The Smithfield Bargain (20 page)

“Bradley,” she whispered, “that hurts.”

When he released her with a muttered apology, she said, “I married James a week after we should have been wed.”

“A week?” His fingers closed into fists at his side as his face became a dangerous shade of red. “Strike me blind!” Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly. In a calmer voice, he said, “I own to being astonished that you could recover from the grief of my death with such speed.”

“I had little choice.”

“So you wed him only a day or two before you returned here?”

“I had little choice,” she repeated. Regarding him without compromise, she said, “Grange was insistent that I marry to save my reputation, and, to own the truth, Bradley, I felt I owed James that much for saving my life.”

He had prowled about the room as she spoke, but paused to snap, “But why did you
marry
him?”

“My reputation would be gone if I returned from Coldstream without a husband!” She came around the bench to face him. “Dear God, Bradley, haven't you heard a single thing I said?”

“I heard every word, but, my sweet, I would have vouched for you. The
ton
would have been thrilled with the story of our romantic adventures, and His Grace would not have been able to resist the clamoring of the Polite World for us to wed to complete our fairy tale of love.”

“But I thought you were dead!” She shivered as she recalled her horror of imagining Bradley lying lifeless in the drifting snow. “When the new graves were discovered in the churchyard and there were no signs of you around the carriage, what were we to believe?”

“We? You and this Scotsman?”

Romayne squared her shoulders as she realized James had been right. Bradley needed to retire to give himself a chance to think more clearly. Bickering like this would cause only more pain. If only she could tell him the truth that she and James had married solely to help him capture the traitor. Then Bradley would understand, but those words could not be spoken yet.

“Bradley, Grange and I fretted about your whereabouts.”

“That old tough?” He snorted his disagreement. “She would have been delighted to aim the pistol at me and let fly the pop herself.”

“Enough!” Walking toward the door, she said, “If you would like to call tomorrow to collect your carriage, I will be at home.”

He caught her by the shoulders and shook her until she gasped. “You cannot give me my
congé
like this. I am—I was your betrothed. I can see, more clearly than ever before, that you need a strong man like me to guide you and keep you from making mistakes. You are nothing but MacKinnon's cat's paw! He cares nothing for you. He married you only for the fortune he expects your grandfather has for you.”

“He knows I have little gilt of my own.”

“But still you allowed that Scotsman to woo you before you believed my body had grown cold? Why?”

“I had to marry him—I mean—”

“You had to?” His gaze swept along her, and she knew he was looking for signs of her quickening.

“To honor my debt to him,” she finished.

“Then you have no wish to be married to him?” His lips settled into a satisfied smile. “This puts a completely different complexion on the situation, my sweet.”

Romayne could not help hesitating. Days ago, she would have been able to answer Bradley without a second thought. She had wanted nothing more but to see him alive and be in his arms again. That was days ago. Things had changed so quickly. She had changed, and—she was beginning to fear—her heart had changed.

Confusion raged through her. When she had told James she would marry him, she had wished that Bradley was alive so she could return to him when James's work was done and their masquerade revealed. She had dreamed of telling Bradley the truth and having him forgive her as they spoke the pledges of unending love before the altar.

“James MacKinnon is my husband, Bradley.”

“And that is that?”

“It must be.”

He strode to the door and opened it. As he was about to storm out of the room, he sighed and faced her. “Forgive me, Romayne. It isn't easy to find you and lose you again all in one night.”

“I understand.” She went to him and put her hand on his arm. When she did not feel the pulse of delight she experienced each time she touched James, she tried to brush aside her bafflement. She
loved
Bradley! “I am sorry.”

“You shall be sorrier if you never have the chance to share this again.” His arm swept around her, and he pressed his mouth over hers.

Putting her hands up to his chest, she pushed herself away. She stared at the hurt on his face but could not explain to him that his arms about her felt so comfortable, so welcoming, so … tame. In James's caresses, she had sensed the danger ready to consume them in the passions that stirred within her each time he held her.

