Just This Once Read Online Free PDF Page A

trouble. Maybe me and the other girls can help—the way
you helped Penny.”
    “The kind of trouble I’m in, no one can
help.”
    Ethan stepped forward until he reached the
doorway. Through the partial opening, he glanced into the room. And
there was the girl, the thief with the incredible violet eyes. His
mouth tightened as he took in her changed appearance. Though still
wearing the gingham gown, she’d loosed her hair from its
restrictive coil, and now it swirled down past her shoulders in a
sensuous riot of rich mahogany curls. She was leaning over a
valise, folding some item of clothing, and didn’t see him. But the
other woman did.
    The dancing girl, still in her pink satin
costume, gave a small gasp and pursed her lips. Quickly, she pushed
the door shut.
    Ethan continued down the hall. It was
nothing to him what became of that sneaky little thief. If she was
in trouble, she no doubt deserved it. Probably had the law
breathing down her neck.
    Hell, it was no concern of his.
    As he reached the end of the hall his
thoughts jerked back to his own situation. Frowning, he entered
Stickley’s office and paced to the window as the Englishman quietly
closed the door.
    The room smelled of cigars. It was cramped
and over-furnished, filled with a cluttered oak desk, a bureau,
bottles of whiskey lining several shelves, a deeply worn ruby
velvet chair and settee, and a patterned rug on the floor. The
red-flocked walls were covered by elaborate gold-framed
paintings—nudes, painted in bold and vibrant detail.
    It was warm and stuffy inside, and Ethan
resisted the urge to loosen his shirt collar as he swung back to
face the Englishman.
    “Out with it,” he ordered curtly, his eyes
sharp on the other man. “How the hell did you find me, and what in
damnation does my father want with me after all these years?”
    “If you please, sir, I had best start at the
beginning. This is not going to be an easy interview and perhaps if
you would care to sit down—”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Latherby, sir. Lucas Latherby. I am a
junior partner in the office of your father’s solicitor, Mr. Edmund
Grismore.”
    Grismore. He remembered Grismore—unpleasant,
supercilious son of a bitch, the perfect lackey to work for his
father. “Go on.”
    Ethan’s hard gaze was pinned to Latherby’s
face as the smaller man gave a short nod and continued.
    “I bring you, I fear, unfortunate tidings.
Your father, the late Earl of Stonecliff, is dead.”
    Ethan’s knuckles tightened on the back of
the chair. His expression, however, remained unchanged.
    When he accepted the news with stoic
silence, Latherby cleared his throat and went on.
    “It was ill health, I’m afraid, a steadily
weakening condition which was worsened by his catching a chill and
coming down with a fever. He suffered in the throes of it for a
week, and then, alas, succumbed.”
    “So?”
    Latherby’s eyebrows shot up, then hastily
down. He spoke again, more hurriedly. “So, I have been dispatched
by Mr. Grismore to find you, sir—and may I say, it has been quite a
feat to do so—to impart to you certain information which I believe
you will find most interesting, and perhaps, not unwelcome.”
    Ethan walked to the shelf upon which
Stickley had several gleaming crystal goblets set out beside a
decanter of brandy. He splashed the dark liquor into a glass, then
shot a questioning glance at Latherby, who shook his head in
refusal.
    “Tell me that you’re almost finished and
you’re going to leave and let me return to my poker game—that’s
what I’d find welcome,” Ethan rasped.
    “No, sir, it is a bit more... complicated
than that. According to your father’s will, and assuming that
certain conditions will be met, it is my duty to inform you that,
well, that...” He swallowed, his gaze taking in the striking
appearance of the man before him, his tall, hard-muscled form, the
cold blue steel of the guns resting against his powerful thighs,
the harsh line of his