Christina had a strange sensation of falling. He was so close. She raised her hands to push him away, and at the same time a blast of cold air broke into the solitary world, bringing reality with it. She both hated and desired this detestable, beautiful man. So many conflicting emotions swirled inside her, fighting for ascendancy. All night long she had told herself to put him from her mind, to forget him. But now, as he stood close to her, he was more attractive than ever, more desirable, and the urgency to be even closer to him was more vivid than before.
Suddenly Simon caught her to him and, lifting her head, Christina stared straight into his eyes. Her face seemed to swell and become hot with mingled anger and desire.
‘Will you please leave me alone? Let me go.’
‘Why?’ he said, moving closer still, ignoring the warning that told him to put some distance between them. Raising his hand, he gently brushed the gentle curve of her cheek with the back of one finger. ‘Are you afraid of what you will do, Christina?’
‘No, of course not,’ she replied with less force, weakened by the gentle caress of his finger and making no move to resist.
His next move was less tender. His hands gripped her arms, his fingers hard as they dug into the flesh beneath the sleeves of her gown. ‘It’s time you forgot anything that you feel for Bucklow.’
‘I’ll scream if you don’t let me go!’ She struggled futilely against the strength of his arms that closed round her.
His hands abruptly caught her head. ‘Will you, Christina?’ His mouth swooped on hers so she couldn’t breathe, and he kissed her with a bruising, passionate strength.
Christina fought against the rising passion within her as if her life depended on it. But soon she knew she would no longer resist. She no longer wanted to resist.
He kissed her throat, her cheeks, her mouth, talking now in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice. With his lips close to her face he was murmuring passionate endearments mingled with insults, only stopping to cover her mouth with his own. She forgot everything, her rancour and the awful things he had accused her of, and abandoned herself to him completely. Her skin warmed with colour, and, unable to resist him, eyes closed, she turned to meet his kisses with her own, instinctively slipping her arms around his neck.
When he dragged her down on to the sacks, she felt a bolt of excitement and fear explode through her belly as he raised her skirts and pried her stiff thighs apart. She shuddered when she felt his hand glide up her thigh and search out the centre of her womanhood with sure mastery. Never would she have suspected that a man’s hand on that part of her body could give her such fierce pleasure, or that she would respond so wantonly—a wantonness that disguised her innocence.
‘Who would have guessed you had such fire in you?’ Simon whispered in a ragged voice close to her ear while he paused to unfasten his breeches and settled between her thighs.
His hands were urgent as they slid under the soft, full curves of her bottom and lifted her to meet him. Having no idea what to expect, Christina gasped, but found an extraordinary gentleness in his touch.
‘Christina,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. ‘Tell me that you want this.’
Christina groaned as his rigid manhood probed boldly at her with urgent intensity. ‘I want you.’ When he thrust home, she arched her back and gasped with the sheer violence of it. She turned her face away to hide the pain she knew had crossed her features as he buried himself fully in her silken warmth. And then, as her pain gave way to a burning, aching need, the miracle happened. It struck like a spark from the collision of two people created for each other. Christina’s whole being seemed to burst into flame as he drove into her more forcefully, giving her a woman’s ultimate pleasure, and taking his own as he took her mouth with another devouring kiss.
Sensations she had never imagined overwhelmed her,and she knew a joy that effaced everything. Apart from Mark’s assault on her the previous day, she had no real intimate experience with men, especially one as powerful as Simon Rockley, and she was lost. Suddenly there was no cold, no rain, no resistance, only the burning of Simon’s lips on hers, on her body, and the power she felt beneath her hands as they gripped his shoulders. Completely beyond himself, he held her down, letting himself go as he thrust over and over, deep inside her.
Christina’s mind knew she should have resisted, but she wanted him to take her. Her traitorous body had a life of its own, making her realise just how vulnerable she was to this man. Still it responded, time after time in explosions of lust, meeting his passion with her own, her demands the same as his, shuddering with pleasure and pain as he held her wrists pinioned on either side of her head, until in the spiralling rapture there were no thoughts, only a union beyond time.
And then the wave of passion was over. The climax sweeping over Simon made him feel he was falling into a red-hot haven of pure sensation. Christina was left spent and motionless on the crude bed, the hot, spiralling world that had caught her in its grip slowly beginning to fade. They were both breathing heavily, and when he lifted himself up slightly and she felt him gently pull away from her, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was staring down at her, and behind the confusion she saw in his eyes, mirroring her own, was desire. Hot, burning desire mingled with shock. She shared it—it was the shock of strangers meeting one another naked. Her eyes flicked away.
What Simon saw when he stared down at her shook him to the core of his being. It jolted him back to the here and now, and out of whatever fantasy he had just strayed into. It was only then that he came to his senses, reminding him of the inevitable consequences of what he had just done. He knew he should move away from her, but he didn’t want to, for the effort of doing so would be immense. Now he understood what the warning deep inside him had been about, realising too late that he should have heeded it.
