“Ellen is settled comfortably across the hall, and I’ve been banished to the west wing?” He laughed and tossed his coat over his shoulder. “Couldn’t manage to stow me somewhere outside Yorkshire’s East Riding, could he, so he settled for stashing me as far from my wife as possible in Westhampton Hall.” Turning, so only Romayne could see the mirth in his eyes, he added, “Don’t fret, dearie. I shall convince your cherished grandfather that my place is with you.”
“Here?”
He chuckled. “Or in the west wing, if you prefer. I would prefer it myself if it was more private.” His arm circled her waist. His whisper brushed her ear tantalizingly. “Think of it, dearie, just you and me alone in a cavernous suite where no one could interrupt us.”
Again Grange intruded. “My lady, His Grace expects you on time for dinner.”
Although she was sure James would protest, Romayne was not prepared for him to seize her by the waist and kiss her with a fervor that left her lips tingling from his fiery touch as he walked away. She put her fingers to her mouth and watched him leave the room.
With a sigh, she faced her abigail and the reprimand that was sure to come. Her hopes that her troubles would be over when she reached the Hall had been foolish. She was home and safe—from everything but the desire to love the one man she promised never to give her heart to.
Romayne ran her fingers along the fretwork on the gallery wall. She loved this grand, old house with all its wings that had been added on helter-skelter whenever the family had found the wealth or prestige to indulge its love for architecture. A deep breath brought her the scents of the beeswax and soap used to keep the Hall immaculate.
She looked up at the portraits lining the gallery. Smithfields, all of them, stretching back generations through the past to the beginnings of modern England. When she had been small, she had been frightened by the stern faces of the parade of her ancestors, but now they gave her the welcome home she had longed for. No questions, just the comfortable feeling of being back where she belonged.
Voices drifted through the long room to her. Gathering the skirt of her eau de Nile silk dress in both hands, she hurried away at a pace that would have garnered a reprimand from Grange. She did not want to speak with anyone—not until she had time to sort things out in her head.
Reaching a pair of ornately carved doors, she opened one. Darkness beckoned to her, but she did not need light. Her steps were sure as she entered.
Beneath her silk slippers, the cool, marble floor was coated with dust. She could not remember when she first had come to think of the ballroom as a haven. Here she could walk across the vast floor or sit on one of the benches beneath the shadowed murals. Nobody would come in to disturb her. Only once could she remember seeing the swathed chandeliers lit. That had been while her grandmother still lived. The Duke of Westhampton had no interest in hosting his neighbors.
Tonight she needed this haven more than ever. She must think clearly after listening to Grange’s lecture about how she must behave with her temporary husband: “Never forget, my lady, that he is your temporary husband. You don’t want his lust to leave you with a permanent reminder of this appalling relationship.”
James was not really her husband. There was no real marriage. The man she had been ready to wed was now only a corpse beneath the half-frozen Scottish soil. She had to own to admiring Major James MacKinnon, for he was ready to risk everything to stop a traitor, but he was insufferably tyrannical. Yet, with all that being true, why did she tremble with eagerness when James drew her into his arms?
Romayne choked back a scream as a hand clutched her arm. She was whirled to face James, but a James unlike any she had ever seen. Even in the dim light, his black velvet coat was free of dust and the buckles on his shoes glistened weakly.
As silent as the room, he put one hand at her waist and took her hand with the other. She gasped when he started to lead her into a waltz. When she stumbled after him, he laughed softly.
“Listen to the music, dearie,” he whispered.
“Music? What music?”
“Listen closely. I know you can hear it, too.”
He whirled her about with the grace she had seen in his other motions. Looking up into his eyes which were twin stars in the shadows of his face, she matched her steps to his. Dust rose in a fine cloud as they twirled about the floor in perfect unison. Her silk skirt spun around her ankles as he turned her to a melody she knew was the melded beating of their hearts.
His hand glided across her back, bringing her closer, as his mouth descended toward hers. The touch of his lips, warm and hungry against hers, sent her heart soaring. She locked her hands behind his collar and. leaned into the kiss.
Too soon he raised his mouth away. At her soft moan of protest, his fingers tightened on her arms, but he stepped back.
“Thank you for the dance, my lady,” he murmured as he went to look at one of the murals, which were of the countryside beyond the walls.
“‘My lady’? I don’t recall the last time you called me that.”
“Being here in this grand house reminds me that, although I may think of you as a smudged-faced urchin, you are the granddaughter of a duke.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “And you were beef-headed to let me convince you to be part of my artifice.”
“Second thoughts, Major?”
He faced her, smiling, although she suspected the smile was as feigned as the light tone of his voice. “’Tis too late for that, isn’t it?”
“Did Grandfather persuade you of the idiocy of your scheme?”
“He could not, even if he knew the truth.”
“Then what did you say to him?”
He wandered to look at another panel of the mural. “This is the original section of the house, isn’t it?”
Romayne clenched her hands at her side. His attempts to deflect her questions would not be successful this time. Gripping his arm, she asked, “What did you say to him?”
He peeled her fingers off his arm and winced, warning her that his arm was still not wholly healed. “We spoke of our journey and my family.”
