The Smithfield Bargain (35 page)

“Hush,” he said as he sat beside her on the bed.

“What are you doing here? Someone will see you.”

He smiled. “You fret too much, dearie. There are many in this house who are as anxious as you to avoid seeing you become Montcrief's lawful blanket.”

She flushed at the coarse term, but said, “If Grange is not one of them, she will run to Grandfather the moment she discovers you are here.”

“Don't fret about Grange. I suspect she despises me less than she does Montcrief.” Taking her hands in his, he said, “Dearie, I cannot bide long. I want you to stay here.”

“I have little choice. Grandfather has confined me to my room.”

“This is no joke, Romayne.”

She sat straighter when she heard his rigid tone. “The traitor?”

“I shall be back as soon as I can. Cameron and I must stand watch at Brooks's. Farmer suspects the information will be passed there. If he is right, we may finally trap our friend the traitor.” Brushing the back of his hand against her cheek, he whispered, “Dearie, I need to know you are safe here.”

“There have been no more incidents.”

“Not yet anyhow.” He stood. “Stay here. Talk with Ellen.”

“I think she is still out.” She started to add more, then halted herself. James could not worry about his cousin's reputation when he was putting his life in peril to protect England.

“Then talk with Dora and Grange. Just stay here.” Tilting her head back, he stared down at her with an uncompromising expression. “Promise me that, dearie.”

“I promise,” she said softly.

“And I promise you that if you keep my side of the bed warm, I'll be back to share it with you.”

She whispered, “But Grandfather will never let you in this house again. Are you planning to sneak in again?”

“Leave that problem to me. You stay safe.”

His kiss was too swift and left her lips burning with the desire for more as the door closed behind him. “You stay safe, too,” she whispered.

Clayson was wringing his hands nervously together as he entered Romayne's room. The butler said, “Lady Romayne, you have a caller.”

“Grandfather will allow me no callers,” she said, not raising her eyes from her needlework. She needed something to keep her mind occupied, but embroidering the shawl had succeeded only in keeping her fingers busy. Fear for James refused to be ignored.

“He will allow me.”

At Bradley Montcrief's self-satisfied voice, Romayne counted to ten silently and took a deep breath before putting her needlework onto her lap. “I doubt if Grandfather would allow even you in my bedchamber.”

“You may go,” he said to Clayson as if he was already the master of the house.

The butler looked uneasily at Romayne, and she nodded. He would alert Grange who would eavesdrop from her usual spot in the dressing room.

Sitting on a chair next to hers, Bradley tried to grasp her hand. She kept it folded in her lap, the needle at the ready in her hand.

He grumbled, “You need not act so coy with me, Romayne. You shall be my wife before the new week starts.”

“You can get a special license, but neither you nor Grandfather can force me to wed you.”

“True.”

Romayne kept her expression cold, although she was surprised Bradley had owned even to that small truth. “Then you will agree, as well, that you should not be here.”

“I do agree.” Setting himself on his feet, he said, “Come with me to pay a call on Philomena. Her father may not last the day, and she should not be alone.”

“I have no interest in going anywhere with you, Mr. Montcrief.”

He flinched at her formality, but he said, “Stop lamenting about your misfortunes and think of poor Philomena.”

“Ellen is there with her.”

“But your cousin is little more than a stranger. Philomena could use her bosom bow with her at this cheerless hour as her father fights for his final breath.”

“I have every sympathy, but I must stay here.”

“Why?”

“Grandfather—”

“Would not deny you the chance to comfort a sorrowful friend.”

Romayne glanced toward the window. James had warned her he might not be back until after dark. If she went to see Philomena for only a moment … “No.”

“Romayne, be reasonable.”

“I am.”
I will not break any promise I have made to James, because he has always been honest with me
. “Good day, Mr. Montcrief.”

He stamped toward the door, then turned. “It may not be a good one for you, Romayne, if you don't accept the fact that I will be your husband. You will have to obey me once we are wed.” He opened the door and smiled. “Your grandfather assures me that he knows of a pastor who will buckle us together whether you are willing or not.” He slammed the door behind him.

