The Bride Wore Scandal

by Helen Dickson

  ‘The colour of your hair, I think.’

  ‘We are of similar colouring, but that is where the similarity ends. Our temperaments are so very different.’

  He nodded slowly, his gaze holding hers. ‘You are right. You are stronger, I think.’

  ‘Sometimes I have to be,’ she murmured somewhat absently. ‘William is my brother and I love him dearly, but with me, he has a way of putting on airs when it pleases him—not that I take such nonsense from him, nor will I from any man. You’re not married, Lord Rockley?’

  He shook his head. ‘Over time I’ve courted many winsome young ladies without making any lasting commitments. I think being in the army and constantly on the move had something to do with that. There was never time to think of settling down.’

  ‘And where do you live when you’re not residing with your brother?’

  ‘In Hertfordshire. I inherited a house, Tapton Park, which belonged to my mother. Unfortunately it has been empty for a good many years and is in need of repair and refurbishment. An assortment of builders, carpenters and decorators have been working on the place for the past year. Hopefully they will soon be done and I shall have the house to myself.’

  ‘I see. Sir John told me about what happened to your family. I’m terribly sorry. It must have been upsetting for you.’

  ‘It was. Perhaps now you can understand how important it is for me to find Bucklow and bring him to justice.’

  ‘You know for definite he was the one?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Miss Atherton. I know.’

  ‘And—will you be staying long with your brother?’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘How long it takes me to ferret out this gang of thieves that is terrorising the neighbourhood.’

  ‘You have a dangerous task ahead of you, although I suspect you have proved your worth fighting for the King. You must have killed a lot of men.’

  ‘When I had to.’

  ‘I often wonder what it must be like to confront someone whose intent was to run you through.’

  He raised a dark brow. ‘What would you do, do you think? Try to save yourself? Fight back?’

  ‘I think I would fight back. I’m no weakling to run for cover. I think women are more resourceful than men give us credit for. Any one of us would kill to defend those we love. I’d not like doing it, but it would be a necessary evil.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘You remind me of Diana the huntress. I believe you have as much courage as any man. I suspect you would be a veritable tigress when roused. I can see I shall have to take care to tread carefully when I am around you, Miss Atherton.’

  ‘Please don’t mock me. I am perfectly serious.’

  Placing his finger beneath her chin, Simon tipped her face to his. ‘I do not mock you,’ he murmured. ‘I too am perfectly serious.’

  His touch stole her breath and ignited a flame within her blood. The intensity of his grey eyes held her transfixed. The potency of his gaze was unlike anything she had previously experienced in her life. It made her feel things she had never felt before. No one had ever touched her like this or looked into her eyes with such vibrant ardour, holding her transfixed. His gaze lingered on her parted lips and they stood without moving, exquisite sensations speeding through her veins.

  Then she was assailed by the memory of Mark Bucklow. Her flesh went cold, a dark fear channelling through her terror. She stepped back, causing Simon to drop his hand.

  ‘I have to go. Please excuse me. I hope you enjoy what is left of the evening.’

  Turning, she assumed he had moved away from her, but suddenly she felt his presence behind her, felt his warm breath caress the back of her neck, causing goose-flesh to prickle along her skin. And then his arm snaked around her waist, drawing her back to him.

  ‘I did not lie when I said I was captivated by your beauty from the moment I saw you,’ he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

  Christina stood quite still, refusing to turn around, refusing to look into those silver-grey eyes and be swayed by what he wanted her to feel.

  ‘Had we not met again tonight,’ he went on, ‘I would have carried away the memory of your beauty, while longing to turn back and seek you out, for beauty such as yours blinds a man to reason and is powerful enough to steal away his soul for ever.’

  Christina firmly disengaged herself from his embrace and stepped away, wanting to cover her ears against this seduction that was proving too potent. Still she did not turn and look at his face. ‘Please stop this before you embarrass us both. I think, perhaps, you have imbibed too much punch, Lord Rockley. Might I recommend you do not drink any more, and, if you do, a little water will make it less potent.’ Without another word, she left him.

  * * *

  However, as the evening progressed, she found her eyes seeking him out. She watched him, surprised at the easy camaraderie he readily exhibited with the gentlemen, which left her much in awe of him. Whether they were business men, scholars or members of the local gentry, these men gave every indication that they thoroughly enjoyed conversing with him and felt totally at ease to reciprocate banter, leaving Christina in no doubt that if they knew of anything that would assist him in his investigations, he would draw it from them with perfect ease.

  She also noted that some of the younger ladies were quite taken by his handsome looks and charming manners, as they simpered and giggled and fluttered their fans. Christina watched them with disdain. How silly some women could be when there was a handsome man about, she thought, telling herself that one should not concern oneself with such things as whether a man is handsome. Appearances could be deceptive, and it was always the woman who paid for her lack of foresight—but her own heart fluttered as she watched him leisurely circuit the room, while telling herself she ought not to.

  Quickly she reined in her thoughts. There was no place in her life for girlish daydreams and romantic notions, and to wish it were otherwise only added to her misery.