“Do you expect me to believe that you and Grandfather had such an innocuous conversation? Grandfather never involves himself in something he considers fat-pated, and he dislikes idle poker-talk more than anything else.”
James shrugged and looked up at the mural. “Do you know the artist of this?”
“Am I to believe that you took part in such an inane conversation?” she retorted, vexation honing her voice. “I thought you disdained ‘dandy games’, as I’ve heard you call polite conversation.”
He laughed. “You must admit that I was correct when I said charm has its time and place.”
“So today and my grandfather’s study were what you deemed the proper time and place?”
“He was ready to toss you into the road. I wanted to give you the chance to soothe your differences.”
“There would be scant need for that if you had not involved me in your intrigue.”
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he smiled. “Romayne, you saw. It worked exactly as I had hoped. He focused his fury on me until you were given a chance to explain … somewhat.”
“But what did he say after I left?” she asked for what she was sure was the tenth time.
He kissed her cheek, then laughed when she scowled. “Nothing that you don’t already know. I think your grandfather and I shall get along famously.”
“Why not?” she snapped. “You are both pigheaded fools!”
“I would prefer to think that we both are sensible enough to recognize that the situation is unchangeable at the present time.”
Romayne knew he was lying, and that worried her, because James always insisted on honesty. Why would he wish to keep the import of his conversation with her grandfather from her? Her twinge of disquiet erupted into apprehension. Mayhap Grandfather would allay her fears, but she suspected he would prove to be as taciturn on the matter as James.
�
�Oh, glory!” came an excited voice from the door. “This is magnificent!”
Romayne sighed as she saw Ellen. There would be no quiet haven here for her tonight.
Ellen wandered into the room, her head swiveling from side to side as she tried to see everything at once. She rushed forward to greet Romayne, but stopped, her eyes growing large with admiration. “What a beautiful dress! Oh, Romayne, how unhappy you must have been wearing the rags we lent you!”
“I was not unhappy.” She said the words automatically, but realized they were the truth.
“You don’t play the martyr well,” James murmured.
Facing him, she retorted, “Nor do you play the liar well!”
He tapped the tip of her nose and grinned. “Shall we snarl at each other all evening?”
“Probably.” She did not smile. When his lighthearted expression faded, she felt no sense of victory. Their camaraderie on the trip south had vanished, and she felt she had no idea how to bring it back.
“Then we would be smart to get this evening started, so it can be over before my back ends up firmly embedded with one of the daggers you are throwing with your eyes.” He went to the door and motioned for both women to precede him.
Ellen shook her head. “Tonight we should be happy that Romayne and her grandfather are reunited, Jamie.” Putting her hand on his arm, she urged, “We are tired from the long trip, but we must say nothing to hurt Romayne or His Grace.”
“Shall we struggle to be pleasant to one another?” he asked as he reached past his cousin to take Romayne’s hand. When his thumb stroked her palm, his eyes suggested other ways he wished to bring her pleasure.
She heard herself whisper, “Yes, I think we can be nice to each other tonight.”
Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her index finger, his tongue teasing it with moist heat. She silenced her sigh, not wanting to share this delight with anyone but James. He placed her fingers within his arm. She smiled as she put her other hand on his arm as well. At the glitter of desire in his eyes, she knew they must strive together to control the passion growing between them. Otherwise, it would betray them into consummating their marriage at the cost of their dreams.
Chapter Ten
Dinner went badly from the onset. The Duke of Westhampton refused to allow Grange to join them, although she had been a welcome guest at their table in the past. When Romayne entered the long room with James and an awe-struck Ellen, she wished her grandfather had allowed them to eat in the cozy breakfast parlor. This massive room, which could accommodate more than one hundred people, was lost in the glow of the few candles on the mahogany table.
Overhead, the brass chandeliers were dark. The fire on the hearth, though it crackled fiercely, could not fight off the winter chill which had settled in the room. If her grandfather hoped to intimidate his guests with this show of grandeur, she doubted if he would get the results he wanted. Ellen was slowly turning to look at the cherry wainscoting and the gold silk wallcovering, but James was indifferent to the majesty of the room. Instead he was peering at a row of paintings that were half-lost to shadow.
Again disquiet pricked Romayne. Who was this man she had married? He was equally at home in the Dunbars’ small cottage and amid the chambers of Westhampton Hall, but the rough life of a soldier seemed to be the most comfortable fit for him. Yet his coat, although not of the latest style, was cut of excellent cloth and clearly had been made by a skilled tailor. In the brighter light, she could see the restrained white stripe on his waistcoat matched the color of his breeches. She doubted if Beau Brummel could have tied a more elegant cravat.
This was the real James MacKinnon? Or was it the coarse-mouthed soldier who had dared a gang of highwaymen to save her life? Who was he … really?
“How wondrous!” breathed Ellen. “This is even grander than the ballroom.”
“Beware of spiders who live up in the frieze work,” Romayne said drily. “The servants try to chase them away on the rare occasions we use this room, but a few always remain in hiding to drop down on some unsuspecting guest right as the soup is being served.”
