The Smithfield Bargain Read Free Page A

obey it.”
    He sat in the chair and reached for one of the papers on the table. Staring at him, Romayne blinked back the tears that pricked her eyes. Her grandfather could not be so unfeeling. Never had he failed to listen when she spoke of the longings in her heart. Perhaps she had not impressed on him how desperately she wished to become Bradley’s wife.
    Softly she said, “Grandfather, Bradley wishes to marry me.”
    â€œThat is impossible,” he answered without looking at her. “If marriage is what you wish and you decide you will not do the wise thing and wed George Newman, I promise I shall find you a suitable match on the Marriage Mart next Season.”
    â€œI don’t want the ‘suitable match’ you have selected for me. I want to marry the man I choose is suitable for me.”
    When he gave her one of his rusty laughs, she flinched. He dropped the page onto the table and raised his gaze to hers. “Romayne, I would agree, but choose another. Montcrief is not a suitable match for you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThe reasons are ones that I would not repeat in the presence of your delicate, feminine ears.”
    â€œGrandfather—”
    The duke’s lips tightened into a scowl. “I will listen to no more of this unbecoming pleading. I forbid you to see Montcrief again. Do you understand?”
    Tears battering against her eyelashes, she nodded. She understood that she had no choice but to meet Bradley that night to flee to Scotland to marry. Every hope of convincing her grandfather to comprehend her yearning to wed Bradley was dead.
    The Duke of Westhampton watched in silence as his granddaughter ran from the room, reminding him of the impetuous child she had been. While she was a child no longer, she remained his responsibility. The door slammed after her, and he winced. He rubbed his fingers across his forehead where pain scored his skin.
    Damn Montcrief for twisting her girlish heart with his well-practiced court-promises!
    Rising, he walked to the closest window. He cursed again under his breath. That worthless Montcrief had filled her head with his bangers, the most recent clearly his failure to tell Romayne that he had spoken to the Duke of Westhampton of his wish to call on Romayne.
    Blast that man! He was causing Romayne to consider a trivial fancy as something far more important. The young rakehell did not love his granddaughter, although he was beginning to suspect that Romayne might have an honest affection for her suitor. In the years since she had come to him an infant orphan, not once had Romayne battled him so bitterly.
    He glanced toward the painted ceiling. He did not see the cherubs floating on a dusky cloud between the rafters as he thought of how, in her chambers on the upper floor, Romayne would be crying. He could hear the resonance of her grief in his heart, but no tears filled his aged eyes. With that knowledge a prick of surprise taunted him. He once had been able to cry as she would be doing, able to rend his heart at the injustices he perceived and was unable to right, even if it had been to his detriment as Romayne’s obsession for Montcrief was to her. For a moment, he wondered if weeping would ease the familiar tightness cramping him. Then he knew this course of thoughts was useless.
    Once he could have cried, but no longer. Too many tragedies had passed through his life until every tear within him had evaporated. He would not share his granddaughter’s misery when she discovered that he was correct. Marrying Bradley Montcrief would destroy her life. He must prevent that, even if denying Romayne broke her heart.

Chapter Two
    â€œIt should not be long now.”
    The words, spoken in a beloved voice, intruded oddly on Romayne’s dreams. She did not want to wake, for she had been dreaming of the moment when she could speak her wedding vows with Bradley Montcrief. In a luscious dress of white silk, lace tippets dripping