The Smithfield Bargain (11 page)

“You look so nervous,” Ellen said with another giggle. “As quickly as you and Jamie have fallen in love, I cannot doubt that you are eager to have the wedding. Not that I should be surprised. When Jamie wants something, he gets it, no matter how difficult it is. Mama tells me he was like that as a boy, but I was so young when he left that I have no memory of him until he returned to Struthcoille.”

Softly Romayne asked, “Mow long has he been back?”

“Not long. Maybe a month or two.” She shuddered as she sat on the bed. “Oh, Romayne, I am so glad he has decided to marry you. That means everything will be all right now.”

“Why?”

“You must sense the truth. Jamie doesn't belong in a small village like this. He has been about England, doing his work.”

The brush froze as Romayne stared at her reflection in the glass. Her face had no more color than her gown. Did Ellen know the truth? She must find out. “What work does he do?”

She shrugged. “He says little of it. I believe he was considering joining the army.”

“
Joining the army
?” The urge to laugh mocked her.

“I told him it was a cockle-brained idea. Why would he want to join up now when he could be sent to fight across the Channel?”

“What did he do before he left for England?” Any tidbit of information Ellen could offer might give her some insight into the man who would be her husband in a few more minutes.

Again she shrugged, setting her braids skipping on her shoulders.

A knock halted Romayne's next question. Seeing the smile on Grange's face, she nodded. The moment had come, and she felt nothing. No grief, no apprehension, no confusion. Nothing. She wondered if she had died alongside Bradley and this was her own private hell that she must suffer for all eternity.

Pushing her thoughts aside, Romayne descended the stairs with Ellen and Grange in tow. She heard the hum of whispers from the guests, but ignored them. When she looked into the parlor, she saw the furniture had been pushed back to the walls. In the center, James stood beside Reverend Kerr. A pang lurched through her as she realized they were going to be swearing a false vow before the parson.

Dressed in the simple clothes he always wore, James held out his hand to her but did not smile as she placed her trembling fingers on his cool palm. She wondered if he had deemed this day so unimportant that he did not need to wear his best or if he was trying to make her feel better for appearing at their wedding in tatters.

“How do you do?” he asked in a whisper.

“I wish this was over.”

“As I do.”

“All over!”

“As I do,” he repeated grimly.

Bringing her to face the dour minister in his unrelieved black, James said nothing more. She was not sure what she would have had him say.

It was over before Romayne had a chance to think. As she heard Aunt Dora calling for a toast to the newlyweds, she looked down to discover someone had pressed a goblet into her left hand. The glitter of the simple gold band on her fourth finger was a mockery. She wondered where James had obtained a wedding ring on such short notice.

James tapped his glass against hers. “To our married life.”

“May it bring you all you wish and swiftly,” she returned without a hint of a smile.

“So subtle, Romayne? And here I was thinking that you should be grateful that you would not die like Jenkin's hen.” He chuckled when she frowned at him. “Unmarried. Too bad you shall not be here long enough to learn a bit of our ways before we return to England.”

“When are we returning?”

“Later,” he said.

“I thought we were leaving tomorrow. Isn't that the reason why we hurried this wedding?”

“Later.” Glancing at the guests who had turned their attention to the food on the sideboard, he added, “This is neither the time nor place for such a discussion.”

“James—”

“Be silent.” He refused to allow her to escape the steady regard of his cool eyes. “You need not look at me with that shattered expression. What do you expect? A profession of undying love now that we are wed?”

“No!” she spat. “Nor do I want one. What I did expect, however, was that you might set aside your beastly manners for a single hour, so that I might gain a modicum of pleasure from this horrible day.”

He smiled, but the icy fury remained in his eyes. “My dear wife, I am not one of your London dandies who will charm you with insincere court-promises.”

“I cannot imagine you charming anyone.”

Romayne walked away without looking back. She did not care a brass button if James took insult. In fact, she hoped he would.

