The Smithfield Bargain: A Regency Romance (The Wolfe Family Book 1)

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Grandfather, Bradley—” She could not continue, for she realized that the news of her betrothed’s death might not have reached Westhampton Hall. She had no idea if anyone beyond the small Scottish villages knew of the attack and the murders.

  The duke snapped, “Speak up, child! I find your hesitation at explaining yourself abhorrent.”

  Dropping to her knees by his chair, she whispered, “As I told you before, James saved my life.”

  “By marrying you?” His lips bleached. “Damn that Grange! She put this idea into your head, didn’t she?” He held up his gnarled fingers to halt Romayne before she could speak. “No, don’t bother to answer. When I told Grange that I wanted her to find you before you married Montcrief or not to bring you home, she misunderstood me. Was this her idea of salvaging our family’s reputation? Marrying you to some Itchlander?”

  Romayne shook her head, wishing he would bellow instead of speaking with icy serenity. Losing her grandfather would be even more horrible than losing Bradley. “James did not just save my reputation. He saved my life! He rescued me from a group of caterans … I mean, highwaymen.”

  Hearing a low chuckle, she fired a glower at James. Trust him to pounce on her unexpected lapse into the cant that had surrounded her since her journey into the north wilds. This was not the time to suffer his bizarre, Scottish sense of humor.

  She hurried to add, “James rescued me and destroyed his plans to join the Scots Greys.” She looked away. Lying to her grandfather was even more horrible than she had feared, but this story was necessary to protect the truth.

  When James had suggested this tale of his plans to join the fight against Napoleon, she had agreed it was the perfect solution because that would explain any slips he might make into military terms. Now that she was within the familiar walls of home, she wanted an end to the half-truths and an end to her unwanted marriage.

  The duke sat straighter in his ornate chair. “You are a cavalryman, MacKinnon?”

  “I had hoped to be,” James said with sudden sobriety. Locking his hands behind his back, he said, “That came to an end when my horse was killed by the high pads who abducted Romayne.”

  “My stables have many fine horses. I cannot say that there is a gray among them, but I shall have Thatcher check that.”

  James smiled as he listened to the old man describe the bloodlines of his stables. No doubt, the comments that the lines had been unadulterated by foreign strains for many generations were meant as a warning. The duke wanted no Scottish blood infecting the pure Smithfield lineage. It would be well worth the loss of a horse to rid his house of this unwanted husband. And with any luck, James thought with a silent laugh, that husband will do everyone a favor and settle his hash on the battlefield. A widowed Romayne would please the duke.

  “Such a generous offer, Your Grace,” he said when the duke paused, “is beyond my expectations. However, my primary concern at this moment is to assure myself that you and Romayne have settled your differences.”

  The old man’s gaze strayed for a second to his granddaughter, and James recalled the joy the duke had been unable to conceal when he discovered Romayne was alive. Then Westhampton looked at him. It was clear that Romayne had inherited her recalcitrance from her grandfather.

  “She left without a word,” said the duke. “She ran off with that worthless pup and then returned with a Scottish husband. No tidings between to let me know if she was alive or dead. What kind of child would do that to her family?”

  James drew Romayne to her feet. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he said, “Blame me, Your Grace.”

  “I do blame you for most of this mess. However, Romayne could have—”

  “I thought,” James interrupted, ignoring the expression of shock on the old man’s face, “you should have the reconciliation face to face so that there would be less opportunity for misunderstanding.” Hastily he devised another lie. “She wanted to write to you, but I forbade it.”

  “You forbade it?” The duke rose, no longer appearing weak.

  James found it easy to imagine the old man decades younger and at the head of a wave of attacking soldiers fighting for the Crown. The aura of authority had never left him. Battling his instinct to be honest with a fellow soldier, he stared coolly back at Romayne’s grandfather.

  Leaning his hands on the table, the duke smiled. “You must be more of a man than I suspected, MacKinnon, if you could keep my headstrong granddaughter from doing what she wished.”