Romayne released the breath she feared she had been holding since he had burst into the room. Again she looked at the window.

Hurry back, James. I do not know how much longer I can wait
.

Grange bustled in and out of Romayne's room like a nervous watchdog, but did not stop to talk. Her abigail's odd behavior was unsettling, but Romayne tried to put it out of her mind. When Romayne's supper was brought, Grange hovered over her.

“I promise I shall eat,” Romayne said, putting her fork down, “but not if you sit and stare at me. Go and get your own supper, Grange.”

“My lady, I …” She rose and nodded. She started to turn away, then said, “I am so sorry.”

“That I have to marry Bradley Montcrief? I am, too.”

“About that, yes, but also about the other.”

“The other? Do you mean James?”

Grange wrinkled her apron in her gnarled hands. “I know you think you love him.”

“I
do
love him.”

“Even after he seduced you when he knew you were not truly married?”

“I knew—” She halted herself before she could speak the truth that would condemn her. Taking another deep breath, she said, “I knew I would do anything to make the man I love happy.”

“And now you are ruined.”

“If I am, it was worth it.”

“Lady Romayne!”

Instead of retorting, Romayne lathered butter on a slice of bread and took a bite. She was glad that Grange rushed out the door, because she could then spit out the bread. The idea of eating added to the fear afflicting her stomach.

She glanced toward the window. Surely James would be back soon.

A soft sound came from the dressing room. Putting her tray aside, she jumped to her feet. “James?” she called in a whisper. She dared speak no louder, for she could not risk betraying him.

Opening the door to the dressing room, she frowned when she saw but one candle was lit. She stretched to get it to light the lamp near her door. Her fingers never reached it as something exploded against her head and everything dissolved into darkness.

The first thing Romayne heard was a groan. Slowly she realized it had come from her. She opened her eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. No, not unfamiliar, just not her own. The plaster friezes of vines draped across the ceiling was one she had seen many times before. She turned her head on the rough material and saw a brunette leaning over her.

“Philomena! What am I doing at your house?”

“Awake, Romayne?” She laughed and pressed her hand to the bodice of her blue muslin gown. “Oh, dear, what a silly question! Of course, you must be awake if you are talking to me.”

“How did I get here?” She pushed herself up to sit and discovered she had been lying on a settee in Lady Philomena Boumphrey's parlor.

Romayne feared her eyes were playing tricks on her when she saw Ellen sitting in a chair on the other side of a low table. Red marks around her eyes and shadows of salt warned that Ellen had been crying for a very long time. Behind her stood Norman Boumphrey, the scar on his face adding a macabre slant to his smile.

“Welcome, Lady Romayne,” he said in a magnanimous tone. “How do you feel?”

Gingerly she touched the back of her head. She suspected she would have a lump to match the one on the back of James's skull. “Do I have you to thank for this headache?”

“I wish it had not been necessary, but you refused to leave with Montcrief.”

“Bradley? Where is he?”

Philomena sat next to her and smoothed her gown over her knees. “He will be along soon. While we wait, we may as well enjoy some tea.” She picked up a silver bell and rang it.

“No, thank you. I must return home.” Romayne stood, then sat again when her legs failed her.

“Romayne!” Ellen ran around the table and knelt beside Romayne. Fiercely, she demanded of Philomena, “Why did you have to hurt her, too?”

Although her head seemed to be as heavy as Westhampton Hall, Romayne forced it up as she asked, “‘Too'? Ellen, are you all right?”

“The headache won't last long,” Norman Boumphrey said with a cruel chuckle.

Rage gave Romayne a strength she had thought gone. Standing, she locked her knees to keep herself on her feet. “Mr. Boumphrey, Philomena, I think I deserve an explanation of what is going on.”

“You deserve nothing,” spat Philomena, rising. All pretense of friendliness was wiped from her face as she added, “But, to amuse ourselves, we will tell you the truth. Miss Dunbar being here is an accident. The man we sent to fetch you brought Miss Dunbar instead.”

“The note?”

