The Smithfield Bargain (33 page)

“Why did you decide to wear that outfit tonight?” she asked.

“I have reason to believe that the traitor knows the person pursuing him is a Scotsman.” He sat in the overstuffed chair. “What better way to remind him that I am a Scot than to appear in my family's plaid?”

Romayne dropped to the window bench. “You risked us all tonight!”

He stood and pulled her to her feet. Whipping the drapes closed, he snapped, “Stay away from the window!”

“What are you pattering about?”

“Any man with one of these,” he drew his pistol from under his plaid, “and a good eye could have hit you from the street. Just think how much needless grief that would have caused your beloved Montcrief.”

Her eyes widened as terror sank through her, its leaden weight threatening to buckle her knees. She leaned her face on his muslin shirt and shivered. As his arms slowly closed around her, she raised her mouth to meet his. Emotions she could not control erupted into life. Smothering her fury, the longings swirled through her with a frightening power. Slowly her hand rose to curve along his nape. Touching him fired every inch of her until she was sure she would be scorched wherever her body brushed his.

When he started to lift his lips away, she murmured a protest before she steered his mouth to hers again. The gentleness that had lured her to him tingled along her lips as he grazed them with his tongue. When his breath mixed with hers to burn within her, she softened against him.

“I don't want to marry Bradley or Colonel Newman or anyone else,” she whispered. “I love you, James.”

“You are a sawney.”

“Am I foolish to love the man who has invaded my every thought until he found a place in my heart?”

His fingers loosened her curls to tumble along her shoulders. “Aye, you are a sawney. Dearie, don't you know that I am the last man you should love?”

“I hope you are, for I vow I shall love you until my last breath.”

“Romayne, you should know—”

She silenced him with her mouth against his. Sweeping her arms up beneath his plaid, she stroked the hard muscles of his back. His moan coursed into her mouth, fanning the yearnings into a need she could not govern. She did not want to halt. Not now, not when she knew how easily she could lose him for all time.

When he lifted her into his arms, she laughed and kicked her slippers off, sending them flying across the room. She did not see where they landed as he placed her on the bed. Her arms brought him to lean over her. The strong angles of his body pressed her deeper into the soft mattress.

Tantalizing her with a fevered shower of kisses, he let his fingers course along her as he dared her to surrender to the thrill spiraling through her. His plaid dropped forward to brush her bare skin with the wool which was no smoother than his skin.

He drew her to her knees as he slowly unhooked the back of her gown. It drooped across her breasts, and she raised her hands to hold it in place.

With a smile, he lifted one hand away, then the other. “Let me see you, dearie, as I have seen you in my dreams.”

“You have dreamed of this, too?”

He laughed in a husky tone that swirled through her, making her so excruciatingly aware of the emptiness inside her that she needed for him to fill. “Dearie, I have dreamed of this since the moment you first slept in my arms.”

His mouth took hers, every bit of patience gone from his demanding caress. Slipping her dress down to leave it pooled around her on the covers, he slid his hands along her, loosening all her clothes until they lay in a crumpled pile on the bed. She quivered as his bold hands traced an alluring path along her. Grasping his shoulders, she moaned when his palm cupped her breast and a single finger brushed its very tip.

She leaned back into the bed and pulled him to lie beside her. When she started to undo the pin holding his plaid in place, her fingers froze as she was overmastered by the scintillating sensation of his tongue along her breast. His sharp intake of breath coursed across her skin as she tasted the rough skin of his neck and nibbled lightly on his earlobe.

He orchestrated her emotions, driving her to a frenzied yearning with his touch and bold kisses, then teasing her with a tenderness that made her want more. When he moved away from her, she whispered a protest. Too often, he had left her yearning for his touch. Tonight she would not be denied again.

She reached out a lazy finger to tangle in the matting across his chest as with a few, swift motions, he removed his clothes. When she stared at his virile, masculine body, which soon would be part of her, she was sure she had never seen anything so beautiful or that she wanted more.

Holding up her arms, she whispered, “My love, come love me.”

“I can imagine nothing I would as lief do.” He sat beside her and swept aside her clothes.

His touch was devastating as he rolled her stockings along her legs. He did not hurry, although she heard his breath growing as rapid as hers. He wanted her. She wanted him. Nothing could be more perfect.

She discovered how wrong she was when he reclined next to her and pulled her atop him. Every breath brushed her against the unyielding wall of his body, which was hardest where she was most fragile. She could not still the motions of her body, each touch an agonizing enchantment. Feeling the throb of his heart against hers, she lured his mouth to hers, because she wanted no part of her unconnected to him.

With a groan, he rolled her into the mattress and drew her beneath him. He joined them together as her hands splayed across his back. A tempest overpowered her, and she clung to him, not wanting to be separate from him ever again. Furious winds seared her, sweeping her closer to him with every motion. His mouth found hers, and ecstasy consumed her in its fierce firestorm at the very moment she knew that every dream she had feared was lost forever had now come true.

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 Westhampton 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.”