Grange stepped out of the crowd to hug Romayne. “To see you settled, Lady Romayne, shall make His Grace happy.”

“And you?”

“A young woman needs a husband to take care of her.” Drawing Romayne to a corner, she lowered her voice. “You must realize that things change for you from this point forward. The restrictions that you suffered will vanish now that you are a married woman. I have no doubts but that you shall find love.”

“With James?”

The old woman wrinkled her pug nose. “That Scotsman? Unlikely! There will be others.”

“Are you suggesting that I find love with another man while I am married?” Her words rose to a startled squeak.

“You do not love him. He shows little interest in you, although I find him quite the odd cove in that regard.”

“You need not ridicule James!” When she saw amazement on her abigail's face, she tried to conceal her shock at her defense of a man she had berated moments before. “Grange, no matter what you may hear, and I believe you shall hear many things in the months to come, I can assure you that I intend to be faithful to the vows I hold in my heart.”

“Don't be a paper-skull! Why would you be faithful to Mr. MacKinnon?”

“Not to James.” Her voice broke, but she took a deep breath before she added, “I shall be faithful to the love I have for Bradley.”

“Bah! Being faithful to a dead man is idiocy.”

“Grange, I cannot believe that he is dead.”

The older woman said, “Thatcher told me he has seen the graves.”

“I know, but—”

“Then where is Mr. Montcrief?” Grange demanded. “If he lived, would he have left you as provender to those rum pads? You nearly got yourself killed trying to save him. Would he have done less for you?”

Romayne rubbed her cold, sweaty palms against her arms. Nothing could warm them when she thought of Bradley lying dead in the middle of that horrendous storm. The blizzard had swallowed them, then destroyed them.

At the call of her name, she looked across the room. James was holding out his hand to her in what she knew was an order. She considered ignoring it, but that would make things more difficult. Other brides had been shy or reluctant. However, there must be no hint of contention between them. She must pose as the woman who was so madly in love that she had forgotten her dead betrothed and dared to defy her grandfather to have this man as her husband.

“You were gone too long, dearie,” he said as she came to stand next to him. “Was Grange giving you a lecture on how to please your husband?”

Romayne knew her face was ablaze as the guests laughed, but she fired back, “Her advice was to listen always to your counsel and be submissive. Neither of which I intend to do.”

“She gave you no other tips on how to please me?”

“Kiss the bride!” crowed someone.

James turned her to face him. “That sounds like a bonny suggestion.” As he bent toward her, he whispered, “Romayne, you
are
my wife now.”

“I thought you said this would be a marriage of appearance,” she hissed.

“For appearance's sake, I shall kiss you.” He smiled without humor. “It might not be such a bad idea if you acted as if you were not an unwilling victim. Cooperate, so we can be done with this quickly.”

The raucous calls for a kiss grew more enthusiastic as James put his hand on her arm. She stared up at him as the warm roughness of his hand slid along her bare arm to her shoulder. Green fire burned in his eyes, and her breath snagged in the center of her breast. He enfolded her to him as the shouts were muted by her pounding heart.

“Pretend you care for me,” he whispered while his fingers ran along the column of her neck.

“I fear I have no more pretending left within me.” As his thumb teased the curve of her jaw, a shiver raced along her. She hoped he could not guess the real meaning of her words. She could not pretend she did not want his kiss when her lips ached for his against them.

“I know.”

“You know? Then why don't you—?”

“Cooperate, Romayne.”

She tensed at his uncompromising tone, closing her eyes as he stroked her cheek. He tilted her face toward him. When his mouth descended toward hers, his fingers plowed upward through her hair, tangling with her curls. He touched her lips lightly, then drew away. Opening her eyes, she discovered his face only a shadow's breadth away. She began to believe that the chaste kiss would be enough to satisfy his lusty friends, but had it been enough for James … or for her? She did not want to answer that question.

“My dearie,” he murmured.