  * * *

  The guests departed from Oakbridge in a steady procession, each one praying for a safe and uninterrupted journey to their homes. Christina saw them on their way alone, since her brother had seemingly disappeared.

  ‘Travel safely, Mrs Senior,’ she said to an elderly lady, a close neighbour, who was being helped down the steps by her husband.

  ‘I sincerely hope so, my dear, and that we aren’t set upon by one of those pesky highwaymen. What is being done about the villains who hold up carriages and rob decent people of their possessions at the point of a pistol? Nothing, I tell you. Absolutely nothing. As usual, the forces of law are resting upon their considerable laurels.’

  Christina smiled sympathetically. ‘Unfortunately, that does seem to be the case, but you don’t have very far to travel, so hopefully you will not be apprehended.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it. That Mark Bucklow is a confirmed scoundrel, and while he is at large no one is safe. I remember him as a youth. He was trouble then—thief, trickster and all-round petty criminal. Little wonder his father washed his hands of him.’

  When the last of the guests had departed, Christina went to her room without seeking William out. Her heart was heavy with a physical pain of pity and guilt for those who would be the victims of tonight’s thievery, and she felt sick with disgust of their assailants. It was too much to hope that every one of their guests would arrive at their homes unmolested, for she knew that Mark Bucklow and his gang would be waiting to do their ghastly work.

  A great weariness stole over her. All night she had been living on a knife’s edge. Lord Rockley’s presence had much to do with that, and her terrifying ordeal of having to face Mark. She shuddered when she thought of him. How she loathed him. How she hated the familiar way in which he looked at her, his mocking smile and leering eyes. It was so difficult trying to behave as if everything was normal, and then to be forced to run a very narrow gauntlet. It was all so hopeless, she thought, dangerous, too, and sh
e could see no end to it.

  William had been drinking heavily, as he was wont to do when he was as troubled and anxious as he was tonight. Indeed, he was so irresponsible and reckless at times that it was difficult to believe he was her senior by seven years. Loathing himself for what he was doing to his friends and neighbours, but unable to see a way out, William tended to lose himself in drink and bury his head in the pillow to blot out what was happening, leaving her to take care of their guests.

  As soon as she got into bed, she lay in that half-conscious state that hovers on the borderline of sleep, when anxiety and events of the day become a jumbled mass of confusion. It was always the same after their guests had left, and she couldn’t bear to think of what might befall them on their way home in the dark. It was all so awful, so sordid.

  * * *

  It was during the early hours when she woke with a start, sure she had heard a sound and that there was someone in her room. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and, with her heart thudding wildly in her chest and fear coursing through her veins, she sat upright, straining her eyes in the gloom. The dark shape of a man loomed large across the room. Suddenly a light flared and a candle was lit. The flickering light illuminated the room and Mark Bucklow’s menacing face was behind it. He was standing quite still, devouring her with his eyes.

  ‘You! What is the meaning of this intrusion?’ she demanded, clutching the bedclothes to her chin, striving to keep her voice calm. She was unable to believe he would have the audacity to risk entering the house while Lord Rockley was staying and find his way to her room. ‘How dare you come here? You have no business in my bedchamber. You have no right. Get out.’

  ‘You are wrong. I have every right.’

  In the shifting moonlight, he loomed large and menacing over his surroundings. His awesome presence filled the room, and Christina gave him the rapt attention a cornered mouse gives a stalking cat. ‘I told you to go,’ she said furiously. ‘Are you deaf? If you do not leave this minute, I shall scream.’

  ‘What, and have your guest come to rescue you?’ He laughed low in his throat, his eyes mocking. ‘That would never do, now, would it?’

  ‘No doubt you have done your worst tonight. I can only hope that no one has been hurt.’

  ‘It’s proved to be a lucrative night, if that is what you mean. All’s well now—and very quiet outside. So I thought it was time you and I got a few things straight. You are too eager to keep away from me, Christina. I am afraid that will not do.’

  ‘I want nothing to do with you, Mark Bucklow, as well you know. I am tired of telling you.’

  He laughed. ‘Do you really dislike me so much, Christina?’

  ‘I loathe you.’

  He shrugged casually. ‘Pity. I am drawn to you as to no other woman.’

  ‘Your compliment disgusts me.’

  ‘Come now, Christina. I was hoping for a better welcome than this. For a wench who is involved up to her pretty neck in what goes on here, you’re high-minded all of a sudden.’

  ‘Whatever arrangement you have with my brother, you have not been given leave to trespass inside his house.’

  ‘’Twill be more than his house I shall trespass on, Christina.’

  ‘Thieves are not welcome in my room,’ she fumed with an anger born of fear.

  ‘No?’ he said, sauntering slowing towards the bed, leering down at her as she edged away from him. ‘What about thief-catchers, Christina? Are they welcome?’

  ‘Lord Rockley means nothing to me. Like you, he is like a thorn in my flesh. I am just as eager for him to be gone from Oakbridge in the morning as I am for you to leave my room now.’ When he closed in on her, putting the candle down on the bedside table, tiny shards of fear pricked Christina’s spine while a coldness congealed in the pit of her stomach. ‘Have you no decency?’

