“You will be sleeping at this end of the hall, Ellen,” Romayne said as they climbed another flight of stairs. “I think you will like the room. It overlooks the garden.”
Ellen laughed and clapped her hands. “I cannot believe this is happening! I am in London, and tonight I am going to a glorious party. I think I shall wear the dress with the blue ribbons, Romayne. Do you think that will do?”
“It is lovely on you and is perfect for a private gathering like tonight.”
“Jamie, are you going to come and see my room?”
He looked at Romayne as he answered, “I think I shall wander about the house a bit and acquaint myself with it.” Noting the questions in her blue eyes, he knew she would not voice them. She was proving to be a good ally, exactly as he had hoped when he asked her to play a part in their intrigue. How was he to have guessed that he would wish her to play a different rôle now? “I shall speak with you later, dearie,” he added.
“The stable is behind the house,” she answered quietly. “Any of the horses are, of course, at your disposal.”
“I appreciate your generosity.” And your patience, he added silently. He doubted if he could have been as tolerant of the secrets he could not share if the situation was reversed.
When he kissed her cheek, he felt her slant toward him. All he needed to do was slip his arm around her, and she would press those soft curves to him. He silenced his groan of unsated longing as he strode away before his body betrayed him as readily as the traitor was set to betray England.
An hour later, James had poked his nose into every nook in the house, the stables, and the garden, but had not seen Cameron. That, in itself, was not a bad sign. His sergeant would report to him as soon as he returned. Mayhap Cameron would have garnered the very information they needed to drive the nail into the turncoat’s coffin, killing, once and for all, his hopes of profiting by treachery.
But he had another answer he needed to uncover before catastrophe struck again. The fire had not been an accident. Cameron’s investigation had proven that. But who would have wanted to burn an outbuilding of Westhampton Hall and why? With each mile they had traveled closer to London, his uneasiness had strengthened.
Romayne and the Duke of Westhampton remained in danger.
If he was correct, and he was certain that he was, the person who had masterminded the attack on Montcrief’s carriage had not accepted failure. No one would go to such means to succeed, and then allow a single serendipitous event as the arrival of James MacKinnon to ruin his sordid plans. Now that this latest incident seemed aimed at the Smithfield family, he had the impossible task of trying to keep watch over both his wife and her grandfather.
As he climbed the stairs, he paused to get directions to the room he would share with Romayne. He walked along the hall which was covered in blue and white flowered wallpaper, glad it was in the direction opposite where Ellen must, even now, be prattling on and on about what she would wear tonight. Putting his hand on the glass knob, he sighed.
He would speak again to the duke about his suspicions of the danger to Romayne. Westhampton had pooh-poohed the idea, but James had seen the narrowing of the old man’s eyes and knew the duke shared his apprehensions.
Entering the bedchamber, because there was no sitting room, James smiled wryly. Again he was surrounded by lace and flounces. That Romayne chose such decor surprised him, for she seemed to prefer simple gowns with few ruffles. Going to her dressing table, he picked up a silver brush. The value of this single brush must be more than the house and lands where they had stayed in Struthcoille. Was it this wealth that her enemy sought to gain? No, for this was not hers.
James pulled off his coat and ran a finger around his cravat. These clothes were more than he could tolerate. Longing for the comfort of a loose shirt and the well-worn coat that he had grown acclimated to was futile. He had come to London to find his quarry, so he must recall the manners and habits he had tried to forget for the past five years.
When the door opened, he looked over his shoulder. Without her spencer, the flattering lines of Romayne’s dress accented the curves his fingers had touched too seldom. She shut the door and twisted the lock as she rushed to grasp his hands.
“You are back so soon?” she asked. “What has Cameron found?”
“I shall not know until he returns.” Turning away, he added, “You seem distressed, dear wife. Not happy to be in London again?”
Romayne recoiled at the words, which from anyone but James would have been trite conversation. Noting his coat tossed over her favorite chair, creating an invasion into her memories, she could not keep from glancing at the mahogany tester bed in the center of the room, with its white satin coverlet. James should not be here. Yet she wanted him nowhere else but here with her now. The war between her desires and her common sense was tearing her apart.
“I am not unhappy to be here,” she said, letting sharpness cover her qualms.
“Only that I’m here? I am sure we can devise sleeping arrangements to your satisfaction. It shall require more imagination than at Westhampton Hall. Your bedchamber here lacks a sitting room with a sofa for your husband.”
“There is a dressing room.”
“Do you think Grange will be averse to sharing her quarters?” He laughed tersely. “No doubt, she would prefer that I would sleep next to her instead of next to you.”
Romayne lifted his coat off the chair and walked to the cupboard. She hung it on one of the hooks, then said, “Soon, I am sure, you and Cameron will have completed your task. Until then, we must be flexible during this complicated time.”
He grasped her shoulders and brought her to face him. The anger restrained within him blazed in his emerald eyes. “Complicated, Romayne?” he asked sharply. “Is that what you call this shocking mull?”