Christina knew it, too. Her eyes clouded as they gazed into his. She was trembling from the lovemaking, but his fingers suddenly closed around her wrists and he pried her arms apart, away from his neck, away from him, and he was drawing away from her. Without the warmth of his body, the chamber was cold, but just thinking about what had happened between them was enough to make her warm.
Standing up, the metallic shade of his eyes was dim as he adjusted his clothing, trying not to look at her. The slender, writhing creature who had lain beneath him bore no resemblance to the remote lady who had graced the party at Oakbridge just two days ago. He was aware of an edge of frustration. He had taken without the chance to explore the soft flesh, to tease and tempt her into a state of heightened passion. Where had his mastery gone? His self-control had deserted him. And now, as he looked at her once more, he wanted her again.
‘Forgive me,’ he uttered hoarsely, clearing his throat, the anger having deserted him. He looked uncomfortable. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Please—I am all right.’
‘I am relieved to hear it.’
‘Do not distress yourself on my account.’
‘I did not mean to do that. It should never have happened. You will keep this between us if you wish to keep your brother’s respect.’
Abruptly Christina sat upright. Stunned, stricken and dumb, she slowly got to her feet, cautiously testing her weak legs to ensure they could support her weight. He was about to turn from her, but she stopped him, laying a timid hand on his arm.
‘Simon,’ she murmured in a low, trembling voice, ‘yours is the only respect I care about—and you are right. It shouldn’t have happened—but it has, and there is nothing either of us can do about it.’
Acutely embarrassed now by what she had done—unable to believe what had just happened, what she had allowed to happen—flushing hotly, Christina avoided looking at him as she fastened her bodice with shaking hands. Not until she had covered herself did she look at him again.
Simon turned his head away, possibly to escape the soft bewitchment of those lovely, imploring eyes, and then, furious with himself and afraid that his resolve was ab
out to weaken further, he moved away from her. Pausing in his stride, he turned very slowly, almost regretfully. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.
Christina’s eyes followed him for a moment as he walked towards the entrance. His normally firm walk seemed strangely hesitant. And then he had gone. Simon had no idea as he left her of the immense joy that radiated through her whole being. In that short time they had been together she had known such happiness that her fear of everything that threatened her had been forgotten. If only Simon hadn’t left her. It hurt her deeply to think that perhaps what they had done hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her. She had given herself to him because of deeper feelings she didn’t quite understand, while he had forced himself on her and taken his pleasure of her, for instant gratification, to be forgotten and discarded.
Some would say that she had given herself to a man who would scorn her and that she was now a fallen woman, dirtied and corrupted and beyond forgiveness. Whatever the truth of it, she could not deny that she had sacrificed her virtue, her principles and her morals, and now she would have to live with it, but she felt no shame in what she had done.
But she was confused. She had meant what she said about having Simon’s respect, but what they had done had complicated that. How would she ever look him straight in the eye again? How would she ever be able to turn to him with ease and trust? How could he ever look at her without remembering how she had turned into a wanton in his arms? It was as if a caged creature she had not known existed inside her had been set free. She had never felt like this before. It was as if her body was awash with feeling, alive with need.
Her body was limp and aching and still throbbing with a strange sort of tension. Draping her cloak over her shoulders, she went outside. The rain had passed and the sun was warm now. Wincing with considerable discomfort, she mounted her horse and rode out of the dense woodland before coming to the path and following it to the house. On reaching the stables she saw Tom rubbing William’s horse down. So, she thought, with little interest and certainly without any concern, he was back.
Tight lipped, Tom told her William had returned nursing the effects of a hangover after spending the night at a tavern in Reading. Without bothering to seek him out, Christina took refuge in her rooms where she could hide and think about the pleasure Simon had given her. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
After leaving Christina, Simon rode directly to the magistrate’s house. Not until he was dismounting did he look down and see traces of blood on his breeches.
In various stages of shock, his face was incredulous, before becoming a mask of tortured anguish. Something shattered inside him, splintering his emotions from all rational control.
The blood was Christina’s. It had to be. Good Lord! She was a virgin. He had just ravished a virgin.
A savage curse exploded from his chest. Whatever thoughts of revenge and wounded pride had driven him to make her yield to him, they were forgotten in a moment. She was not the lying temptress he had thought she was. She had given him the most satisfying sexual experience of his life. Whatever she had felt had been real and uncontrived, without any experience at all.
A surge of sickening regret ripped through him when he remembered all the coarse, vulgar things he had said to her, each degrading word he had spoken, and how he had shown her no more tenderness and consideration than a drunken lout. He would never have subjected her to that had he known. How could he have done that to her? How vulnerable she must be feeling now—and how she must hate him—and how confused and lonely and frightened she must be. He had taken her in desire and lust because he could not help himself, and he had left so soon afterwards because he didn’t want the complications that would plague him.
Contrary to everything he had believed, Bucklow had not touched her. She had been innocent of deviousness all along—as innocent of it as she had been sexually innocent before he had touched her. But then, innocent, respectable young women did not visit men of Bucklow’s character in their bedchambers. When he had found her in Bucklow’s bed, he had witnessed no struggle on her part—in fact, she had appeared most compliant to his advances, which had given him reason to think that, had he not interrupted them, she might well have been on the verge of yielding her virtue to him.
