Free Just This Once by Jill Gregory Page A

Probably because it had taken her by surprise, she
told herself. It had swept her up before she’d realized what was
happening.
    Well, that won’t happen again. She’d
simply lay out a few crucial ground rules for Ethan Savage, and
then chances were they would get along just fine until this sham of
a marriage ended.
    Go ahead, then. What are you waiting
for? she asked herself as she sat up a little straighter in her
seat. You need to set things straight with him so there are no
misunderstandings. And there’s no time like the present.
    She rose with a determined set to her
shoulders and plucked up her valise. She wasn’t sure if Ethan was
in his compartment or in the parlor car, and she had no idea where
Mr. Latherby was, but she decided to try the parlor car first. And
as she edged along the aisle she made another decision: If Ethan
Savage wouldn’t promise to keep his distance when it came to
matters of the flesh, she’d leave. She’d flee this husband, just as
she’d fled the other one. Once they arrived in the crowded jumble
of New York City, Josie reflected, her courage mounting, that
shouldn’t prove difficult at all.
    When she reached the door leading to the
maroon and gold parlor car she saw her husband at once. He was
sprawled in a wing chair before a large table near the rear of the
car. Somehow, even in his rough western clothes, with a bandage
wrapped around his head, he looked right at home in the sumptuously
appointed car with its gold damask curtains and deep chairs.
Latherby stood beside him. Neither man was facing her as she
entered the long, luxurious car, yet their voices carried to her
clearly.
    “So you see, my lord, this will never, ever
do. I tried to tell you last night—the fine print in your father’s
will clearly states that the woman you marry must be a lady of quality. ”
    Josie shrank back behind the draperies. Hot
color flooded her cheeks as Latherby’s words penetrated.
    “That... that girl in there is
hardly—begging your pardon—a lady, much less a lady of quality. She
is not at all what your father had in mind—”
    A brutal bark of laughter cut him off in
midsentence. “Damn my father to hell. Serves him right. I married
her, and that’s that. Who’s to know or care anything about her,
Latherby? You?”
    “Ah, no, sir. However, Mr. Grismore, senior
partner in the firm, has been charged with overseeing the
fulfillment of the terms of the will. He will no doubt call upon
your lordship after your arrival in London, and when you inform him
that you have wed he’ll naturally have to make a determination.
Your father entrusted him to see that his wishes were carried
out.”
    So that explained it. Josie swallowed hard
as she huddled behind the curtain. Ethan Savage was after an
inheritance. He’d needed a wife for that—but a very different sort
of wife than the one he’d chosen in a drunken frenzy.
    Not an orphan, a thief, a girl who’d marry a
man to keep herself from going to jail—no. He needed a lady, a
woman who bathed in scented water, who wore satins and silks, one
who dressed her hair in a different fashionable style each day.
Someone with accomplishments, who could manage servants, do
needlepoint, and play the piano, not to mention make cool, polite
conversation with other elegant people at a dinner party without
spilling soup in her lap or dropping her elegant silver fork. Not me, she thought, swallowing hard. Not me at
all.
    So it will be over as soon as we reach
New York, she realized, her fingers tight on her valise. He’ll want an annulment. We’ll go our separate ways. She was
surprised by the little rush of disappointment that welled up in
her chest. Wild as this whole marriage business had been, it had
served her purposes admirably, at least for the time being. And
she’d felt needed, important, for a very little while. But now, of
course, Ethan Savage would wish to be rid of her as quickly as
possible.
    That would mean getting to England on