Sensing she was not alone, she turned her head and looked in the direction of the door. The figure of a man was just visible outside the circle of light cast by the fire’s glow. She saw a flash of shiny buttons on a coat front, and the hint of white neck linen, and he was tall. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair.
‘Why do you cry?’ a cool, drawling voice spoke suddenly. ‘Are you hurt?’
It came to Christina that the face she had glimpsed in her mind’s eye and taken for Mark was quite real. Alarmed, she brushed the tears quickly from her eyes to see the speaker more clearly. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, surprise lending more strength to her voice than she felt. ‘I am perfectly all right. What do you want?’
He moved further into the light and she recognised Lord Rockley. She rose, realising she would be at a disadvantage if she remained seated. Caution also dictated that she leave his presence immediately, but something else, something far less familiar, kept her rooted to the spot. It was as if the damp of the tunnel had seeped into her brain, making her forget everything save this man who was once again regarding her with bold, unguarded interest.
‘Lord Rockley! You find me taking a moment’s respite.’
‘I can fully understand that.’
‘You can?’
‘You’re a young woman with a large house to run, with many decisions to make. I imagine the responsibilities are vast.’
‘Truth to tell, Lord Rockley,’ she quipped, slightly irritated because he had intruded on her solitude, ‘only one person dares to threaten me at this moment.’ Christina had said it pointedly, leaving him in no doubt to whom she referred.
‘Since I have never threatened a woman in my life, I can only think it is your peace of mind I threaten.’
‘Maybe intimidation is a more appropriate word. Do you seek to intimidate me, Lord Rockley?’
‘So you feel intimidated, do you, Miss Atherton?’
‘No, I do not feel in the least intimidated by you,’ she lied.
His smile was quick and disarming. ‘If I ever do make you feel intimidated or threatened in any way, you can be assured you are misunderstanding my concern for your welfare.’
‘Really, Lord Rockley! You do not know me, so how you can feel concerned is quite beyond me.’
‘Why are you sitting with only the fire for light?’
‘Because I like sitting in the dark. What are you doing here? Have you lost your way?’
‘Forgive me for intruding. I have seen all I wish to see of the fireworks and sought a place where I could sit a while. I saw you enter this room and followed you. You weren’t among those watching the display. I did wonder why you deserted your guests.’
His high-handed manner had an unexpected effect on Christina—her shock gave way to anger rather than fear. What did this man mean by telling her what to do in her own home? The fact that he should seek her out, knowing she would be alone, suggested that he had something more to say that would not be to her liking. ‘I merely took the opportunity to make sure everything was going according to plan.’
‘Then I hope everything was to your satisfaction.’
The tone was natural, but its very ordinariness struck terror into Christina, who thought she read into it the most dire threats. ‘Yes, it was. Now please excuse me,’ she said quickly. ‘There are things I have to do. I have neglected our guests too long.’
‘You are of a hasty nature, Miss Atherton. You make a custom of taking your leave unexpectedly.’
‘Not really. As I said, I have duties to attend to.’ She turned away but he was beside her. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.
‘One thing I have observed about you, Miss Atherton—you have confidence in the way you do things.’
‘As in most things.’
‘And you are most gracious.’
She turned to find his gaze levelled on hers. ‘I hope I am never ungracious.’
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t think you would know how to be, even though my arrival was both unexpected and, I suspect, unwelcome, because of who I am and the reason for my being here. Should any of your guests have connection to those I seek, my presence will be unnerving for them.’
‘I can speak for most of the people here tonight, and I know they would not involve themselves in criminal activities.’
He nodded imperceptibly, his inscrutable gaze unwavering. ‘Since you are a respected lady of the community I believe you, for I do not believe you would include disreputable villains among your guests knowingly. But it is the remainder of those present who concern me. Thieves are suspicious men. Is there no one you can think of who fits the description?’ he pressed.
‘No—but—one hears things—rumours—of robberies on the highways and house breaking,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘It is inevitable, you will agree, for it goes on all the time and not just in this area.’
‘And you will agree that the villains need to be caught. Imagine how you would feel if they were to break in here and steal items you hold dear, family heirlooms that cannot be replaced. The stolen property will be sold and the more unusual the items, the more easily they are traced. If recovered, the property will provide valuable evidence against the thieves, who will otherwise be hard to identify. They may even be local men, but building a case against them…well—that is quite another matter. It is firm evidence I need.’ He moved closer so that they stood just inches apart. ‘Mark Bucklow, Miss Atherton. That is the name of the man I would very much like to find. I am sure you know who I mean.’
