Philomena brushed her hand against her dark curls. “We are no longer betrothed.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“It is for the best.” She paused, then said, “Romayne, I trust we are good enough friends for me to speak the truth. When Bradley believed that you were dead, he needed someone to listen to his grief. Little did we suspect that those heartfelt conversations would lead to love. How could I marry Allen Kimmel when I love Bradley?”
Romayne refused to lower her eyes. She had wed James when she loved Bradley, but, she wanted to argue, the situation had been very different. To speak of that would bring more personal inquiries she could not afford to invite.
“I am glad you were able to realize that before you spoke your vows with Lord Kimmel.” Silently she congratulated herself for maintaining her poise. “How did your father take the tidings?”
Philomena sighed. “Papa does not know. He has taken to his bed, and the doctors doubt that he shall leave it again. I would not wish to add more pain to his intolerable existence with the tale of my fickle heart. He was so set upon me marrying a titled man, and he was disappointed when my heart led me to Mr. Boumphrey.”
“Please let your father know that we are thinking of him.” Although she knew she was being as unmannerly as James had been, she added, “You must excuse us. Ellen will be having her coming-out next week, and I want her to meet a few of the people who will be attending that.”
They had gone only a few steps into the room, which was crowded beneath its pair of crystal chandeliers, before Ellen muttered, “She is quite the virago. Mr. Montcrief must be want-witted to pay court on her.”
“Ellen!”
“Don’t chasten me when you don’t like her either.”
“She’s my friend.”
Ellen’s brows rose in an expression of disbelief that aped her cousin’s. “You have curious friends, Romayne, who seem to delight in taking advantage of another’s sorrows. She showed scant regret at tossing aside Lord Kimmel, nor at her father’s illness.”
“Philomena and Lord Harcourt have never been as close as most fathers and their daughters. There are …” Knowing she should not be speaking of such indelicate matters at a soirée, she finished weakly, “… many reasons.”
“No matter what defense you might offer, she is a hornet!”
As the evening unfolded, Romayne could not disagree with Ellen’s assessment. The orchestra began playing for those who wished to dance, and Romayne hoped her husband would seek her out to turn to a waltz here as they had in the ballroom of Westhampton Hall. In his arms, his fingers stroking her back as his firm chest brushed her breasts, they would move in perfect unison. As they would if he came to her bed.
She closed her eyes, fighting down the craving that gnawed at her with every breath. James was right. Consummating their marriage would be asinine, because it would mean the ruin of her reputation and any chance for a good marriage after the truth was revealed. She knew that. Yet she hungered for his fingers sweeping along her as they had this afternoon when she had been ready to cede herself to ecstasy. How she longed to race to him, seize his hands, and plead with him to make love with her.
That was impossible when her hopes of even a dance seemed fated for disappointment. James continued to talk with Bradley. That astounded her, but she had no time to think of him. Instead she had to repeat endlessly the version of her adventures that she did not mind being retold about London.
“There’s nothing more to tell, Lady Lorimer,” she said with a sigh as the dowager pressed for more information.
“But, Romayne—”
“If she says there is nothing more, you can believe her,” came a voice that was even deeper than James’s.
Romayne smiled as she turned to a man who was nearly a decade her senior. With his dark hair laced with gray and a silver brush across his upper lip, the fashionably dressed man was a welcome sight. “Good evening, Lord Culver.”
“What a pleasure to see you!” He bowed over Romayne’s hand, but his eyes lingered on Ellen. “I thought you might need rescuing, my lady.” His gaze returned to Romayne, and his brown eyes twinkled merrily. “The unending curiosity will be eased when the Season brings other contretemps to delight them.”
“I hope you are right.” Sensing Ellen’s surprising shyness, Romayne put her hand on Ellen’s arm to draw her within the conversation. “My cousin-in-law Miss Dunbar. Ellen, Lord Culver.”
