Chapter Ten
The following morning when Christina opened her eyes, rays of sunlight fell across the bed. She lay for a moment, her head aching, and it took a moment for her to realise that beneath the covers she was naked. It was then, with a terrible clarity, that she remembered what had happened the night before. Half-expecting to find her husband lying beside her, she turned her head, letting out a sigh of relief to find the bed empty. Only the indentations of his body and the scent of him remained.
When her eyes lit on the couch with the rumpled quilt, she remembered what had happened in the early hours, but could not recall getting back into bed. It was then that she realised Simon must have waited until she slept and carried her.
Feeling tired and in no mood for a fight, on a sigh she got out of bed. Dragging on her robe, she crossed to the window, thinking of the events of the night before. How was she to face him? How was she to deal with him? During the day she could distance herself from him, even show her wrath, but at night, in the privacy of their bedchamber, her body would betray her every time. Even now all she could think about were the things he had done to her and the pleasure she hadn’t wanted to feel. Her traitorous body grew warm at the memory.
* * *
After she had bathed and dressed, she went down to breakfast. Everyone was already seated—everyone, that is, except Simon. Aunt Celia greeted her with a hug before holding her at arm’s length and looking at her closely.
‘Are you well this morning, Christina?’
‘I am very well, Aunt,’ she replied, a little too brightly, her aunt thought.
‘You look radiant, Christina,’ Miranda commented, flashing her a smile.
Christina turned to gaze at her sister-in-law, sarcasm quirking the corner of her mouth as she took her seat. ‘Thank you, Miranda. Although I’m sure I don’t look all that different than I did yesterday.’ It was as though a night in Simon’s bed was supposed to change her for the better. Could no one see that she and Simon were at odds over the state of their marriage? They might have made love on their wedding night, but they were still separated by a chasm of misunderstandings and anger.
‘You do not ask where your husband is, Christina,’ William said.
She shrugged. ‘Have I not? Perhaps that’s because I’ve never had a husband before.’ She winced as her bitterness peered through her masquerade. ‘Forgive me, William. I suppose I’ll become better at my new role in time.’
Miranda reached out and put a hand on her arm. ‘Every woman must learn the role of wife. The adjustments are not easy even when you’re deeply in love with your husband, as you obviously are.’
‘Yes, I am sure you’re right, Miranda,’ Christina said softly, feeling once again the sting of silly tears. ‘I assume Simon’s about his business somewhere.’
‘He’s gone to meet up with Henry and some of the men who are assisting him in tracking down Mark Bucklow. He said to tell you he expects to be back mid-morning.’
‘Good. That’s all right, then,’ she replied coolly, buttering her bread.
* * *
When Simon returned and took one look at his wife’s frozen features, he decided there and then that it was not a situation he would allow to continue. At one and the same time he wanted to take hold of her and shake her, and he wanted to scoop her into his arms and take her back to bed, no matter that he’d decided not to do so until she came to him.
Gazing at her lovely face and hidden curves, he knew his patience would not hold out that long. He was a fool to let her behaviour get to him this way, but not enough of a fool to storm off as he was sorely tempted to do at that moment. He would not give his infuriating bride that satisfaction.
* * *
The letter addressed to William from Oakbridge was delivered shortly after Simon’s return. It was from Tom, informing him that the man Lord Rockley was seeking was holed up in the chambers at Oakbridge. If William wanted to see for himself, then there was a need for haste. The gunshot wound to his shoulder had festered and he was in a bad way. There was nothing anyone could do, and there wasn’t much time.
Simon wanted to set off for Oakbridge immediately. Within the hour of receiving the note, after saying their goodbyes to Celia, the four of them were on their way.
* * *
It was dark and draughty inside the chambers. Having left Miranda at the house, accompanied by Tom and Henry, the three of them went inside. A slender shaft of light that entered through the open door and crossed the floor illuminated dusty footprints and bits of rubbish. Mark Bucklow lay on a low pallet, covered to the waist by a black cloak. He seemed to move from time to time with a restless shudder. The air was cold. On a box beside the pallet were a candle, which cast a flickering light around the chamber, and a pistol.