  “She saw the sense of my plan … eventually.”

  “And what was your plan?”

  James did not hesitate. “To bring Romayne home to give you a chance to settle the differences between you.”

  “Why did you drag the rest of your family with you?”

  Romayne said softly, “We thought to fire off Ellen, James’s cousin, in the Season.”

  “A country bumpkin like her mixing with the élite? Are you mad? What doors do you expect to be open to her?”

  “She is my cousin now, Grandfather.”

  “That, I pledge to you, will be only temporary.”

  James intruded to say, “We are married, Your Grace.”

  “Romayne,” the duke said, without removing his gaze from James, “you should see to your guests.”

  “Grange can—”

  “You are the hostess of Westhampton Hall. Or you shall be until such time that I make my decision on your future and the future of any half-breed child you might have conceived,” he added with a hint of threat.

  “I cannot be with child, Grandfather.”

  “Cannot?”

  When Romayne flashed him an apology, James knew her yearning to soothe her grandfather had led her into blurting the truth. In an even tone, he said, “You are intruding on private matters between Romayne and me, Your Grace.”

  “Tend to your guests, child.” The old man continued to glower at her.

  James sensed her hesitation, but she murmured, “Yes, Grandfather.”

  He watched as she went toward the door. Fatigue slowed her steps, but she glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes. Seeing rebellion brewing in their warm depths, he suspected the duke had another surprise awaiting him. His compliant granddaughter had delighted in expressing her opinions forcefully in Scotland, and Romayne had the appearance of a woman who was determined not to be quelled again.

  Chapter Nine

  James watched as the Duke of Westhampton went to his sideboard and poured a single glass of brandy. A smile played on the old man’s lips when he raised the glass to him. The message was clear: His Grace was not planning to share anything in his house with James MacKinnon. Not his brandy. Especially not his granddaughter.

  “MacKinnon,” the duke said, his superior smile broadening, “I see no reason to waste time with mincing words. I want you gone.”

  “If I go, my wife goes with me.”

  “I will not have my granddaughter, widgeon though she might be, living in whatever hovel you call home.”

  James sat on one of the hard chairs and saw the duke’s eyes narrow. If the old man thought to cow him with his glowers, he had much to learn about James MacKinnon. “You need only ask Romayne. She will tell you that my aunt’s house in Struthcoille is indeed comfortable.”

  “I have no interest in the homes of your kin. I am interested in how you plan to provide a roof for my granddaughter.”

  “As I said earlier, I had considered joining the army.”

  “An honorable choice.” A wicked twinkle in the duke’s eyes stole years from his face, and James again could envision him as the young officer who had sailed across the sea to America. “A man with the right connections could find himself with a commission.”

  Locking his fingers around his knee, James smiled. “I would not think to ask you to impose on your friends, Your Grace, for such a favor. To own the truth, the idea of sailing across the Channel to confront the Frogs has little appeal when I could be in England with my wife—” He watched
the duke’s face as he added, “Who has a decided appeal of her own.”

  The duke swore and slammed the goblet onto the sideboard so hard that James expected to hear it break. Thatcher had not been jesting when he had warned of the old man’s temper, and James could understand why Romayne, who so clearly adored her grandsire, had been unsure of a reception at Westhampton Hall.

  James said nothing as the duke sat in the chair behind the thick table. Let the old man make the next move. James had learned to be patient and watch others. In that way, he often learned the truth that no lies could conceal.

  And if the duke was a master of the same game? James almost smiled. If he had met his match in this old man, his plans to end the traitor’s scheme would come to a quick demise. He must be certain that the Duke of Westhampton did nothing to try to have the marriage annulled now.

  “So you saved her life?” grumbled the duke, surprising James. He had thought the silence would be stretched longer. Mayhap Romayne’s grandfather was as impatient as his granddaughter. “How miraculous that you were at that spot exactly in time to save Romayne!”