“Bradley,” she whispered, “no matter what either of us wish, I am married to James. Do not ask me to betray my vows to him.”

“And your vows to me?” He held her left hand between his to hide the glitter of the ring she wore. “You promised to be my wife and love me forever. Are those vows worth nothing, my sweet?”

“You know that I treasure the love we have known, but it must be over.”

He brought her into his arms and kissed her gently. Again, she sought the fiery longing James brought her, but found only serenity. Fiercely she told herself that this was what she wanted. She wanted a man who did not roar about the house as her grandfather did … as James did.

As he released her, Bradley murmured, “I, too, treasure our love, sweet Romayne. I do not want it to come to an end like this. On the morrow, I must leave for London. Come with me.”

“No, I shan't run away again.” She walked with him out of the small room and into the foyer. “We shall be coming to London within the fortnight to bring out James's cousin.”

“You intend to impose another yokel on the Season? Romayne, you will be humiliated when she embarrasses herself and you. Why are you doing something so silly?”

“Ellen will surprise many people,” she said, making certain no signs of her uneasiness sifted into her voice. “Grandfather is planning on us attending Mrs. Kingsley's party. Shall I see you there?”

“If not before.” Glancing about the foyer, he smiled before he caught her by the shoulders and pressed his mouth over hers. He ended his slow kiss with another smile before he said, “Good night, my sweet. I shall call upon you as soon as I hear you have arrived in London.”

“Please do that.” Romayne added nothing else as she watched him go to the door. When Clayson appeared to open it, she turned toward the dining room. She halted as she stared at her grandfather's taut face. Softly she said, “You knew Bradley was alive! Why didn't you tell me?”

He hobbled toward her. “I had no idea you thought he was dead until MacKinnon informed me moments ago that he had seen what you assumed was Montcrief's grave. Stay away from him, Romayne. He has no love for you.”

“Why should I listen to you?” she cried. “You hate Bradley! You hate James as well!”

“And do you love either of them?”

Romayne's shoulders sagged, her anger vanishing. “I don't know any longer, Grandfather.”

When he held out his arms, she hid her face against his shoulder and wept for the yearnings that had been turned inside out.

Chapter Twelve

With his knife, Fergus Cameron flicked another sliver of wood across the stable floor. “He passed through this shire, Major, but he's nowhere to be found now.”

James propped his feet against the slat along the side of the stall and watched his sergeant whittling. Cameron did this only when he was perturbed. He never made anything save a mess on the floor, but it helped him focus his thoughts on the problem at hand.

Cameron was damn lucky! He only had one problem—finding that blasted traitor.

Sighing, James wondered how his life had gotten so complicated. He had a rat to capture before it slid into its hole to wait him out.
And
he had a wife who was receiving daily letters from her former betrothed even while her husband was trying to ignore her undeniable charms as he slept on that uncomfortable settee which was nearly a foot shorter than he was.

He was miserable, especially when he would have much preferred being nestled next to Romayne and shunting aside sleep as he tasted each pleasure she had to offer him. He must have had a knock in his cradle to come up with this absurd idea which had seemed like the perfect solution when he suggested it.

Now everything was too complex, because Montcrief was not dead and wanted Romayne back immediately. James found himself thinking of that too often and not concentrating on his work. If Romayne wished to mix giblets with Montcrief, she was a moonling, and James should be glad that he soon would be well rid of her. Yet, if that was so, why did he feel so wretched each day when he saw her with another letter from Montcrief in her hand?

His hands tensed into fists as he fought the craving to seek her out in the grand house and pull her into his arms as he gave freedom to his fantasies of making her truly his wife. A smile drew back his lips as he imagined how utterly delightful it would be to convince her to forget Montcrief. She was, for now, his wife, and—

“Sir?”