She put her hands on his wrists and drew his hands off her shoulders. “Why are you furious at me? I’m trying to do as I promised. I have arranged for Ellen to come to London for the Season to act as a foil for your work. I have managed, although with some difficulty, to convince everyone that I have no interest in dissolving our marriage. I have done everything you asked, so why do you act as if I have failed in this bargain you forced upon me?”
When he raised his hand, she recoiled. His mouth tightened, but he ran the back of his hand gently against her cheek. The caress of his rough skin was an enticement she must disregard. Even as she was thinking that, her fingers were slipping along his collar to tease the soft skin behind his ear. When he touched her, she ached to touch him also. She failed to understand why, for she had not felt the same with Bradley.
“I would force you to do nothing,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear as he brought her closer. “Yet you force me to push aside my plans for capturing my foe to think of this moment with you.”
She closed her eyes as his mouth teased the length of her neck in a slow, sinuous path that sent fire through her. Her fingers clenched on his back, then splayed across the firm muscles when his lips covered hers. Each touch, each pulse of his breath against her mouth, urged her to surrender to the forbidden passion. As his hands slid along her, holding her to his unyielding body, his bold tongue caressed hers, igniting more longing within her.
When he released her, she swayed on weak legs. He laughed and slipped his arm beneath her knees, scooping her into his arms. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she answered his demanding kiss with her yearning for rapture.
She gasped against his mouth as he placed her on her bed. The sound became a sigh when he rested next to her, luring her against him. As his fingers roamed along her, lighting her skin with ecstasy, she caressed him as brazenly. She wanted, needed, to be closer to him, so close that the frantic beat of their hearts merged.
At the whisper of her name, she opened her eyes. She reached up to brush the recalcitrant strands of his russet hair back from his intriguing eyes. Her hand froze, inches from his face, when his fingers stroked the curve of her breast. The s
ilk melted beneath the heat of his fingers. Quivering with the need that refused to be ignored, she guided his mouth to hers. This pleasure was too sweet not to share.
Romayne gave a soft cry of denial when James, with a vicious curse, pulled away before their lips could touch. Disregarding her rumpled dress, she sat and held out her hand. He looked at it, then turned away to lean on the window sill. Aching to relieve his pain, she knew anything she did would instead exacerbate it. She tried to stifle the yearning to fling herself in his arms and beseech him to offer her the satiation of the compelling desires they had discovered.
“James?” she whispered when she could endure the silence no longer.
“Don’t sound so distressed,” he answered, but continued to stare out the window. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Wrong?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Good God, you have done everything right. Fool that I am, I must remember that even when I take you in my arms this is nothing but a marriage of convenience. There should not be, there cannot be, any passion between us.”
She stared at the band on her left hand. It meant nothing, but it dominated her life. “You have every reason to be angry with me. I never suspected that I would be betraying our arrangement like this.”
“If you were not so dashed bonnie, I might mind my part of this bargain.”
“I can do nothing about that.” She hoped that he would laugh at her feeble attempt at jesting, but his hand fisted on the molding. “James, if you wish, I can have the staff arrange for another room for you while we are here.”
“That would not be a bad idea.” He sighed, before adding, “But that is impossible.”
She rose but remained by the bed. Her fingers clenched as she whispered, “Other married couples sleep apart. If we are going to—”
Still not looking at her, he said as if she had remained silent, “I hate the city.”
Startled by his abrupt change of subject, Romayne realized he was refusing to argue. That astounded her more than anything else. Nearly from the moment they had met amid gunfire, they had quarreled over every facet of their lives. Then she understood, and warmth filled her anew. James did not want to bicker over the glorious desires they must curb. Nor did he wish to bring her more heartbreak by taking her to her bed, then having to remind her of the parting that waited in their future. He was determined to do as he had promised and protect her reputation.
“There is one place in London that you might enjoy,” she said softly, yearning to comfort him.
“Amid all this refined stone? I doubt it.” Facing her, he smiled sadly. “Do not feel the need to apologize for the life you love, Romayne.”
Her brow threaded with bafflement. “I prefer Westhampton Hall to Town. I thought you knew that. It is fun to be amid the whirl of the metropolis, but I cannot ride here as I do at the Hall.” A mischievous smile tilted her lips. “Whether you choose to believe it or not, there are times when I enjoy wearing my high-lows beneath my oldest dress and careening across the fields.”
“Then why didn’t we ride at the Hall?”
“You never gave me a chance to ask you. You were too busy with Cameron.”
Smiling, he tapped her nose. “As lief it was that you were busy with that modiste who was transforming Ellen into an elegant lady.”
“Then let us change that here.”
“And go for a ride?”
She started to nod, then shook her head. “Grange does not have my portmanteau unpacked yet, so I have no riding habit. Why don’t we take the gig? I can show you a place you might enjoy.”
“In London? I find that unlikely.”
Holding out her hand, she smiled. “Do you dare to be proven wrong?”
“I think you are taking too grand a task upon your slender shoulders.”
“Not when I am sure that I am right.”
He slipped his fingers through her as he laughed. “Then, dearie, let us give you this chance to show me about as I showed you about Struthcoille. I trust we shall enjoy it as wholeheartedly.”