  “At the time, I was not sure if it was good fortune or bad.” James rubbed his right arm absently. “My horse was then killed, my supplies where left to keep the highwaymen from chasing our trail, and my arm was wrenched so hard I feared it was broken. If Romayne had not been so plucky, I daresay the situation might have been worse. As it was, we managed to stay alive through a blizzard until Grange and Thatcher happened upon us.”

  The duke frowned. “You may rest assured that I shall ask Grange for details of that.”

  “The truth is less than titillating.”

  “Damn child! Not a brain in her head! Running off with him and coming back with you! I should toss her out of Westhampton Hall without a copper.”

  James smiled and saw the old man’s surprise. “You know that is nothing but an idle threat.”

  “Idle? Are you so sure of that?”

  “Banish her if you will,” he retorted icily. “Cut her off without a farthing, but you, Your Grace, owe me something.”

  The duke snorted in derision. “I owe you nothing for the ruin of my granddaughter.”

  From beneath his travel-stained coat, James pulled a wrinkled sheet of paper. He had suspected the Duke of Westhampton would threaten this. Keeping Romayne in her home was crucial to his work, so he was prepared. Standing, he opened the paper and tossed it toward the duke. “Your request for help, Your Grace. I assume this was printed on your order. As you can read, anyone possessing information leading to the whereabouts of Romayne Smithfield is due a generous reward.”

  “And you think I should give that reward to you?”

  Folding his arms over his chest, James smiled. “I would not have guessed you to default on your word, Your Grace. Romayne holds her oaths dear. I had assumed that she learned such honorable precepts from you.”

  “You are glib, MacKinnon.”

  “The truth comes easily for those who don’t fear it.”

  The duke laughed, the raspy sound resonating across the high ceiling. “I find little reason to trust you.”

  “That is wise of you.”

  “How much would you consider a proper payment for your services?”

  James’s eyes narrowed. The duke’s smile urged him to answer cautiously. “Services, Your Grace?”

  “Do you wish me to be more straightforward?” The wizened man folded his hands on the table. “What will it cost me to have you disappear from Romayne’s life after you have signed the proper documents to end this marriage?”

  “To divorce her?”

  The duke’s face bleached as he shook his head. “Good God, man, if I wanted to ruin her more, I would petition for a divorce for her. I want the marriage annulled.”

  “Impossible now.”

  “She intimated that this marriage was one of convenience.”

  James sat on one corner of the table, noting the old man’s fury at his informal motion. That fury became horror when he said calmly, “It has been very convenient for me to have a beautiful and sensual woman like Romayne about.” Picking up the page that the duke had sent to Scotland, he folded it and put it under his coat. “Your Grace, I beg your indulgence to retire. Romayne tells me that you are accustomed to dressing for dinner, and I would like a bit of time with my wife before that.” He allowed his smile to return. “I am sure you understand, Your Grace.”

  He did not wait to hear the duke’s answer. As he closed the door behind him, he listened for any sound to tell him if the duke was going to continue his bout of temper. There was nothing but silence.

  Mayhap he had been too rough on the old man. He would have liked the duke under other circumstances. Other circumstances … How many times had those words run through his head since Romayne had been propelled into his life?

  He glanced toward the front door. The butler waited there.

  “Clayson?” he called.

  “Yes, Mr. MacKinnon?” His wrinkled nose made no secret of his distaste of the new arrivals in the Hall, but he did not shirk his duty.

  “His Grace might appreciate the services of his bodyservant.” Although the lanky man regarded him with curiosity, James added only a request for directions to the rooms he would share with Romayne.

  “Lady Romayne’s rooms are on the floor above, Mr. MacKinnon.”

  “If you will point me in the direction of our rooms, I would be grateful.”

  Clayson’s lips tightened into a colorless line as he gestured toward the stairs James guessed would lead to the east wing.