“Miss Dunbar.” He lifted Ellen’s hand to his lips, but did not kiss it.
Watching the viscount gaze down into Ellen’s face, which was an appealing shade of pink, Romayne felt as if she was intruding on a very special moment. Ellen said, rather breathlessly, “My lord, this is a pleasure.”
“Much more for me,” he answered smoothly. His smile remained effervescent as he added, “I had heard that you were wed, madam, but one never knows what rumors to believe.”
“I assure you that this one is true.” She realized that she was rubbing the ring on her fourth finger and halted the motion. “And you, my lord? Is it true that you are still considering returning to the West Indies?”
“My lands there require constant attention. An absentee landlord is much taken advantage of by unscrupulous overseers. I am grateful that I have people I can trust here in England. Alas, I prefer the gentle clime of my homeland to that heat, but one must tend to one’s obligations.”
“We shall miss you.”
He smiled again. “How kind you are to bolster this old man’s ego with your charming words! Can I beg a favor, madam?” Turning to Ellen, he asked, “Would you allow me to steal Miss Dunbar from your company for the next dance? I trust that you would not be disinclined to allowing me to solicit a dance, Miss Dunbar.”
“Miss Dunbar is not yet out, my lord,” Romayne said quietly.
“Then let me ask her instead to allow me to get her a glass of something cool to drink.”
Ellen turned, entreaty in her eyes. “Romayne?”
“Go, if you wish, Ellen,” she urged, delighted. She could not have selected better company for Ellen tonight. Lord Culver could have defined a gentleman, and she would have no concerns about Ellen with him. Watching them walk toward the other side of the room, their heads bent toward each other as they laughed together, she smiled. This night might not be a complete disaster, after all.
“That takes care of her, so will you stand up with me, Romayne?”
She looked at Bradley. She wanted to ask where James was, but that would be jobbernowl. A dance might be a good idea. So many questions plagued her, so many things needed to be explained, and only Bradley could answer them.
When she put her hand on his, she no longer expected to feel the pulse which blazed across her skin when James touched her. What she had not anticipated was the lack of grief that soon she would watch Bradley marry a woman she considered a dear friend. Soothing herself with the thought that if she loved Bradley, she would wish him to be happy, she let him lead her toward the middle of the floor.
She frowned when he led her past the others. “Bradley, the music is about to start.”
“My sweet, we cannot talk among them, and we need to talk.” Leading her out into the darkened hall, he drew her into an alcove where a window seat overlooked the rear garden. Only when she sat beside him on the padded bench did he continue. “Why didn’t you answer my letters? I waited every day for a response.”
“It would not have been right,” Romayne replied.
“Did MacKinnon forbid it?”
She laughed. “James would not waste his time on such matters.”
“Why? Because he cares nothing for you?”
Knowing she had spoken too hastily, she said, “James knows I will not break my vows to be his wife.” She put her hand on his arm. “Philomena tells me that you and she have an understanding.”
“I cannot love Philomena as I love you. She was a comfort, but she sees a betrothal where there shall be none.”
�
��Bradley, you must be as honest with her.”
He sighed. “It is difficult, for I must own that I may have led her to believe that I would marry her. Sweet Romayne, don’t you understand? When I thought I had lost you, I didn’t give a straw how my life went. Now you are here, and I want you as my wife, not as MacKinnon’s.”
“You are asking the impossible.”
“If you would petition for—”
She shook her head and rose. “James would not give me a divorce.”
With a laugh, he stood. His arm snaked around her waist. “Shall we give him cause to file for a divorce against you?”
“Bradley, are you mad?”
Laughing again, he captured her lips. She turned her face away and pushed against his shoulders to free herself. She backed away a single step. She bumped into the wall and realized he had maneuvered her into a corner.
“My sweet Romayne, don’t flee from what you know you want as much as I do.”
“What I want is irrelevant.” As she had so many times in the past few weeks, she asserted, “I am James’s wife.”
