The Smithfield Bargain (34 page)

“I have provided for you, child, so you need not wear that long face.” He patted her cheek. “Smile, Romayne. Trust your grandfather to make sure that your future is not a horrible one.”

She tried to smile, but it was not easy. As soon as she could, without appearing to be running away from the truth, she excused herself. She would watch for James from her room where she would not be disturbed.

Opening the door to her bedchamber, she saw the maids had not returned yet to take away the tub and water from the perfumed bath she had enjoyed nearly an hour ago. She ran her fingers along her sides, letting the silk caress her more softly than James would when his strong hands created their fascination.

That fascination had blinded her to the facts she had not wanted to see. Grandfather could not understand the truth, because he had no idea that James was not an indigent Scotsman. But the questions he had asked were ones she had no answers for. Nothing had changed. James would leave her for his life in the army soon, and she might never see him again.

Tears burned on her icy cheeks as she drew back the drapes and looked out into the stormy night. Nobody was abroad on the square. It was as deserted as the moors beyond Westhampton Hall.

When the door opened, Romayne hastily wiped her face. She did not want Grange, who was probably coming to supervise the removal of her bath, to see her tears. She flinched when she heard, “Dammit, Romayne! Didn't I tell you to stay away from the windows? Don't you have the sense God gave a goose?”

She whirled to face James's anger, but she choked back her retort as she stared at him. His coat was ripped in several places, and a bruise shadowed his left cheek. In horror, she took a step toward him.

“James!”

He smiled as he closed the door behind him. He crossed the room, and she realized the spot on his face was the perfect match for the knuckles on a man's bunch of fives. The reek of the streets wafted from him. When he tried to wink at her, he winced.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Can't the questions wait? I want to sit.”

Taking his arm, she helped him to a chair. She dipped one of the cloths on the edge of the tub into the water and dabbed it against his cheek.

With a vivid curse, he growled, “Be careful, Romayne. I have been battered enough today.”

“What happened?”

“Cameron and I were jumped.”

“How is he?” She dampened the cloth again.

“Dora is seeing to him. He did better than me and held onto his senses to drive off the men who jumped us. One of them will be needing several stitches from where Cameron gashed him with his knife. We found blood dripped halfway across Covent Garden.” He swore and caught her hand before she could touch the cloth to his cheek again. “By gravy, Romayne, leave off.”

“I collect you did not see your assailant.”

“Not before he was able to down me with a single blow to the back of my head.”

“Back? But your cheek is bruised!”

“I must have hit a loose cobble when I fell.” Leaning back in the chair, he said, “This is going to make things more difficult. If I am seen wandering about Town looking as if I have fallen and trodden on my eye, our traitorous friend will have no doubt 'twas me who was watching for the exchange.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Did the information get passed?”

“No, Cameron's shouts for the Charleys scared the damned Frenchies away.”

Rising, she went to the dressing room. She picked up a small jar from the table by Grange's bed and brought it back into her bedchamber. Carefully she locked the door before she handed the jar to James.

“What is this?”

“Rice powder. Grange uses it occasionally. It will help hide your bruises.”

“But what will help with the pain?” He grabbed her arm and brought her down onto his lap.

“Me?”

“Use your imagination, dearie.”

She locked her fingers behind his nape. “I shall,” she whispered just before her lips touched his.

Romayne hummed the tune to her favorite waltz as she knocked on the door to Ellen's bedroom. The afternoon was warm and sunny and perfect for calls. Having seen a carriage in front of Philomena's house, she guessed her neighbor was at home. A brief look-in would not disturb Lord Harcourt and would allow Ellen to practice her skills at making calls.

When she got no answer, she rapped again, a bit louder. Still no response.

She opened the door and peeked around it. “Ellen, are you here?”

A frown ruffled her forehead as she looked around the room. The chair by the dressing table was upset, and clothes were strewn across the covers of the cherry tester bed which was set opposite the curved window. The drapes were drawn to hide the sunshine in the garden.

“Ellen?”

Her hopeful call brought no answer. This was most peculiar, because both Dora and Clayson had told her Ellen was up in her room.

She was about to leave when she saw a folded slip of paper stuck into one side of the oval glass over the dressing table. Setting the chair back on its feet, she plucked the piece of paper from the glass and opened it.

I have gone for a ride with Lady Philomena and Mr. Boumphrey. I should return soon
.

The note was unsigned.

Had Ellen taken a knock in the cradle? She should not be riding with Mr. Boumphrey, even with his sister-in-law as a watchdog. No wonder the room was in such a state. Ellen must have been so excited about the invitation that she had fairly flown around the room while she decided what to wear while out with Mr. Boumphrey.

With a sigh, Romayne crumpled the note and tossed it back onto the dressing table. She must ride after them, but where could they have gone? Most likely to Hyde Park. She groaned. At this hour, half of the Polite World could have already witnessed Ellen's faux pas. She must not delay.

Romayne fetched a straw bonnet from her room and rushed down the stairs. Clayson halted when she called to him to have her gig brought around to the front of the house.

“Is something wrong, Lady Romayne?”

“I hope not.”

He sent a lad with the order to the stable as Romayne turned to the pier glass. She must not appear disconcerted while she looked for Ellen. If anyone suspected the truth, Ellen's reputation could be ruined.

The rattle of carriage wheels stopping on the street in front of the house was the sweetest music to her ears. Not waiting for Clayson, she went to the door and threw it open. She stared in disbelief at Bradley. His hand was raised to reach for the knocker.

“Mr. Montcrief, I am not at home to you,” she said as she pulled on her gloves.

He grabbed her arm and twisted her to face him. Ignoring the butler's mutter of dismay, he retorted, “Romayne, it's time for you to stop living in some foolish delusion.”

