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.”
“A courier?”
With a laugh, she set the book in her lap. “Dear Grange, can I believe that you chanced to miss an arrival at Westhampton Hall?”
“Clayson mentioned nothing of it.”
“Probably because it was of the least importance.” She sighed and opened her book again. As she began to read the poetry, the words blurred in front of her. She closed the book so sharply that Grange gasped.
“What’s amiss?” the gray-haired woman asked.
“Nothing.” She was unwilling to own that she had foolishly selected Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. As much as she wanted to put James from her mind, she should have chosen something of England.
The door sprang open before Grange could ask her next question.
“Look!” crowed Ellen as she ran
in and whirled about. The white silk was the perfect foil for her dark red hair. Flowers, as blue as her eyes, were embroidered across the bodice.
Romayne applauded as Aunt Dora, who had come to stand in the open door, and Grange smiled broadly. Although the gown was one of Romayne’s and had been lengthened with rows of lace and ribbons, it would be good enough for Ellen to wear until the couturière could prepare more stylish gowns for her.
“Mama, isn’t it beautiful?” Ellen ran to kiss her mother on the cheek, then swayed around the room as if she was in the arms of an invisible swain. “I cannot wait to reach London. I shall be like a fairy princess in an old tale. Everything will be magical.”
Dora clapped her hands sharply. When Ellen turned to look at her, she said, “Off with you and change out of that gown. You don’t wish to spill something on it before you even reach Town.”
With a laugh, Ellen rushed to Romayne and threw her arms around her. “This is a dream come true for me.” Wiping a happy tear from her cheek, she whispered, “And I have you to thank, Romayne.”
“James was anxious for you to come with us,” she said, wanting to be honest.
“Oh, Jamie, he is such a dearie. When he came to stay with Mama and me and—”
“Do go, child,” interrupted Dora, “before you batter all our ears with your nothing-sayings.”
“Romayne, come and see what Mama did to my bonnet to make it go with this dress.”
“Tomorrow,” her mother answered. “Now go like a good child and let me speak with Romayne alone.”
When Grange shooed Ellen out of the room, anxiety raced through Romayne. The two older women had clearly conspired to arrange this. Their last machination had led to her marrying James. She hoped this was not the initiation of another disaster.
Dora closed the door behind her daughter and Grange, who appeared a bit discomposed by Ellen’s enthusiasm. Nodding when Romayne urged her to sit down, Dora slowly crossed the blue rug and sat beside her on the settee.
“What do you wish to discuss?” Romayne asked, certain that it was best not to delay this conversation, for her stomach was knotted.
“Ellen.”
Romayne’s smile was sincere as she said, “You need have no concern for her among the ton. She has grasped her lessons in deportment as if she had been raised in the finest house in England.”
“I know she will do nothing to embarrass me or her family. But what I need to know is this: what do you think Ellen’s chances are of making a match? Really?”
Romayne hesitated, then said, “The Jones sisters should be fired off this Season. They are twins, and their father is full of juice, so their hands will be eagerly sought. I believe Lady Marlena Lloyd, whose father is an earl, will be part of this Season as well. Then there are—”
“No, no, I do not mean for you to list every lass, for that means nothing to me. Do you know of any gentlemen who would be willing to marry a girl who has is at point-non-plus? Ellen can aspire neither to a title nor a dowry that would garner the attentions of suitors.”
“That she has the sponsorship of the granddaughter of the Duke of Westhampton will not go unnoticed.”
Dora put her wrinkled hand on Romayne’s arm. “Dear child, you have given my daughter an opportunity that truly is beyond our grandest expectations.”
“But I can promise nothing,”
“I am worrying us both needlessly.” Rising, she smiled. “You saw how exquisite she looked in that gown. What man with a bit of life in him will be able to resist such beauty? As James was smitten with you so swiftly, so shall it be for Ellen.”
I hope not. Ellen deserved more than the counterfeit marriage Romayne had. Feeling like a hypocrite, she said, “I expect she will find as much happiness as James and me … or more.”
Ellen peeked in the door, her face alight with happiness. “Romayne, come and see the stockings Grange found for me!”
Setting herself on her feet, Romayne followed the excited young woman down the hall. She would as lief do anything else this evening than prattle about Ellen’s new clothes … anything but think of her husband and how she yearned for his touch.
Romayne yawned as she walked along the corridor to her chambers. Grandfather had been a startlingly jovial host this evening as he held Ellen and Aunt Dora rapt with his stories of the war in America. He had not moderated his opinions of that “upstart government which is far too self-important”, as he had called the United States more than once.