“Yet you still love me. I can see that in your enticing eyes and hear the truth within my heart.”
He gave her no chance to answer as he tugged her into his arms again. His embrace tightened as he kissed her. For a moment, she was tempted to acquiesce. Being married to Bradley would mean having a quiet life, simple, without quarrels, and … without passion.
When she pulled away, he released her, then looked to his right. She gasped as she saw Ellen’s shock-bleached face. Ellen turned to flee back into the ballroom.
“Ellen!” Romayne cried. “Ellen, wait!”
“For what?” she cried, tears brightening her accusing eyes. “To watch you cuckold Jamie?”
Romayne went to Ellen, and taking her hands in hers, she begged, “It isn’t as you think.”
“You were in your former betrothed’s arms, and he was kissing you. That is what I saw. What I think is that Jamie made a mistake in marrying you. No wonder you thought nothing of Lady Philomena’s cold heart. Yours is no better.”
“Ellen, how can you say that? I thought you were my friend.”
The redhead shuddered as tears bubbled from the corners of her eyes. “I was, but if this is the way you live here in London, I wish I was back in Struthcoille. There we hold our oaths dear.”
“As I do.”
“Do you, Romayne?” Quivering with sorrow, she whispered, “Do you really?” She ran away, leaving Romayne to stare after her in horror.
Chapter Fifteen
James wandered around the ballroom, letting anyone who wished draw him into conversation. And many wished to learn more about the Scotsman who had stolen Lady Romayne Smithfield’s heart from their host. Answering their questions with an array of half-truths, he steered each conversation toward the topics he wanted to discuss. Either Montcrief’s guests told better bangers than he did, or they spoke the truth.
Telling himself that he should not have expected to ferret out the traitor within hours of reaching London, he was frustrated. He had forgotten how the ton could talk for hours about nothing of import. Again he chided himself. These people had no reason not to enjoy a bit of poker-talk and a glass of wine. They were not in pursuit of a turncoat.
“MacKinnon, we meet again so soon.”
James recognized Norman Boumphrey as the tall man walked around a clump of dowagers who were prattling as eagerly as a group of hens in the yard. His eyes narrowed as he noted the crease along Boumphrey’s cheek. The shadows in the park had hidden what appeared to be the scar left by a ball that had skimmed his face.
“Good evening, Boumphrey,” he replied, taking two fresh glasses of wine from a passing waiter. He offered one to Boumphrey. “I see no need to let Montcrief’s wine age an hour longer.”
“Although it would have been improved by a bit more time in the cask.” He took a drink, then grimaced.
“You have excellent taste in wine,” James replied, smiling.
“It takes little more than being familiar with the fact that Montcrief chooses the poorest bottles. My taste runs to something other than London particular.” He glanced around the room. “Where is your pretty wife?”
James shrugged. “Last time I noticed, she was talking with my cousin and Lord Culver.” He resisted looking for Romayne. Playing the jealous husband now was something he had no time for. “Your sister-in-law appears much taken with our host.”
“Philomena could do better than Montcrief, but she misses being married.” With a chuckle, he added, “She is a woman who gets whatever she sets her mind to, and now she has set her cap on Montcrief. Let me warn you, MacKinnon, I have no interest in buckling myself to any woman, so do not think to play the matchmaker for your cousin and me.”
“I leave that to Romayne.”
Boumphrey rubbed the ragged line on his cheek. “I hear rumors that you are considering a career in the military.”
“Yes,” he answered, hiding his surprise. He had mentioned that to no one but the Duke of Westhampton. Clearly Romayne had not been as circumspect. Later he must warn her to say as little as possible about that. In London, they must distrust everyone.
“Think carefully before you opt for a life of glory. It may leave you with more than a ruined face.”
“You served on the Continent?”
“Longer than I wished.” His smile returned. “Let us speak of other matters.”
