The Smithfield Bargain (12 page)

“Do not ask questions I will not answer.”

Fury flashed in her volatile eyes. “Then there's no sense in me saying any more to you.”

“Romayne?” He pointed to his boots.

“Wear them to bed, for all I care.”

Rising, he walked toward her. When she stepped back to keep the distance between them unchanged, she bumped into the side of the bed. All color vanished from her face. She edged past him and gasped when he allowed her to escape him. He knew she could not guess what he risked if he allowed himself to touch her even once.

“I can chase you about this room all night,” James said with a challenging smile, “but I would as lief you helped me with my boots so that I might get some sleep.”

“I am not your serving lass.”

“Aye, that is true, wife.” He ran a single fingertip along her cheek, then pulled back. A flash of desire had tightened every muscle. If there had been another way … It was too late to think of that now. His frustration crept into his voice as he went on, “But wouldn't you prefer that I sleep tonight? I don't think you want me to stay awake and put into effect any ideas I have of how to while away the night with you when you look so charmingly disheveled.”

“You
are
beastly.”

“And you are beautiful.” He sat again. “Come, Romayne, and help me. You might as well get accustomed to it. We are going to need to help each other quite a bit in the next few weeks if we are to be rid of the other.”

Chapter Seven

Ellen knocked lightly on the bedchamber door. When she heard a soft command to enter, she grinned and slipped through the door. Her grin faltered when she saw the state of the room. A comforter and a pair of her mother's best quilts were on the floor with a pillow stacked on top of them. She glanced from the mess to Romayne, who was brushing her hair. Romayne looked as prim as ever, and Ellen wondered how such a decorous lady could have been party to what clearly had taken place in here.

“Oh, Ellen, come in.” She twisted her hair into place and smiled.

“If I'm intruding—”

“Of course, you aren't. Forgive the mess. Your mother asked me to count the blankets in this room, so she might know how many she has to send with us when we go back to Yorkshire.”

Ellen relaxed. She should have guessed. “I wish I was going with you.”

Romayne put her hairbrush on the chest. “Why? This is your home.”

Resting her elbow on the footboard, Ellen propped her chin in her hands and looked much younger than her years. “I have heard so much of the glories of the Season in London. How I would love to see even one of those magnificent parties!”

“Most of them can cause
ennui
if one is not there with someone who is amusing.”

“I would risk that,” Ellen replied. She stood, then dipped in a curtsy. Holding up her hand, she cooed, “Why, yes, milord, I would be most honored to stand up with you.” She dropped the pose and laughed. She started to add more, but the call of her name halted her. “Mama,” she said, although Romayne had recognized the voice.

Romayne stood as Ellen raced out of the room. With a smile, she tried to imagine the young woman among the staid
ton
. Ellen's exuberance would shake up the patronesses at Almack's, that was for certain.

She scooped up the blankets James had used and dropped them on the bed. How she hated telling bangers, but she suspected she would be doing it often as long as she was “married”.

The door opened again, and her abigail stormed in, her arms crossed over the bodice of her gray gown. “By jappers,” Grange muttered. “I never would have selected this Scotsman for you if I had realized that he never would give me a simple answer to a simple question.”

“Whom would you have had me marry instead?” Romayne sat on the corner of the bed and eased off her tattered slippers. Grimacing at the collection of holes in them, she doubted if she would arrive home a moment too soon as far as her shoes were concerned.

“If I had known that Mr. Bain was a widower, I—”

“Pray do not continue.” With a laugh, she slipped her shoe back on. “He is nearly as old as Grandfather and has but one tooth. Unquestionably, he is a fair man in business, but that would not be a reason to wed him.”

“You needed a husband.”

“And I have one! By all that's blue, Grange, what other misfortune do you wish to befall me?”

When her abigail apologized, Romayne soothed Grange with platitudes before excusing herself. She needed to escape from the old woman who could not be satisfied with the disruptions she had brought into Romayne's life. If Grange could have rearranged everything yet again, Romayne wondered if she would be happy then.