  He shrugged. ‘Your protests are seemly, but misplaced, my dear. Come now, don’t be coy. Show me what you are hiding from me. It will be better for you if you don’t fight me.’

  With brutal force, he jerked the covers from her hand, whipping them back from her figure. Fear stopped her heart. Realising the danger she was in—in her bed, with no weapons but her own brain to oppose a man ten times her strength—and driven by self-preservation, before he could grasp hold of her, like lightning she rolled to the edge of the mattress and shot out of bed.

  With the presence of mind to grab her robe as she went, she was across the room and out of the door before her assailant could draw breath.

  ‘Go away,’ she cried, when she thought he would give chase. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Christina, you will come back if you know what is good for you,’ Mark called after her, his voice reverberating along the landing on which Christina ran to escape him.

  ‘Never,’ she gasped.

  Mark watched her go, determined to have her one way or another. She would be a delectable morsel in his bed. Possessing her would serve as sweet succour to his lonely nights. He had never had a woman the likes of her before, and he was heartily sick and tired of the jaded strumpets who eagerly made up to any man for a coin or two. As he slipped back into the shadows, the mere thought of bedding her kindled that part of him which harlots, with all their knowledge and experience, failed to do.

  Fighting to control the shaking that gripped her body, her eyes darting wildly about her in the sleepy quiet of the house, like a ghostly shadow Christina ran for all she was worth towards William’s room.

  Slipping her arms into the sleeves of her robe, only once did she dare turn her head and glance behind her, just in time to see her assailant’s dark shape slip silently down the stairs. Feeling a surge of relief, she slipped into William’s room, closing the door behind her and resting her back against the hard wood. The curtains were only partly drawn across the window and the high, bright moon cast a silver glow about the room. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself before crossing to the bed. It only took a moment for her to see that the bed had not been slept in.

  Panic assailed her. Where was William? Why was he not in bed? In frantic haste, she slipped out of the room, ran along the landing and down the stairs to the hall, which had been the scene of so much gaiety just a few short hours before. Above the modulated ticking of the long-cased clock, she was sure she could hear someone snoring. Seeing a light beneath the door of the library, she crossed towards it, hoping fervently that Mark Bucklow had left the house and was not waiting for her behind the library door.

  Pushing it open, she stepped inside, feeling an overwhelming disappointment on seeing her brother slumped in a limp, disorganised heap on the leather sofa. His eyes were closed, his head resting on the padded back. His neck linen was loose, his clothes were dishevelled and the empty decanter on the low table beside him. A glass of brandy on the floor, as if it had fallen from his inert hand, spoke for itself. A low, drunken snore deepened into a rich sonorous sound, making her crushingly aware of her mistake in not having one of the servants see him directly to his room before she had retired. There was no sign of Mark Bucklow, so she surmised he had left the house.

  But what was she to do with William? She was tempted to leave him where he was, but she didn’t want the servants to see him in such a sorry state in the morning. Taking his shoulders, she tried shaking him to rouse him, but her efforts failed to interrupt his measured snores. Wrinkling her nose against the strong smell of liquor, hooking her hands under his armpits, she tried hauling him to a sitting position, but it was like trying to hoist a bag of rocks. Falling to her knees in front of him, she almost wept with her helplessness and the misery that engulfed her. Unless she woke one of the servants to assist her, there was nothing for it but to leave him.

  ‘Can I be of assistance?’

  The question, spoken by a rich, masculine voice, seemed to hang in the air, and then Christina’s head spun round. Lord Rockley stood in the doorway, watching her. She had not heard him enter, and the strangeness of that was lo
st in the depth of her turmoil.

  ‘Oh!’ Christina gasped. ‘You startled me.’ The tremor in her voice could not be controlled.

  ‘My apology. You seemed engrossed in your thoughts.’

  Christina scrambled to her feet, appalled that Lord Rockley should find her clad in nothing but her loosely flowing robe and nightdress, while realising she was caught and could not escape with dignity. Conflicting thoughts raced around inside her head. What was he doing here, and how much did he know? Apart from having removed his jacket and loosened his neck linen, he was dressed exactly as he had been at the party. ‘I’m sorry—but—you find me…’ Her voice faded away. Her tongue seemed unusually clumsy, and she began to fear that it would stumble and betray her.

  ‘With something of a problem on your hands, it would seem,’ he stated, crossing towards her and sweeping a hand towards William. ‘He’s made quite a night of it.’

  She shrugged helplessly. Now that Lord Rockley had seen William, it was best to be completely honest, since there was no other logical explanation. ‘It is much of his own doing, I’m afraid. William imbibed too much last night, and I was trying to get him up to his room when you came in.’

  Unbeknown to Christina, Lord Rockley had lingered in the doorway long enough to take in the situation. So engrossed had she been with her brother’s predicament that he had taken a moment to peruse her at his leisure. Her slender figure seemed taller in the rosy glow of the candlelight. Her resplendent golden hair enveloped her in a sort of radiance, which suddenly made his heart ache. Her beauty was almost blinding, and he had a presentiment that she was one of those rare women for whom wars are fought, and who rarely bring happiness to the men who possess them.