James was about to argue when he saw a familiar face in the crowd. Excusing himself quickly, he left Boumphrey in mid-story. A predatory smile settled on his lips as he threaded his way through the maze of Montcrief’s guests. Tonight might turn out to be worthwhile after all.
Every attempt Romayne made to speak with Ellen came to naught. Ellen avoided her by spending the evening with Lord Culver, who seemed delighted with her company. As Romayne watched from a corner where she could avoid the endless questions about her unexpected marriage, she sighed. She feared her thoughtless actions in going to sit alone with Bradley had lost her Ellen’s friendship.
When she saw James push his way out of the crowd, she squared her shoulders. Even if Ellen had not gone to her cousin with the tale of what she had seen, James soon would discover the truth. The comparative peace they had known would be banished from her grandfather’s house.
“Why are you hiding here?” he asked with a broad smile. “Are you evading your dear Montcrief?”
Not wanting him to know how close his guess was to the truth, she answered, “I am watching Ellen as I promised your aunt. She’s talking with Lord Culver.” When he turned to look across the room, Romayne added, “It appears your wish will come true with alacrity. The evening is only hours old, and already Ellen has caught the interest of a viscount.”
“What do you know of Culver?”
“He’s swimming in lard, if that is what you wish to know. His mother inherited the whole of her family’s holdings in Jamaica, so he possesses those as well as Culver Park, which is in Kent. I understand that he has invested heavily and successfully in—”
With a laugh, he said, “Enough! Do you think I judge a man by the wealth he controls?”
“I would be less than honest if I said anything but yes. You seem interested only in the comfortable, wealthy future you can garner for Ellen.”
“You know me better than that!”
Although she did not want to concur, she had to. James wanted more than money for Ellen. He wanted her to be happy. More gently, she said, “It is but a conversation. Give her time to enjoy her Season and to fall in love.”
“As you did?”
She lowered her eyes. “James, my past is not your bread-and-butter. I wish you would recall that.”
“I mind it well, but I suspect your past is not in the past. Montcrief seems less than delighted with his rôle as the groom-to-be. Could it be that he pines for you in his arms as much as you long to be there?” When she did not answer, he said, “Then Ellen was not just
imagining things when she came to tell me she had discovered you in Montcrief’s arms. You block! Do you want to ruin everything by focusing the ton’s curiosity on us?”
“This is not the place for this discussion.”
“Then we shall find a place that is.” Taking her hand, he drew her toward a door. He was scowling as they entered the garden. “This is a poor excuse for a bit of greenery, but I guess it is the best even your Bradley can manage in this city of stone.” Facing her, he said, “Explain.”
“What?” Romayne asked in confusion. “The garden?”
“You need not be sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t!” she fired back. “I wish that you would do more than snap orders at me.”
He locked his hands over the tails of his coat. Putting one foot on a sculptured stone, he leaned forward until his nose was less than an inch from hers. “You need no explanation, but I deserve one, especially when you were the very one who warned of the jeopardy of letting the Polite World think there was something amiss in our marriage. Dear wife, you vanished with Montcrief a short while ago. Ellen informs me there was quite the buzz about the room about where the two of you had disappeared for your tryst.”
“And you believed—?”
“That you would be unfaithful to me?” He laughed coldly. “No, Romayne, I don’t believe that, although I suspect Ellen does. Why I might ask, but I shall not, for I trust you to recognize the insanity of having an affair with Montcrief now.”
Her laugh was as sharp as his had been. “Trust me? Why should I believe that you trust me when you ask me to account for my every move as if I was no more than a child?”
Catching her by the shoulders, his hands slowly rose to frame her face. “Romayne, don’t you have any idea why I have stuck as close to you as a burr on a longhaired dog? You may think it is because I long to lure you into my arms, and on that you are correct.” A bewitching smile flitted from his lips to his eyes before vanishing into the darkness of his words. “However, I fear for your life.”
The Smithfield Bargain Page 20
