The Smithfield Bargain (23 page)

“Yes,” Romayne said with a smile that wavered as he looked at her.

Damn, but she was lovely enough to make him forget about anything but making love with her!
He regarded her with the same critical eye as when he had stared at the town house. In her chip hat which was decorated with pale pink lace to match the stand-up collar emerging from her navy blue spencer, she was a dangerous fantasy. He must ignore her manifest allure, for he more than anyone else knew the complications of succumbing to his yearning to hold her.

“It's wonderful!” cried Ellen. Her irrepressible spirits blinded her to the tension in the carriage.

James listened to her excitement as they entered the grand house. Servants had been sent to Town before them to air out the rooms. When Clayson greeted them, James noted how he grimaced at Ellen's enthusiasm.

Romayne seemed delighted while she gave Ellen a quick tour of the ground floor. She pointed out that they would receive their guests on the upper floor of the town house, for this floor was the servant's domain.

As they climbed the gently curving staircase, he heard the door open again. He looked back to see Grange and the servants who had traveled with them. The abigail started to follow them, but a terse command from the duke, who had traveled in his own carriage, halted her. James watched as the old woman paused to answer him. No doubt, Grange was being reminded of her responsibilities yet again. The duke had not dismissed Grange for allowing his granddaughter to escape her, then marrying her to a Scotsman, but the duke had not forgiven her.

“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 silk 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.