Ellen’s answer was forestalled as slow, heavy footsteps heralded the duke’s arrival. Taking a deep breath, Romayne stepped forward to greet her grandfather. He held out his cheek for the kiss she gave him each night. When his narrowed eyes looked past her to where James stood, she saw her grandfather’s fury. That, as much as her husband’s evasive answers, told her that the meeting between the two had not ended well.
“Where are the rest of them?” the old man demanded.
“We are waiting only for Cameron and Aunt Dora,” Romayne said.
“You have no Aunt Dora!”
“James does,” she replied quietly.
Again the duke glowered at James, as if the mere mention of his name was nettlesome, but ordered, “Help your grandfather to the table, young lady. I have had to depend on Blum since you ran off. You know he chastens me as if I was still in short coats. It has become worse than tiresome.”
Romayne obeyed, then turned to urge the others to take their seats. With her arm in her grandfather’s, memories poured over her of years past when she had held his hand as they wandered through the gardens.
“Do you love this man you have buckled yourself to?” the duke asked in a low rumble that would reach no farther than her ears.
“I did not marry him because I had fallen in love with him.” She hesitated, then plunged on, desperate to speak the truth. “You know I loved Bradley.”
“Bah! You never truly loved that worthless pup.”
“Grandfather, how could you know the state of my heart?”
He faced her slowly and smiled. “My dear child, I knew love long before your father was born. I saw it first in your grandmother’s eyes when I courted her. Then I saw it when your father offered his heart to your mother. I know it well, although love has little place in this old man’s life. Trust me that I know of what I speak when I say you did not love Bradley.”
“But I planned to marry him.” Tears weighed heavily in her eyes. “Grandfather, I was ready to leave everything I have here—I was prepared to leave you—in order to marry him.”
“Mayhap, but the glow of love was not here when you spoke of Montcrief.” He touched the corner of her eye with a gnarled finger. “Dear child, you may have thought you were in love, but you have yet to learn what love is.” With a chuckle like the sound of a metal hinge rasping, he added, “Do not ask me what it is, for that is something you can learn only from your heart.”
“I missed you, Grandfather.”
He cleared his throat and motioned for her to help him the rest of the way to his chair. “Grange has explained what happened.”
“Do not blame her.”
“I don’t. She could not have induced you to marry that man if you had been unwilling.” Dropping heavily into his chair, he fisted his hands between the crystal and silver set in front of him. “I would like an explanation from you.”
Romayne scraped her tongue across her bottom lip. Being honest was impossible, because she had promised James she would tell no one of his work. Telling another lie was the last thing she wanted to do.
“I have none,” she whispered, “other than it seemed the best thing to do at the time.”
“By all that’s blue!” he roared, slamming his fist into the table. The silver bounced, and two crystal goblets rang sharply as they tipped over. If her grandfather noted the shocked expression on Ellen’s face, he ignored it. “Romayne, I never took you to have less brains than that confirmed chucklehead who dangled after you.”
“Bradley—”
“Is out of my wife’s life.”
At James’s calm voice, Romayne was surprised at the gush of relief washing over her. His arm curved around her shoulders, and her grandfather’s eyes narrowed.
“Your Grace,” James continued, “deriding Romayne for her decision to marry me is a most useless exercise. We are wed, and I can assure you that, i
n time, you will accept that nothing you can do will change that.”
Only the sound of the duke’s chair being pushed back broke the silence. When her grandfather rose, Romayne was startled to note that the two men were nearly identical in height. She put her hand on her grandfather’s arm as he opened his mouth to bellow an order.
“If James is thrown out of the Hall, I must go with him,” she said quietly.
“Nonsense!” the duke retorted.
“No.”
His chest swelled as he took a deep breath, then, glowering at her, he lowered himself back into his chair and shouted for the first course to be served. Grumbling, he said, “And I trust you will inform your new collection of relatives that to be late for dinner is unacceptable in this house and that they must be here on time in the future.”
Romayne looked across the room to see Cameron entering. “Yes, Grandfather.” She bent and kissed his cheek as a silent apology for the things she could not change.
He patted her hand but gruffly ordered her to sit so the staff could serve the food before it was ruined.
James drew her hand within his arm and led her to where she would be seated on her grandfather’s right. In a near whisper, he asked, “Do you always stand up to your grandfather like that?”
“When it’s important.”
“Odd,” he murmured, “that you did not when you wanted to marry Montcrief.”
“I tried!”
“Did you? Did you argue as forcefully as you did this evening?”
He smiled as he held her chair for her, and she frowned. Why did he have to be gracious to her only to infuriate her grandfather? His fingers brushed her nape as he moved toward his chair, and she clasped her hands in her lap, fighting to conceal her fascination with his bewitching touch. Even when she was furious with him, she could not deny how easily his magic stole every thought from her head but of her yearning to have his lips against hers.
Sitting beside her, he put his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers gently. She could not halt her smile as she found herself floating in the fathomless depths of his green eyes. When she drew one hand out from beneath his, she stopped it from reaching to caress his cheek only because he glanced past her to remind her that her grandfather was watching everything they did.
The Smithfield Bargain: A Regency Romance (The Wolfe Family Book 1) Page 13