
brought the unwanted responsibility to rest squarely upon his
shoulders.
    And as tempted as he was, Ethan was
beginning to realize he couldn’t just forget about it and walk
away.
    He slammed his fist against the paneled wall
of the parlor car, startling the girl and Latherby. They both
stared at him as if expecting him to throw something next.
    Ethan stalked to the girl and stood over
her. She instinctively shrank back in her chair, then forced
herself to lean forward again, her chin hitching up, up, up to meet
his eyes.
    She had spunk, at least. He’d grant her
that.
    He took his time studying her, ignoring the
hot blush that stole into her cheeks. Because he’d acted rashly
last night—unusual for him—a great deal now depended on this common
thief. This slender violet-eyed hussy with her wayward brown curls
and stubborn chin, who had picked his pocket twice in one day, and
had danced at the Golden Pistol, displaying her dainty ankles for
all of Abilene to admire, was far from being a lady.
    Yet, it wasn’t all bad, he thought, his
brain finally beginning to turn the matter over more coolly. The
deal he’d struck could have been worse. Much worse.
    With any other woman, he’d be stuck for
life. Someone proper and honorable never would have agreed to a
short-term marriage for the purposes of securing his inheritance.
But this thief had. She knew the terms and had made the bargain. A
short-term marriage, then goodbye. Forever.
    That certainly suited his purposes. It would
nicely circumvent his father’s machinations, and leave him the
inheritance without the encumbrance of marriage.
    So it was one point in the girl’s favor.
    And studying his bride’s fine-textured skin,
the delicate bones of her face, those luminous eyes beneath
fairy-winged brows, he could actually see possibilities. With the
right clothes, a few lessons in speech and deportment...
    If she was a thief and a dancing girl, maybe
she could be an actress too.
    A good enough actress to fool Grismore, and
the rest of London, for a few short months, and then it would all
be over.
    But it was essential he keep her in
line.
    “I want to speak to my wife,” he told
Latherby, his gaze still riveted on the girl’s face. He saw her
eyes widen, her mouth part in surprise, before she clamped her soft
lips together again. But the tip of her tongue emerged to circle
them nervously.
    “Latherby, leave us alone.”
Seven

    “D on’t look so
terrified.” Ethan’s mouth curled upward in a scornful imitation of
a smile as the parlor door clanked shut on Latherby and they were
finally alone. “I’m not going to shoot you.”
    The edge of mockery in his tone set Josie’s
teeth on edge. She had too much pride to let anyone think she was a
coward. “I know that. And I’m not afraid of you, so don’t convince
yourself that I am.”
    “If you had a lick of sense you would be.”
He stepped back a pace, pushed the hat back on his head, and she
could see his eyes. They gleamed so dangerously out from beneath
his frowning black brows that Josie nearly froze in horror, but she
forced herself to fold her hands together in her lap and to school
her face into a calm expression.
    “Hungry?” he asked, with a gesture
indicating the silver platters set out on the table behind him.
    She shook her head.
    “Cup of coffee?”
    “Why don’t you just say what you have to
say, Mr. Savage, and get it over with.”
    The black brows shot up. What might have
been amusement leapt into his eyes for a moment, then