Without a destination in mind, she tied on her battered bonnet and drew her coat over the shoulders of her dun-colored dress. The thick seams of the borrowed dress scratched her arms and her sides above the bodice that was not as high as she was accustomed to. She ignored the discomfort, for within days she would be home at Westhampton Hall and could choose from among any of the frocks in her dressing room … if Grandfather allowed her back into the Hall.

Shaking her head, she tried to propel that thought from her mind. It was impossible. If Grandfather did not welcome her and James, she had no idea what James might decide to do then.

Romayne was not surprised when her feet led her to the stable. Amid the insanity, Thatcher offered a hint of the life she had left behind. The groom tended to the horses in the primitive building with the same dedication as he had in her grandfather's stables. When she paused by the fence, he looked up from where he was checking the underside of the nearly wrecked carriage.

She closed her eyes as she sighed. No tears today. She had no time for more mourning. Once James had stopped the turncoat, she could bring her life back to normal and have the chance to grieve properly.

“Out to enjoy the sunshine?” Thatcher called.

Glancing skyward, Romayne noted that the sky was the fresh blue of spring. She had been so deep in her grim thoughts that she had assumed the day was as dreary. “To own the truth, I needed time away from Grange.”

He laughed as he folded his arms on the open door of the carriage. “Who would have guessed that she and Aunt Dora would become such bosom bows?”

“Not I.” Copying his motion as she leaned on the fence, Romayne asked, “Will the carriage hold together long enough for us to reach Westhampton Hall?”

“I plan to bring along a few tools and parts in case we have to do repairs.” He stubbed his toe guiltily against the ground and avoided her eyes. “I wish we had a way other than Mr. Montcrief's carriage to travel, Lady Romayne.”

She flinched. When she saw the uneasy expression lengthening his thin face, Romayne tried to smile. “You must be eager to put Scotland behind you, Thatcher.”

“I shall miss it.”

“You will?”

He glanced toward the sunlit hills. “This is an intriguing land, and it is tempting to think of exploring it.”

“I am sure Grandfather would give you a leave if—”

“No!” He flushed at his outspoken retort, but did not apologize. “I came here to find you, Lady Romayne. My thoughts of further adventures are merely thoughts.” When his smile became more sincere as he looked past her, Romayne turned.

James strode toward her, one hand in the wide pocket of his coat. The other swung at his side. With a grin, he held up both hands and wiggled his fingers.

“The doctor told you to keep the sling on for another fortnight,” Romayne said.

“Listen to her, Thatcher.” James laughed as he leaned his elbow on the fence. “Married less than a day, and already she is nagging at me like a fishwife.”

Thatcher chuckled but bent his head to his work when Romayne frowned.

Her expression did not daunt James, for he added, “Grange said you were taking a walk. Do you want some company?”

“I really wasn't planning on going far.” She hoped he would not hear her uneasiness. After last night, when she had been ready to surrender to his touch, she knew the danger of being alone with him. Strong emotions erupted whenever they were together. The ones that lured her to him frightened her more than the anger. As she gazed into his sparkling eyes, she was unsure which she might find today.

Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he held up a long-barreled pistol. He laughed when she gasped with horror. “Calm yourself. I have no plans to make myself a widower, Romayne.”

“You might have given me warning you were carrying such a weapon.”

“I wish to test my arm to see if I can shoot again. It would be wise to be prepared in case we meet brigands upon the road.” When she bit her lip, he put his hand on her elbow.

She instictively backed away, bumping into the slats of the fence. Aware of Thatcher working only a few feet away, she did not want anyone to guess she found her husband's touch disturbing. She should be indifferent to James's strength and enticing eyes, for her heart should be full of grief for Bradley's death. It was, but there was something more within it. The teasing warmth that urged her closer to James unsettled her. She had every reason to dislike him. He was overbearing. So many times she had repeated that, but she suspected her heart no longer listened to common sense.

