The Smithfield Bargain (15 page)

The duke's scowl added more lines to his face. “Romayne, I would prefer you to use your tongue to give me answers instead of giving orders to my household.”

“Grandfather, please.” She started to reach for his hands, then pulled them back as his frown threatened to quail her determination to persuade him to listen to her. Wanting to look to James, she sighed. His silence meant he would give her no assistance—and he was correct, for, as she had warned him by the carriage, anything he said or did would enrage her grandfather more. “We would like to speak with you in private.”

“
We
?”

“Grandfather, please,” she repeated.

Whether her beseeching tone touched his heart or he had grown tired of quarreling with her in front of the servants, the duke nodded. He ordered her to join him in his bookroom. With his hand on Blum's arm, he hobbled toward the stairs, not looking back to see if she would obey, for she knew he was certain she would.

“Go with Grange, Ellen,” Romayne urged in a whisper. “Take your mother with you.”

“If you wish, I shall go with you,” the young woman said.

“No.” She shuddered as she imagined her grandfather's ire if everyone followed him into his bookroom. “Grange will see you settled. Ring for a bath if you wish.”

“Are we staying?”

Romayne did not answer as she motioned for James to come with her. She thought she saw one of his eyes close in a lazy wink. Torn between fury at his insolence and amusement at his irreverence, she hoped that she had been mistaken about his expression. There was nothing amusing about this situation.

The duke said nothing when James joined them in the dimly lit room. The old man stood in silence while Romayne led James across the dark carpet to reach the uncomfortable furniture in front of the huge hearth. Sitting at his table, where he presided over the estate's business, he waited for Blum to leave and close the door before he looked at James.

“I assume you, sir, are part of whatever it is that my granddaughter wishes to explain to me out of earshot of the staff.”

“I am afraid I am most of what Romayne wishes to explain to you,” James answered with the same grim expression as the old man wore.

“By your accent, I would guess you are from Itchland.”

James's lips tightened, but his voice remained tranquil. “You are correct if you are suggesting that I am from Scotland.”

“What's your name?”

“James MacKinnon.”

“And that ragged bunch?” demanded the duke. “Are they your family?”

“Yes, Your Grace. My aunt, my cousin, and my man, who are here at the invitation of your granddaughter.”

With a grimace, he turned to Romayne, who had been listening while she let the fire warm her damp clothes. She wished she could melt the coldness within her with the same ease. Meeting her grandfather's glower evenly, she struggled to keep emotion from her face. The Duke of Westhampton admired strength, especially in his granddaughter.

“Did you have a reason to invite these Scottish gypsies into our home?” her grandfather asked.

The fire seemed to leap from the hearth to her face, and she prayed she was not blushing. “Yes, Grandfather. James saved my life, and—”

“And you felt obligated to bring these strangers home with you?”

“They aren't strangers.” She swallowed unevenly, then squared her shoulders. “Grandfather, they are family, too, because James is my husband.”

“Your husband? Don't be ridiculous, Romayne! You are my granddaughter. You can't marry a Scottish bumpkin.”

Romayne kept her voice from wavering. “James is my husband, Grandfather.”

“Bah! I shall have this unnatural match annulled.”

“Grandfather, James and I are married. You must accept that. We …” Her voice trailed off as the old man affixed his glare on James again.

“First you had that useless Montcrief panting after you, and you ran away with him like a common strumpet. Now you come back from that escapade and tell me that you have taken this Itchlander for your husband.”

“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.”