Cameron's impatient voice halted James's delicious thoughts. With a sigh, James vowed to set aside his personal dilemmas and focus on the mission that had brought them to Yorkshire. Mayhap in that one aspect of his life, he could prove a success. He certainly had set himself up for failure in his marriage.

“Do you have any idea where our man is headed?” James asked, pleased his voice showed no hint of his thoughts.

“Everything points toward London.”

“Very convenient for us.” He stood and stretched. His life at Westhampton Hall was too sedentary. If he stayed here much longer, he would become as rickety and feeble as the old duke. “We should be there before the end of the week.”

Driving his knife into the wooden rail, Cameron rested his hands against the knees of his dirty breeches. “Will that be too late?”

“I suspect not.”

“What if the blackguard continues south?”

“To Dover?” James shook his head. “If he had thought he could get the information across the Channel at that point, he would have never gone to Scotland. You know Sturgis has his lads watching all the roads in and out of Dover as well as patrolling the shore. Not a single smuggler has slipped through unnoted.”

“We hope.”

“We hope,” he agreed. “By gravy, Cameron, you could trouble a saint with your pessimism.”

Cameron pulled his knife from the board and hid it beneath his dark brown waistcoat which had lost a button somewhere in the last few days. “I would feel much better, Major, if we didn't delay in going to London.”

“And we shan't. Not even Ellen's fittings shall slow us.”

The older man grinned. “She is having a bonny time. I never thought to see her all dressed as a fine lady. She'll have every lad in Town dangling after her when she shows that fine ankle of hers.”

“Cameron, you old dog!” With a laugh, he took the lantern from its hook on the wall. Night had fallen, but his work was still undone. If he wanted even a few hours of sleep, he would be wise to get to his tasks now.

“Major?”

James turned when he heard Cameron's disquiet. It took a lot to unnerve his sergeant, and he wondered what horrible news Cameron had left unspoken. “What is wrong?”

“It's Lady Romayne.”

“Romayne?” This was not what he had expected.

Cameron leaned one pudgy elbow on the door of the empty stall. “How much longer do you think you can keep her from learning everything?”

“If we have kept Ellen from suspecting the truth this long, I think we can be as successful with Romayne.”

“Ellen is not without wits, but she is so caught up in the fancy of making herself into a real lady that she has no thoughts for anything else.”

James slapped his sergeant on the back. “Dora will be certain that everything is as it should be. Do not fret your gizzard, on this, Cameron, when we have other things to occupy our minds.”

“I'd as lief have something else occupied,” he grumbled.

A pinch of guilt bit at James. He could not allow himself to forget the strain this deception was putting on his sergeant's marriage. Although James had long held that a career military man had no time for a family, he knew how important Cameron's marriage was to him.

“We should be able to nab our man within a few weeks of reaching London, for he is certain to let down his guard among the
ton,
” James said with confidence.

“A few weeks?” Cameron sighed, then smiled weakly. “Aye, I can wait a few weeks longer to be with my missus.” His smile vanished as he added, “And what about your missus, Major? She lives in clover here. She won't be wishing to leave His Grace's house to join you in whatever billet the army gives you until your marriage is annulled.”

James would have given his sergeant an answer if he had had one. There were some things he could not speak of, even to Cameron. Holding the lamp high, he went out into the night and the blustery winds off the moors.

The wind rattled the windows in Romayne's sitting room as Grange drew the thick drapes which swallowed much of the light. Setting another lamp on the marble-topped lyre table in the middle of the room, she then lit it.

“His Grace seems in an uncommonly good mood this evening,” she said as she plumped the pillows on the settee.

Romayne looked up from the book of poetry she was trying to read. She had scarcely made it through a single line before her abigail had come in to flutter about like an oversized songbird in her brown dress with its hint of red piping along the bodice and long sleeves. “Mayhap,” she said, “Grandfather received the news he was waiting to hear from that courier who stopped here this afternoon.”