Romayne rested her cheek in the curve of James’s shoulder and delighted in the warm muskiness of his skin. He was a demanding lover who at the same time sought to give life to every sensation she might long to savor, and she knew that for the rest of her life every fantasy of love would include him. His fingers glided along her in a caress that was a gentle echo of their combined passion. When he kissed the top of her head, she smiled and looked up at him. His answering grin burned against her lips as he cradled her between his arm and his teasing mouth.
“Have I convinced you now that I do not wish to marry Bradley?” she whispered.
“I would have no choice but to ask him to name his seconds if he dared touch you while you are my wife.”
She closed her eyes, but his hand against her cheek kept her from turning away.
“Dearie, do not think of the future,” he murmured. “Think only of now when you are in my arms and I can touch your enticing curves that resonate with luscious desire.”
“But, James—”
“No!” he snapped. “No thoughts of what could happen to wrench us apart when I want to think tonight only of a myriad of ways to bring us together.”
Knowing that she was surrendering to air-dreams, but wanting to delay the pain she would feel tomorrow when she must watch him leave for what might be the final time, she guided his mouth to hers as she whispered, “No thoughts but of love.”
Chapter Nineteen
James leaned against the filthy building and watched the vegetable stall beyond the alley. Rain pelted him, adding to his peevish mood. It was Thursday. This was the stall where the exchange of the information for gold should be taking place. He had been here since dawn.
And nothing had happened.
Beside him, Cameron swore and tossed a piece of wood to the ground. It was no more than a sliver but had been the size of a man’s wrist when Cameron had started whittling on it.
“Mayhap they opted for another day,” Cameron said.
“Mayhap, because they may suspect that we have captured their first agent. Whalen was certain the plans had not changed.”
Cameron spat at the wood. “Whalen was on the wrong side of the hedge when brains were given out.”
“That’s a fine way to speak about a colonel.”
“True, though. You know that, sir.”
James folded his arms over the chest of his dark coat. “Aye, I know it well. If I heeded every order he spouted, I would be gone to Rot-my-bone by now with a ball in my skull. We will succeed in this, in spite of him.”
With a chuckle, Cameron peered around the corner. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with Lady Romayne once this assignment is done?”
“I have delayed speaking to her of it.”
“Women get mighty upset when they hear their menfolks are going off to fight the Frogs,” the pudgy man reflected.
“Is that where you think we’re off to next?”
“Isn’t it?” Cameron rocked his knife in his hand and grinned. “Or does Whalen have another job he is too scared to do himself?”
James hushed his sergeant. They both pressed back against the wall as two women walked past. The scent of the street oozed out from them as, prattling like two magpies, they rushed by in the rain.
“Looks as if they are getting ready to close, Major,” Cameron murmured.
“They cannot be doing much business at this dreary hour in this even drearier weather.”
“Getting soft?”
James smiled. “Living in the luxury of a duke’s house is something every soldier could enjoy.”
“For a while.”
“Aye,” he answered, but without much enthusiasm. When his sergeant turned to look at him, James motioned for Cameron to keep an eye on the stall. He preferred not to explain that he could live very easily in that house for a long time if Romayne was at his side.
A flush of desire tightened every muscle as he imagined making love with her as he had again last night. This morning, when he had left her sleeping in her bed, he had never been so averse to get on with his work.
“Major, come see,” hissed Cameron.
Pushing Romayne from his mind, he inched closer to the street. Instantly he saw what Cameron had. A carriage, with no markings or livery to identify it, was turning into the street in front of them.
“Be ready, Cameron,” he whispered.
He heard only a grunt before something struck him in the back of the head. He fell to the ground, unable to hear the triumphant laughter.
James should have been home by now!
Looking at the square, which was lost to the sheets of rain that were battering the windows, Romayne sighed. James had told her he should be home before midday. Now it was past dark. This was the life she would have if they were truly married.
A throb of pain lashed at her throat. For two days now, she had been James’s wife in truth, but their marriage was a lie. She should have seen this danger to her heart when she first looked into his eyes and felt the first quivers of desire.
Romayne stepped away from the window in the small parlor when she heard her grandfather’s steps behind her. She faced him and saw his smile.
“This is a charming picture, indeed!” he said coolly. “The loyal wife waiting for her husband to return.”
“Grandfather, there is no need for sarcasm. I know that you hope James will go off one of these days and never return.”
He placed a vein-lined hand against his dark waistcoat as he sat on the closest chair. “You cannot believe I wish your husband dead.”
“No, but I know you wish to be rid of him.”
“He is not the man I planned on you marrying.”
“Nor did I.” She smiled as she knelt beside him, her wrapper a soft cloud around her. “But, Grandfather, I love him.”
His hands clenched on the arm of the chair. “I thought you wiser than your aunt, who would not listen to common sense and married against my wishes.”
“And she has regretted that impetuous decision every day since.”
“How do you know?”
Putting her hand over his fist, she smiled. “Aunt Stella shares your dislike of Bradley. When she heard he was courting me, she wrote posthaste to warn me to have nothing to do with him.”
“Stella and I in agreement?” He chuckled lowly and rubbed his chin. “Mayhap I should send for her.” He paused momentarily. “Too many years have passed since we last agreed about anything.”
“I think that would be wonderful. You can both chide me for being so want-witted.”
“About Montcrief? He is out of your life completely?”
“I love James,” she whispered.
With a deep sigh that raised and lowered his aged shoulders, he said, “I would be less than honest if I did not say this is not the solution I had hoped for.”
“Why do you dislike James? He reminds me so much of you. He is stubborn and grumpy, and I love both of you.”
“My objection is not because I dislike the man. It is because you are giving your heart again without knowing the man you profess to love.”
“I know James well.”
“Do you?” He clamped his hand over hers on the seat as his voice sharpened, “Where was he before you met him in that blizzard?”
“Hunting.”
He sniffed a denial. “That is not what I meant. Where had he been before he came to that dashed Scottish village only a short time before you arrived there? What had he been doing?”
Romayne sat back on her heels. Once those questions had plagued her, but after getting no answers from James, she had stopped asking. “I don’t know, but does that matter?”
“What will he do after you leave Town? Where will you go as his wife?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. The turn of the conversation made her uneasy. “Mayhap if you invite Aunt Stella to Westhampton Hall, we shall call there. I would like to meet my cousin.”
“Even though she will someday take Westh
ampton Hall away from you?”
Romayne bit her lip. To say that she wanted anyone else to call the Hall home would be a lie. Quietly she said, “I understand that, Grandfather. I have since I was old enough to know that I could not be your heir.”
“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?”
The Smithfield Bargain Page 26