Moving towards the man he had been beginning to believe had eluded him for good, Simon now bent over Mark’s prostrate form. He was obviously in a lot of pain. He was not asleep, for his breathing was ragged, and his hair lay wet against his damp face. The lines around his mouth were deep and his face was pale. His wounded shoulder was bandaged, but it was soiled with dry blood. He was obviously unable to move one hand, but on recognising Lord Rockley, he lifted the other and groped around for his pistol, already loaded with powder and shot. His fingers closed round the barrel and he raised it.
‘Leave it,’ Simon said. ‘You’re in no condition to put up a fight.’
Bracing himself on one elbow until his world stopped reeling, Mark aimed it directly at his adversary. ‘I’ve enough fight left in me to kill you,’ he growled with difficulty. ‘Damn you, Rockley. Who told you where to find me?’
‘I did,’ Tom said, stepping forwards. ‘You were too sick to take care of yourself when I found you in the woods. You couldn’t go on running in the condition you were.’
Mark’s visage grew red with rage, and his eyes blazed as he once again looked at Simon. ‘Death, Milord Rockley,’ he promised. ‘Death to you!’
‘Put down your weapon, Bucklow. Your time has come. You have too long escaped your fate.’
Seeing Mark’s finger close on the trigger, Christina pressed a hand tightly across her mouth as her heart throbbed in sudden dread. Fear rose within her, and she could not beat it back as she watched Mark point the barrel at her husband and fire. A bright flash of light erupted from the gun and the sound was deafening in the small chamber, drowning out Christina’s cry of anguish. Fortunately, Simon had anticipated what Mark would do and successfully sidestepped the missile, relieved when he heard it ricochet off the wall of the chamber. Immediately he snatched the pistol from Mark’s hand and threw it down.
‘You fool, Bucklow. That’s the last time you attack anyone.’
The effort having proved too much for him, Mark’s head fell back and he gulped in air. After a moment he opened his eyes, his gaze shifting to two of the other two occupants in the chamber, recognising them when they stepped forwards into the light. He struggled to raise himself. ‘Damn you, William,’ he gasped, his head falling back as the effort proved too much. ‘You’ve done for me. You’ve finally got what you wanted, eh? This was not how I planned things. And you, Christina Atherton. To think I let you deceive me with your tricks.’
‘It is Christina Atherton no longer, Bucklow,’ Simon informed him curtly, pulling her close against his side. It seemed a direct challenge. ‘She is Lady Rockley now—my wife.’
‘Wife?’ Mark hissed. ‘Then—I damn you—twice, Rockley.’
‘Damn me, just as your cause is damned. Before you die know that the French fleet carrying the young James Edward Stuart, the popish pretender, has been thwarted by the British navy in the Firth of Forth. Even now as we speak, the French are retreating round the north of Scotland, losing ships and most of their men.’
‘And James?’
‘On his way back to Dunkirk to report utter failure.’
Bucklow closed his eyes so that no one would witness his pain at James’s defeat. ‘Don’t be smug, Rockl
ey,’ he gasped at last. ‘James Stuart is steadfast in his religion. He will not renounce the cause that ruined his father. He’ll come back with his followers. They will rise again—mark my words well—but I shall not live to see it.’ And then he laughed, a horrible grating sound, which made a cold shiver run down Christina’s spine. ‘At least I’ve cheated the hangman—as I always said…I would.’
The words came haltingly from between his lips, and when his head fell back they realised there was nothing they could do. There came a sudden death rattle in his throat, and his whole body heaved as if in a convulsion. Even as Christina gave a little cry of terror, he collapsed.
For a long moment there was silence in the chamber as everyone realised Mark was dead.
Simon surveyed the faces that surrounded him as he took his wife into the shelter of his arm. ‘There is nothing we can do. It is done. Let’s get out of here.’ When they were outside he turned to Tom. ‘Ride to the magistrate and tell him what’s happened, Tom. He’ll arrange for someone to remove the body.’ When Tom and William moved away and Henry went to fetch their horses, Simon glanced down at Christina, amazed to see her eyes swimming with tears. Tilting her chin with his finger, he said, ‘What’s this, Christina?’ he murmured, brushing a curl from her cheek. ‘Tears—for Bucklow?’
‘No,’ she gulped. ‘Not for him. He was a criminal and deserved to die, but I—I thought he would shoot you.’