“Was for MacKinnon,” replied Boumphrey. “We had hoped he would not recognize that the handwriting was not yours. It was perfect, except the dashed chucklehead bungled yet again, and we ended up with the wrong woman.”

Gooseflesh rose along Romayne's arms. Yet again? She could hear herself scoffing at James's insistence that she was in mortal danger.
No, Philomena was her friend
. She glanced toward the taller woman and flinched when she saw the loathing in Philomena's eyes.

Putting her hand in Ellen's, she felt the younger woman's fingers tremble. “I am here now, Mr. Boumphrey. You may release Ellen.”

“That would be unwise. I am afraid she has been a witness to your abduction. Having her able to reveal that would make my life most uncomfortable.”

“You should have considered that before you embarked upon this caper-witted escapade.” Tugging on Ellen's hand, she walked toward the door. “We bid you good evening and goodbye.”

Before she could reach it, the door swung open. With a cheer, Montcrief entered, waving a piece of paper. “Here is what you wanted. I—” The rest of his words vanished into a frightened gurgle as he stiffened, his back arching.

When she saw an unmistakable silhouette beyond him, Romayne cried, “James! Ellen, it's James! Run!”

Her arm was seized, and she was jerked nearly off her feet. Something flashed near her face. She screamed when she saw that Boumphrey held a pistol only inches from her head. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her, but Boumphrey's grip on her arm kept her on her feet. She looked at James, who was lowering his pistol from Montcrief's back toward the floor.

“That's much better,” Boumphrey said.

Philomena snapped, “Bradley, you buffoon! Didn't you see him following you?” She motioned for Montcrief to come into the room.

Her brother-in-law chuckled. “What can you expect? First Montcrief brings Lady Romayne to Scotland and nearly muddles up everything. Then—”

“Be quiet.” Philomena's voice became pleasant again as she said, “You look quite faint, Miss Dunbar. You may sit, but I suggest you say nothing.”

Ellen said bravely, “If you think I will watch in silence while Romayne—” She choked as Boumphrey raised his pistol to Romayne's temple.

“Do as she tells you, Ellen, and save yourself,” she whispered.

“Do as she tells you, Ellen,” mimicked Philomena, then her voice hardened. “Sit and be silent, or you and Romayne will be as dead as MacKinnon. Understand?”

Ellen's lips quivered, but she raised her chin in feeble defiance. “Aye, I understand that you are a leather-head, Lady Philomena, to challenge a Dunbar.”

“Be silent, girl, or you will be the cause of Romayne's death.” She laughed when Boumphrey jabbed the pistol at Romayne and Ellen moaned with fear. “You will be a good
lass
.”

“James?” whispered Ellen.

He had not moved from where he stood. “Do as you are told.”

“But they are going to kill you.”

“We shall see about that.”

She huddled into her lacy shawl as she sat.

“Good,” said Philomena. “Now, Major, I suggest you set your weapon on the floor and come in. I do not want to disturb Papa in his last hour.”

“Major?” asked Ellen.

“I told you to be silent,” Philomena ordered, the edge returning to her words. “One Scottish martyr is enough for today.” Turning to her brother-in-law, she smiled. “See, it's just as I promised you, Norman. You've been eager to get your hands on Lady Romayne Smithfield for years. Now you have her.”

James swore as he leapt forward. He froze when the sound of a hammer being drawn back was thunderous in the sudden silence.

Romayne did not close her eyes. If she was to die, she wanted her last sight to be of the man she loved.
James, can you forgive me for not heeding your warning again
?

“Why don't you just kill her? You know Romayne must die,” Montcrief said as he poured himself a glass of brandy. “She must die before your father, Philomena, my sweet.”

“Why?” Romayne asked.

He sipped, smiling superiorly at his enemy. “Dear, sweet Romayne. My dear, sweet, incredibly stupid Romayne.” His jaw tightened as he gripped her chin in his hand. “You have enjoyed the devil's own luck, my sweet, but it is over. This time I shall see you dead with my own two eyes.”

“Dead? I don't understand. Why do you want me dead?”