When she said nothing, James put the pistol back in his pocket and said, “You know the dangers of the road, dearie. We would be want-witted to ignore them.”

“All I desire is to be safe again.”

“I cannot guarantee that, but I can tell you that I plan to have my pistol at ready until we pass through the gates of Westhampton Hall.” He chuckled as he glanced toward Thatcher. “Mayhap, from what I have heard of your grandfather's temper, I would be wise to keep it handy once we are inside as well.”

“My grandfather will not be stopped by a single ball. He was in the war in America, and his years have not made him less cantankerous.”

His voice gentled as he folded her hand between his. “You miss him deeply.”

“With every breath I take,” she whispered.

Again James glanced toward Thatcher. “I think it is time for that walk. There are some things we must speak of before the morrow.”

“We would be smart to go before your aunt or my abigail find something for us to do.”

“You have no reason to be in such waspish mood.”

“No? Grange is on her high ropes. She has complained about everything this morning.”

“Then that is all the more reason to go for that walk.”

Romayne smiled as he drew her around the low stable. His arm brushed hers as he pointed past her. Standing stiffly, she wondered if he had felt the surge of heat. She hoped he did not sense how her heart leapt in a rapid pulse when he touched her even so lightly.

“Look at the hills, Romayne!” he urged. “It soon will be spring. Then the greenery returns. Let me show you a bit of the hills around Struthcoille before you leave Scotland.”

“I should help Grange.” Her voice was as unsteady as her thoughts.

“Romayne,” he said with abrupt irritation, “moments ago you could think of nothing but evading your abigail. Now you act as if hurrying to her side is of utmost importance. I'm going for a walk. Are you coming, or shall we play cat-and-mouse all day?”

“I was not under the impression that we were playing anything.”

He chuckled and slipped his arm through hers. “No truer words were ever uttered, dearie.” When she scowled at his coarse answer, he laughed. His hand covered hers before she could pull away.

Romayne let the song of the wind fill her ears as they strolled along the road. Leaving the village behind, they wandered toward the closest hill. A low serpentine stone wall slithered beside the road. When James leapt over it, he held out his hand and smiled.

She looked farther along the wall to discover a stile set beneath two thick trees. The pair of steps on either side of the wall would offer her a gracious evasion from his dare to climb over the wall as he had. Knowing she should ignore him, she took a single step toward the stile, then paused.

Her hands gripped her skirt. Lifting it high, she stepped over the wall without his help. She brushed her skirt back into place over her stockings and met his green eyes with a challenge. When she saw the glow of appreciation in them as they slowly moved along her, she did not lower her gaze. She would not allow him to daunt her with such a perusal again.

But
, her small voice whispered,
I will still enjoy it
.

When James held out his hand without speaking the admiration he usually used to embarrass her, Romayne watched her fingers rise to settle on his rough palm. The gentle pressure of his hand closing over them sent the renewed heat trilling through her in a luscious melody that lured her closer.

In silence, Romayne walked with him through the grass. Anything she said might renew the brangles that came so easily. Harsh words would let her hide her pleasure with his touch, but with the warmth of the sun upon her head and the scent of the first grasses teasing her senses, she did not want to deny her delight in his bewitching touch.

James pulled the pistol from his pocket and motioned for her to stand by a large boulder. As she sat on the stone which still held the cold of the winter, he sighted the pistol on a tree at the other end of the field. She held her breath as his finger slowly contracted on the trigger. The gunpowder detonated with a crash that sent the birds squawking and spiraling skyward. Bark exploded to show he had hit his mark.

“Bravo!” she called and clapped her hands.

When he lowered the weapon and winced, she leapt from the rock. She massaged the muscles along his upper arm gently.

“Dr. Wollaston said rubbing your arm might help.”

“It certainly makes me feel better,” he said, resting his hand against the rock. The devilment returned to his eyes. “All over, dearie.”