When she saw his eyes glistening with the unsated craving, she wished for the first time that they were back in that sleepy village and walking toward the loch where they could find the privacy to kiss. She doubted that they would find such an isolated spot in London, but she suspected James would take advantage of any chance they might have, and that pleased her more than she could have guessed even an hour before.
Hyde Park was nearly deserted in the twilight. Only a few people rode its paths at such an unfashionable hour, but that suited Romayne. The quiet of its trees and flower beds, which soon would be coming alive with the first colors of spring, offered the tranquillity she had lost in the mad rush to have Ellen prepared for the Season.
“Isn’t this lovely?” she asked as she sat back against the cushioned seat of the brightly painted gig. Tipping her ruffled bonnet so that she could see James, she smiled.
He laughed. “Romayne, I appreciate your attempt to make me feel at ease, but this is not Scotland.” Drawing her hand into his arm, he kept one hand on the reins as he drove along the bridle path.
“Will you go back to Scotland when your work is done here?”
“I must go wherever my commanders send me.” His cheerful grin returned as he added, “But, for now, my life is with you, Romayne. For better or for worse.”
“Usually the latter.”
“You truly believe that this is the worse?”
Romayne was about to retort in the same light vein, but her words faded as his gaze drew her to him. When the carriage slowed, although she knew it was against the canons of propriety to allow him to kiss her along the open path, she leaned toward him.
“Well, this is indeed a surprise!”
At the voice, she pulled away from James. She looked over her shoulder and saw a well-built man on a horse. When she noted another, lankier man beside him, she grimaced.
The gaunt man galloped up to the carriage and grabbed her hand. The scent of his favorite gin threatened to smother her as he gushed, “My dear, dear Lady Romayne!”
James put out his arm to keep the man from kissing her hand. As he withdrew her fingers from Newman’s, Romayne said quietly, “Colonel Newman, I do not believe that you have met my husband.” Looking past him, she smiled at the other man, who had been riding at a more decorous pace. “Mr. Boumphrey, this is a pleasure as always.”
He tipped his beaver toward her, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced at his companion, who could not hide his vexation. Dressed as always as in nobby fashion, Norman Boumphrey would be the source of extreme interest for many mothers with unmarried daughters during the upcoming Season.
“Philomena did not tell me that you had returned to Town,” he said with a smile.
“We are only just arrived.” Romayne added to James, “This is Norman Boumphrey, whose sister-in-law, Lady Philomena, lives next door to us on Grosvenor Square. Mr. Boumphrey, my husband James MacKinnon.”
Colonel Newman intruded to say, “So you are MacKinnon.” His lips pulled back in a sneer as he raised his chin so that it cleared the tips of his high collar. “I had heard mumbles about some contrived Scottish wedding the Duke of Westhampton had devised. It strikes me as odd that he could not do better than you.”
“Colonel Newman,” gasped Romayne, “there is no need for such words.”
“Montcrief might have been wise when he rid himself of you and took up with Lady Philomena.”
“Philomena?” She looked at Mr. Boumphrey, who was frowning at the colonel. Bradley had reiterated his unending devotion to her in each of his letters. The colonel, in his gin-soaked daze, must have been mistaken. Recalling the part she must play, she said, “Colonel, you should know that I, as a married woman, have no say in what my former betrothed does.”
He laughed again. “Betrothed? The duke would never have granted you permission to marry that miserable dandy.” His long nose wrinkled. “But, then again, he allowed you to wed this Scotsman.”
“As I
recall, His Grace did not grant you permission to wed his granddaughter,” James answered.
“Didn’t want to marry her when I found out that the old duke had invested all of his money in that ridiculous arrangement. I assume that is news to you, MacKinnon. She is worthless.”
“Odd, for I was just thinking how much a treasure Romayne is.”
The colonel started to reply, but whatever he might have said was swallowed by Norman Boumphrey urging him to continue along the road. When, grumbling, Colonel Newman rode away, Mr. Boumphrey said, “He has been eager to give every bottle a black eye since he heard you had married another, Lady Romayne. I suspect he will be a thorn in your side and yours, MacKinnon, until he finds another lady to inflict his attentions upon.”
“Thank you for your warning,” Romayne said with a relieved smile. She had met Mr. Boumphrey only once before, for he seldom had been at his sister-in-law’s house when Romayne gave Philomena a look-in.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” Again he tipped his hat to her, then said, “MacKinnon.”
Seeing how tightly James gripped the reins, she put her fingers over his. They loosened, and James rumbled a laugh under his breath as he drove the gig along the path edging the Serpentine.
“I can’t believe that your grandfather entertained the idea of marrying you to that lushy cove,” he said. “Or mayhap he did not come to Westhampton Hall mauled by his time with the gin bottle.”
“He did.”
“Now I am beginning to understand why you considered Montcrief a gem beyond price.”
Her smile faded. “Don’t talk of Bradley now.”
“When do you suggest we talk of him? Tonight when he is paying court on you before his guests?”
The Smithfield Bargain Page 18