“James—”

“Hush, dearie, and kiss me as a wife should kiss her husband.” With a hint of a satisfied smile glistening in his eyes, he claimed her mouth again.

The flavor of whiskey invaded her senses, threatening to consume her. As demanding as every facet of him, his lips sought to subdue every inch of hers. His arm about her waist kept her pressed to the hard angles of his enticingly male body.

When her arms arched along his back as he bent her backward to be cradled against his arm, she rediscovered the strong sinews hidden beneath his shirt. An odd gentleness in his touch urged her lips to soften against his until she found she was returning his kiss. She wanted to savor his caress as she forgot her pain in this unexpected rapture. His breath warmed her mouth before swirling through her.

He laughed as he released her. His arm around her waist kept her wobbly legs from collapsing beneath her. Against her ear, he whispered, “This is going to be fun, dearie. I should have found myself a partner like you long ago.”

“You have had all the
fun
you're going to have with me,” she retorted primly, although she knew the swift pace of her breathing contradicted her.

“That is where we disagree.” He winked at her before he let his friends sweep him away to where the whiskey bottle waited for more toasts.

Romayne sat on the settee and stared down at the ring on her left hand. What havoc had she brought into her life by marrying a man she did not love but whose kisses seared her very soul?

James yawned as he climbed the stairs. The day had gone better than he had dared to hope. With all the hubbub surrounding the wedding, no one, not even Romayne, who seldom let something pass unnoticed, had realized that Cameron was absent. He had sent the sergeant to seek out Duffie and his lads. He had hoped Cameron would be back by this time; his sergeant knew to come directly to him with any intelligence he might have gathered.

“Even tonight?” Cameron had asked with incredulity when James had given him the order this morning.

“Tonight is no different from any other.”

“'Tis your wedding night, sir.”

James had been amazed when his sergeant, who could tell a coarse sally with the best in any tavern, blushed as brightly as a lass in the schoolroom.

“Cameron,” James said, “you know this wedding is nothing but a pretense.”

“Aye, but I thought you might want to forget that now that you have such a lovely lass to take as your wife.”

The words rang in James's ears as he ducked to avoid hitting his head on the low door at the top of the stairs. If Cameron had heard the Regent's minister's fury when the news came of the traitor and his plans, he would understand why James could not afford even a moment of pleasure with his wife.

Wife!
Was this the most mindless thing he had ever done, or would his impulse prove to be the key to the turncoat's failure?

He looked at the two closed doors. This was something he and Romayne had failed to discuss, but no newly married couple kept separate bedchambers. Taking a deep breath, he raised the latch and opened the door.

Romayne was bending over the fire to stir it. Its dancing light outlined her bewitching body beneath her thin chemise. Above its lace, the curve of her breasts drew his eyes. Her skin glowed an invitation, and a steady pulse of the heat raged through him. A low curse drifted from his lips.

She straightened and whirled. With her eyes wide, she groped for her wrapper. Her fingers found it, but he put his hand over hers to keep her from flinging it around her shoulders. When he drew it out of her hand and tossed it back on the footboard, she did not resist. She stared up at him, her lips parted as she stood inches away from him, draped in silk and lace that he yearned to push aside.

James halted himself as he reached to pull her to him. Was he mad? Consummating this marriage would cause innumerable problems when the truth became known. Walking away to pull a comforter off the bed so he could sleep alone on the hard floor was, without question, the most difficult thing he had ever done. For just this night, he would have gladly traded his principles with the traitor. Then he would not have thought twice of bedding this woman who all considered his wife.

“Help me with these dashed boots, Romayne,” he ordered, sitting on the bed. “I fear I cannot take them off without assistance while my arm is useless.”

“Call for Cameron,” she retorted, pulling on her wrapper.

James chuckled softly as he raised one booted foot in her direction, but he was sorry to see those appealing curves disappear between a sheath of silk. “Cameron is gone.”

“To England?” She inched closer, but he guessed she would skitter away again like a frightened kitten if he made any motion toward her.