  James climbed one side of the double staircase. The upper floor was as grand as the ground one, exactly as he had guessed the house of a duke to be. As he followed the butler’s instructions along the meandering hallway, he saw more elegant rooms. He smiled when he thought of how Romayne had tried to adjust to Dora’s simple home.

  He did not knock on the door that should have led into her rooms. Opening it, he smiled with self-deprecation as he looked at the delicate furniture and the profusion of white lace that seemed to be hanging from every piece. This was no place for a man who preferred the sky as his canopy and the earth as his bed, but it was the perfect setting for Romayne.

  He closed the door before walking toward the white marble fireplace. Looking at the furniture, which had been arranged for intimate conversations on the light blue Oriental rug in front of the bed, he pulled off his damp coat. He tossed it onto a chair and loosened the cravat that had irritated him all day. As he ran his finger about his collar, he opened another door.

  Beyond was a dressing room. He touched the nearest dress of the dozens hanging there. Rubbing the silk between his fingers, he whistled lowly. That frock alone must have cost as much as his horse.

  “Ellen will need nearly as many before she is launched into the Polite World.”

  He turned to see Romayne behind him, but a Romayne unlike any he had ever seen. Swathed in a silk wrapper of the palest pink silk, a hairbrush in her hand, she wore her hair in a golden wave down her back. As she walked toward him, the intoxicating scent of some perfume urged him closer. She reached toward him, and he longed to throw good sense to the winds and pull her to him. She was lovely and ready to be introduced to pleasure … by him.

  “Reconnoitering, Major?” She closed the door to the dressing room before going to sit on the blue silk settee in the middle of the room. “You’ll find no spies or anything else interesting in here.”

  “Odd, for I was thinking quite the opposite myself.”

  Romayne ran the brush along her hair. She listened to James’s footsteps behind her. Longing to know what had happened between him and her grandfather, yet fearing to discover the truth, she remained silent. She quivered when his hands settled on her shoulders and unrestrainable delight raced along her.

  The settee squeaked as he put one knee on the cushion and leaned forward to whisper, “You needn’t have hurried your bath, dear wife. I would have enjoyed helping y
ou rinse the soap from your curls.”

  “I was thinking of my own enjoyment.”

  “Were you?” His finger ran along the half-crescent of her ear in a tantalizing path. When he drew her hair aside, he kissed the spot where her pulse leapt with the longing she could not quell.

  He drew her to her knees on the settee, facing him, as his lips claimed hers. Her fingers inched up his waistcoat to caress his shoulders. With a groan of desire, he pulled her to him. She gasped as his skin through his loosened shirt brushed hers, searing scintillating rapture through her.

  At a knock on the door, she started to pull away. He laughed and tugged her back to him again. Turning her face from his, she whispered, “Someone’s at the door.”

  “Let them stay at the door, dear wife.” His husky chuckle heated her skin as he slipped his finger beneath the knot in the sash holding her wrapper closed.

  She put out her hand to halt him, but her fingers froze in mid-air as his hand grazed her breast. Sensations stronger even than the yearning she had known before absorbed her every thought. Gazing into his green eyes which, for once, clearly bared his emotions, she reached up to steer his mouth over hers. This wonder was too luscious not to share.

  A shocked cry of dismay shattered the ecstasy. Romayne collapsed to sit on her heels as she stared at Grange’s horrified face. The abigail rushed across the room and grabbed her hand, jerking her to her feet.

  Standing between Romayne and James, Grange pulled Romayne’s wrapper tightly closed. “Have you lost every ounce of sense you ever had? First you tell His Grace that this is a marriage of convenience—”

  “I never said any such …” Romayne’s voice faded as she looked at James who was coming around the settee. His blank face warned her of the potent emotions within him, emotions that she had felt in his touch and others she never wanted to encounter.

  “His Grace has ordered that Mr. MacKinnon use the guest rooms in the west wing.” Before either of them could protest, she continued, “Mr. MacKinnon, Miss Dunbar wishes to speak with you. Her room is across the corridor, down one door to the left.”