With a smile, she thought of how distressed Mrs. Kingsley would be when Grandfather started spouting these sentiments at her party. The affable dowager wanted no hint of gloom during her soirée, and with each passing year, she had told Romayne earlier and earlier in the evening that the Duke of Westhampton should confine his political opinions to the House of Lords. Only the fact that her other guests were amused by the duke kept her inviting him back with the beginning of each Season.
When Aunt Dora and Ellen had been unable to fight off fatigue, they had left Romayne alone with her grandfather. That had only sharpened the debate, because, for as long as Romayne could remember, her grandfather had insisted she take one side of the controversy while he defended the other. That she sometimes agreed more with his stance meant nothing; she must justify the position she had been given. The game often found them matching wits until long past midnight—as it had tonight.
Romayne caught her reflection in the pier glass set near her door. Pausing, she raised her fingers to her cheeks which were rosy with the laughter she had struggled to stifle.
Shouldn’t she look different from the girl she had been when the last Season began? That naïve child could not have imagined what the succeeding months would bring. Then she had dreamed, as Ellen did, of a dashing rake who would sweep her off her feet and into his arms with the promise of never-slaking love.
A shiver ached across her taut shoulders as she realized that she would be barraged by curiosity once they reached Town. She watched her lips tighten when she wondered what Bradley had said to his friends at his club. Whatever tale he had told was guaranteed to keep him in his tie-mates’ best graces and make James look like a widgeon.
Her steps were heavy as she reached for the latch on her door. The best course would be to seek her bed and sleep away her concerns. On the morrow, when the sun was as bright as Ellen’s smile, things would be much easier to face.
Opening the door as she heard the tall-case clock at the end of the hallway chime twice to announce the hour, Romayne drew the pins from her hair. Her tresses fell down her back as she tried to stifle another yawn. She failed and surrendered to its teasing tickle on the roof of her mouth. Slowly she closed the door, leaning back against it as she yawned again. She had better accustom herself to these hours, for once the Season was underway, she would seldom go to bed before two.
She pushed herself away from the door and went to blow out the lamp on the closest table. The flame flickered and vanished, swathing the room in dusk.
“By gravy! How’s a man to read the news without light?”
Romayne turned to stare at James, who was seated on the settee in the middle of the room. He lowered the newspaper to his lap and plucked the glasses off his nose. She bit her lip to keep from blurting out that she had had no idea he wore barnacles. How much else did she have to learn about this intriguing man the world saw as her husband?
“You are late to bed,” he said as he folded the gold-rimmed glasses and put them in a pocket of his blue and white striped waistcoat. “I had thought you already had retired when I came in to find the door to the bedchamber closed.”
“You are here early.”
He smiled, but with little humor. “Then we both have altered our schedules. We should endeavor to keep each other more closely informed of such changes.”
“I did not realize I should share my schedule with you in advance.”
Motioning toward a chair across a low table from him, he dropped the paper on the floor beside him. “Do
sit, Romayne. I am exhausted, and you look little better. Has your grandfather kept you up late haranguing you about the stupidity of your marriage?”
“Haranguing? Yes.” She tried to twist her hair back into place, but it was worthless, and she gave up. As she sat, she sighed with a lassitude that sucked the last bits of energy from her. Draping her arms over the sides of the chair, she kicked off her slippers and put her feet on the table between them. She smiled as she added, “About our marriage? No.”
“I thought I heard your raised voices when I came past his bookroom.”
“You must have crept past with your ear pressed to the door. Little sound escapes through that thick mahogany.”
“Enough when your grandfather speaks.”
She laughed. “True, but you need worry yourself no longer on what we spoke about. I’ll be glad to share that with you. Grandfather and I were discussing the merits of our navy involving us with the Americans.”
“And which side did you take?”
Again she laughed. “The opposite side as Grandfather.” Quickly she explained the game they enjoyed when they were alone. “Grandfather has owned that he found me interesting only when I learned to talk back to him.”
“After that discussion, you must be truly tired, but I must beg a few moments before you turn in.”
“What did Cameron find out?”
He arched a single brow at her. “I would be wise to see in the future that I can hide little from my whitherye-go.”
“In the future, I shan’t be your wife.” Setting herself on her feet, she walked around to stand behind him. Gently she massaged his temples as she whispered, “You will need to find someone else to put up with you when you are in a bad skin, someone who will not be sent up to the boughs by your grouchiness.”
“Our man is headed toward London.” He closed his eyes and relaxed against the chair.
“Very conveniently for you.”
“Aye, but with all the souls in that metropolis, we shall need each of our wits to trap him.”
The Smithfield Bargain: A Regency Romance (The Wolfe Family Book 1) Page 16