But looking back, when he had entered the room, knowing the man who had killed his niece was within his grasp, Simon’s rage had blurred his vision and twisted his mind so that he had no room in his sight for anything else. He recalled how upset Christina had appeared as she had proclaimed her innocence, calling Bucklow a wretch who used people to serve his own interests, accusing him of treating her in a barbarous manner—and Simon hadn’t given her a chance to explain further. Now he also recalled the emotions he had seen flitting across her face and how vulnerable she had looked—and very frightened. What was the real reason for her being at the Black Swan alone? Was she being threatened by Bucklow? Was that it—and if so, why?
Handing the reins of his horse to a groom, as he strode towards the house he considered how much of his findings into Bucklow’s activities he should reveal to Sir John. The magistrate, along with everyone else in the surrounding district, knew nothing of how William Atherton had foolishly allowed himself to become involved with Bucklow. As far as he was concerned, there was no need for Sir John to know. In the event of Bucklow being captured and Lord Atherton exposed, then that was a complication he would deal with when it happened.
Where William Atherton’s sister was concerned, overwhelmed with an attack of conscience and duty—and more than a little guilt—he would do his utmost to keep her out of it.
* * *
The following days were nerve racking for William and Christina as they awaited news. They both expected someone to come and question or arrest them—and the worse scenario was that Mark would find them and exact his revenge. When nothing happened, they began to breathe more easily, but they were not deluded into believing they were off the hook.
As Christina knew it would, William was affected by melancholy, for the fear of being arrested or accosted by Mark made him bad tempered and sullen. He spent most of his time in his room or prowling around the house, refusing to go out or to receive callers. Expecting the full extent of his involvement to be uncovered at any time, he could not bear to feel the eyes of his friends, his neighbours, speculative, curious, even grimly amused, as if his woes served only to mark another tragedy that one could relate to the next gossip avid for another’s misery.
Christina forced herself to smother all thoughts and feelings for Simon. What had happened between them had been a sudden and overwhelming irresistible passion. It had shown her something of the man beneath the worldly, rugged surface. It was not so much what had happened between them, but his attitude afterwards that had affected her more deeply than she knew. He had walked away. He had left her, rejected her in some irreparable way, and in doing so he had hurt her deeply.
She wished he had never touched her—at least she was wishing she could wish he had never touched her and that she could stop thinking about the things he had whispered to her as his hands had moved over her flesh, expertly evoking a willing response from her traitorous body. Try as she might not to think of him, in her quiet moments her thoughts often turned to him, and even when sleep embraced her, she had no respite, for he filled her dreams. She knew every detail of his powerful presence—the unforgettable moulding of his face, his body, his eyes, the beautiful mouth—the look and feel of him, the clean fresh smell of him when he was close, things she should not know and would be better off forgetting.
* * *
Three weeks passed in this way, and the days began to blend into one long unvarying stream until it was finally broken by the arrival of the magistrate. After expressing his concern on finding William indisposed, looking well pleased with himself, over tea Sir John informed Christina that he had received stringent orders from Lord Rockley that it would be absurd to associate her in any way with Mark
Bucklow, and that her name was in no circumstances to be mentioned in connection with the affair.
Everything the magistrate said was true, for beneath a remarkably forbidding exterior, Lord Rockley concealed a considerable degree of subtlety. Bucklow’s capture, quickly followed by his escape from the Black Swan Inn, caused none of the stir that might have been expected. The only witnesses had been a handful of locals attracted by the commotion at the Black Swan, who had shrugged and gone about their business when it was all over.
‘So you see, as far as you are concerned, my dear Miss Atherton, and the curiosity your presence at the inn aroused, Lord Rockley’s speed to affirm your innocence in this matter was immediate and categorical.’
‘I am grateful to Lord Rockley for his thoughtfulness and concern,’ Christina murmured, carefully avoiding Sir John’s eyes. Though innocent of any wrongdoing, she felt as if she were guilty of the most diabolical subterfuge known to man, and had to wonder if her conscience would ever recover.
‘That is exactly what he is—concerned about you. When you learned where Bucklow was hiding out, it was indeed a relief to Lord Rockley when you informed him and led him there yourself so as not to alert Bucklow to Lord Rockley’s imminent arrival with the constables.’
‘He—he told you that?’ Christina hated falsehoods, but knew it was needful to cast suspicion away from herself as well as from William.
‘Indeed he did, and he was quick to comment on your bravery in the matter.’
Christina listened to Sir John’s words with an attentive frown. She thought she could not be more surprised, but Simon Rockley was an enigma. She didn’t understand his sudden determination to exonerate both herself and William from the affair, but she was immensely relieved that he had done so.
But then came a feeling of hope and her spirits began to rise for the first time in months. She had been wretched for so long, but she was young and it was against her whole nature to remain miserable for long. Suddenly she felt that in some miraculous way things might not be as black as they appeared.
The Bride Wore Scandal Page 16