“And which one would that be?” She eased her arm out of his grip. “The one that I was in love with you, perchance?”

“Romayne, you know that I have not changed my mind about wanting you as my wife.”

“We have discussed this too often already, and my answer has never changed. I love James, and I do not intend to end our marriage.” When she saw the fury in his eyes, she went on, “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go.”

“Go where?”

“Out.”

He shook his head. “I think not. You would be wise to hear what I have to tell your grandfather.”

“Grandfather wishes to hear your bangers as little as I do.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Clayson, will you show Mr. Montcrief the door?”

The butler stepped forward but shrank away when Bradley cursed and, grasping Romayne's arm, turned her toward the stairs. She understood why when she saw her grandfather and James at the top.

James sprinted down the steps. Taking Romayne's hand, he drew her toward him. Bradley refused to release her until her grandfather snapped an order.

“Are you hurt?” James asked, glaring at the other man.

“I am fine.” She ran her finger along his collar, which was as high as a dandy's and shadowed his bruises. “I like this.”

“Just thought to be fashionable,” he said with a smile. It disappeared when he looked again at Bradley. “Montcrief, Lady Romayne asked you to leave. I trust I do not have to have Clayson toss you out into the street.”

“This is not your house!” he snapped. “You do not give orders here.”

“Neither do you,” said the duke as he came down the stairs more slowly.

Bradley shot a glower at James, then said, “Your Grace, if you could see fit to allow me five minutes of your time, I think you shall be pleased with what you shall discover.”

The duke shook his head. “Begone and take your sniveling comments with you.”

“Your Grace, I think you will want to see this.”

“I doubt you have anything that would interest me.”

“Even this?” He pulled something from beneath his coat.

Romayne strained to see what he had in his hand, but he kept it hidden. When James's fingers bit into her arm, she saw his face was strained with fury. Had he seen what Bradley had brought, or was he simply angry that Bradley was still in the house?

Her grandfather took what Bradley held out to him. As he turned it over, Romayne saw it was a piece of paper which could have been the twin to the one she had found in Ellen's room. Dismay smothered her. Every minute wasted by Bradley was another that might bring Ellen to disaster.

The duke scowled as he read it, then smiled. “Is this true?”

“I have the information from several sources,” Bradley replied. His smug smile returned.

“Several
reliable
sources?”

“Unquestionably reliable, Your Grace.”

“What is it, Grandfather?”

He shoved the page into her hands. “I hope this is not familiar to you, child, or you shall be the one who will be sent out onto the streets.”

Romayne pressed her fingers to her lips as she read the letter. The spidery handwriting melted in front of her as she read the damning words:

The license obtained by Mr. MacKinnon of this village was only a sham, nothing but a goose's gazette. Lady Romayne Smithfield and James MacKinnon are not man and wife, and the ceremony I performed in front of witnesses was nothing but a fraud
.

The signature on the bottom was Reverend Kerr's.

“You sent to Scotland for this, Montcrief?” James asked.

She was astonished at his serenity. She saw her amazement on Bradley's face as well. Her grandfather's expression was of fury.

“It was delivered to me by someone who thought I would be interested in the truth.”

“And who was that?”

Montcrief chuckled. “Do you think I would be paper-skulled enough to tell you that? I have heard you are a fine shot, MacKinnon. I would not wish to find my friend with a hole in his head.”

“Or yours?”

The blond man's conceit faltered, then he said, “If anything happens to me, MacKinnon, two witnesses stand here who must speak the truth at your trial.”

“A wife need not testify against her husband.”

The duke snapped, “Unless you can prove that this is a lie, Romayne is not your wife.” He turned and pointed up the stairs. “Child, you shall go to your room and stay there until I call for you.”

“Grandfather, no.” She looked at James. Clutching his arm, she said, “Grandfather, you must understand what happened before you assume that that letter explains everything.”

“It explains enough. Romayne, go to your room before I have to call your abigail to have you led there like the child you've acted this past month.”

“Grandfather—”

“Go,” James said softly. “Let me handle this.”

She considered staying to pull caps with her grandfather, but nodded when James repeated his command. She had come to trust him, and now was the time when she must prove that.

As she went up the stairs, she paused only once to look back. James must have felt her eyes on him, because he raised his gaze to her. She waited for his evanescent smile, but he turned back to the other men. For the first time, she knew that he might not have a way to solve a problem.

Grange pelted her with a dozen questions as Romayne came into the bedchamber. Romayne started to answer, but the sobs she had restrained in the foyer burst forth. Dropping onto her bed, she wept for the love that had been destined to die from the beginning.

Romayne had no idea how long she had been asleep, but her pillow was still damp with the tears that had washed her away from the nightmare of losing James. She started to sit, then heard the deep rumble of her grandfather's voice. Closing her eyes, she tried to find the strength to face him and beg him to forgive her for her duplicity and, even more importantly, to help her convince James to make their marriage a true one.

“I don't want her to leave this room. Not even for her meals.” Her grandfather's orders left no doubt that his wrath had only increased. “She will have no chance for more adventures until I am sure she is married.”

“To Mr. MacKinnon?” squeaked Grange.

“Bah! I would sooner see her married to Old Scratch than to that lying Itchlander. He has been given his
congé
. No door in this house will open to him again.”

“Then whom is she to marry, Your Grace?”

“As soon as he gets a special license, my granddaughter will become Mrs. Bradley Montcrief.”

Chapter Twenty

Romayne sat straight up in bed and reached for James. When she saw sunlight splashed across the floor; she frowned. What was she doing abed in the middle of the afternoon?

She hid her face in her hands as she recalled the horror of the morning. James had been banished, and her grandfather was so determined to save the family's reputation that he had agreed to marry her to Bradley.

“Cheer up, dearie. It's not that bleak.”

Romayne looked up and gasped, “James!”