A leisurely smile lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘Did you think I would allow our babe to grow up without a father?’
Her tears flowed faster as the stress of the last few days, intensified by the last few minutes and the thought that she might have been holding her husband’s lifeless body in her arms, was released and her fears were put to rest. She clung to him, wetting his coat with her tears, and she felt the gentle stroking of his hand and the touch of his lips against her hair as he held her close against him.
‘Does this mean that you’re warming to me?’ he murmured.
She nodded, looking up at him with tear-bright eyes. ‘I think I must be. I can think of no other reason why I am crying.’
‘Not so very long ago you loathed me.’
‘I’m a very complicated woman.’
‘I’m beginning to realise that.’
Her smile was tremulous. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. I’m beginning to warm to you, too.’
‘You are?’
‘Oh, yes. You see, I love you, my lady. Very much indeed.’
Christina’s heart soared and what was left of her tears trembled on her lashes. ‘You do?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And I love you—so very much. I’ve been such a fool. You see, I thought you were only marrying me for the child.’
‘I would have made you my wife, child or no child, Christina. Believe that. I have been so blind.’
‘Yes, you have—blind, stubborn and arrogant in your belief that I was guilty. But now you know the truth. The most serious mistakes concerning each other are behind us now. Thank goodness it is over and we can move on with our lives, but I am sure there will be many disagreements between us, being as stubborn as each other. But always know that I love you, Simon. I know that now, and I also know that, after last night, I couldn’t go on fighting you, for what is the sense in rejecting the very thing I want most in the world? To belong to you and to live with you for the rest of my life.’
Deeply moved, Simon kissed her gently, his arms folding round her as if he would never let her go. ‘From that very first moment I saw you by the stream, there has been a deep, magnetic attraction between us. My desire for you struck me like a knife. I wanted you simply and strongly as I have never wanted anything in my whole life, and to prove it, when we are back at the house I am going to lose no time in taking you to bed.’
* * *
Simon was true to his word. On reaching the house, after reassuring a distraught Miranda that everything was fine, Simon escorted Christina to their bedchamber. Come morning they would leave for his brother’s house, where he would introduce her to his family, before going on to Tapton Park in Hertfordshire, which was to be their home.
When they were alone, to Christina’s delight he immediately began removing his clothes. She came to stand before him, his glorious nudity a threat to her self-control.
‘Now it’s your turn—wife,’ he said, his voice holding a note of playfulness as he began to undress her. ‘I’m starved for you, my love,’ he murmured between kisses.
‘And I for you,’ she whispered shyly, ‘husband.’
He placed his hands on both sides of her face, almost mesmerised by the deep pools of blue. ‘You cannot know how good it feels to hear you freely admit it at last.’
She smiled. ‘You cannot know how good it feels to say it and to know that it’s true. In fact, it’s nearly as good as—’ She got no further, for his hands were wandering boldly over her body, his purpose clear and arousing. He kissed every part of her as if learning all there was to learn about her, making her skin flush and setting her limbs a-tremble. Together they fell down upon the bed.
Gathering her against him, Simon began to make love to her until the passion that had always existed between them erupted in her mind and body, and in her heart.
* * *
Charles Antony Rockley did not enter the world quietly. His angry squalls could be heard the length and breadth of Tapton Park. Feeling a fatherly interest and pride in his son, Simon drew closer to the bed where his wife was nursing her new offspring. He smiled broadly as the infant drew up his knees and wailed louder, turning red with his anger.
‘He surely is an impatient little man,’ he said, laughing softly as the young Rockley opened his mouth and smacked his lips, anticipating his feed as his mother’s nipple brushed his cheek. Immediately he latched on to it and for a while the world was at peace.
In a room downstairs, both families were congratulating each other and were wont to toast the child. But Simon and Christina saw little of this, for when they were not staring lovingly at their son, they were looking into each other’s eyes and seeing a wondrous future spread out before them.
Previous novels by Helen Dickson:
THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE
ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE
TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS
WICKED PLEASURES
(part of Christmas By Candlelight)
A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE
FORBIDDEN LORD
SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE
FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE
MISTRESS BELOW DECK
ISBN-13: 9781460349403
THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL
© Helen Dickson 2010
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
r reading books on Archive.
The Bride Wore Scandal Page 23