Christina’s heart gave a lurch and alarm flared in her eyes. Her throat tightened so much she was afraid it would strangle her. He turned from her and moved away slightly, giving her a moment to digest the name he had unexpectedly thrown at her. Unable to think of an answer, she tried to spare herself embarrassment by pretending confusion. ‘M-Mark Bucklow?’ she whispered. ‘I—I don’t understand,’ she said.
His deep voice was quiet, but his reply forbade further pretence from her. ‘I think you do.’
Christina stared at him. In response he lifted his brows, waiting for her to reply. ‘No, I’m not sure—’
He didn’t like her continued attempt to evade the issue, and he made it clear by saying, ‘You do know him, do you not? Or you will have heard of him. Are you saying you have not?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
He smiled at her continued evasiveness, a slow, strangely secretive smile that made his eyes gleam beneath their heavy lids. Christina was clever and sharp and noticed the nuances of that smile and she instantly sensed peril lurking behind it. It was the dangerously beguiling smile of a ruthless predator who wanted her to sense his power. She straightened her back, lifting her chin with a show of bravado. She had never allowed Mark Bucklow and the men who worked for him to see her fear—perhaps that was why they respected her more than her brother—and nor would she show this stranger that weakness.
‘I am sure there isn’t a person hereabouts who hasn’t heard of him, since his felonious activities have given him a certain notoriety. I dare say you might tell me he is as civil a gentleman as one could hope to meet, but somehow I don’t think so.’
Thinking of the crimes Bucklow had committed against his own family, he turned his head back to her. When told what had happened, Simon had felt his bones strain in his flesh, urgent with desire to hunt and kill the man who had killed his lovely young niece and shot his brother in the chest, leaving him a shadow of his former self. But he had been in Belgium at the time, and he had a duty to those he commanded. Vengeance had warred with responsibility, and most reluctantly gave way. He hadn’t long to serve with the army. Until then, men depended on him; the job was his. He couldn’t abandon it for the sake of a time-consuming personal quest. Bucklow could wait, but the longer it took, his hatred would increase a thousandfold.
‘Do you know him, Miss Atherton?’ He slowly walked back to where she stood, leaning forwards so that his face was only inches from her own, his pi
ercing, knowing eyes, gleaming like hard, brittle stones, locked on hers. ‘Is he the reason why you are afraid?’
Christina expelled the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She felt as if he had just backed her into a corner from which she could find no escape. She had the horrible, guilty feeling that he somehow knew everything there was to know about what went on at Oakbridge. She considered telling a lie, but lying was not in her nature, and those disturbing eyes of his were levelled on hers.
‘I do know him—though not well—and I fear no one. Mark Bucklow is a native of these parts. He is the son of a lawyer of some distinction in Reading, and it is no secret that Mr Bucklow has disowned Mark. You were correct in saying that there are few who have not heard of him hereabouts—though he is not often seen.’
‘Perhaps that is because he is a creature of nocturnal habits, and unless one happens to be on the road after dark it’s hardly surprising that he is rarely seen.’
‘What he gets up to has nothing to do with me,’ Christina said sharply, avoiding his probing gaze.
‘Perhaps you think he is some kind of Robin Hood, who carries out his robberies courteously and happily disburses the proceeds of his robberies to the poor and needy.’ His smile was scathing. ‘He is no such thing, Miss Atherton. Mark Bucklow is little more than a ruthless cut-throat.’ He lifted his brows and regarded her closely. ‘I trust you managed to locate him yesterday to return his dog.’ He watched the colour drain from her face and he smiled thinly. ‘So, I was right. The dog did belong to Bucklow.’
‘Yes—but I did not return it to him. One of the grooms did.’
‘And you know where Bucklow can be found?’
‘Mark Bucklow is as elusive as a shadow, Lord Rockley. No one knows where he lives when he is not holding up coaches.’ As far as Christina was concerned, this was true. She had no idea where he resided when he was away from the cave. William had told her he could often be found at the Black Swan Inn at Wakeham, but he wasn’t there all the time and only used the inn for his meetings.
‘Then perhaps your groom could throw some light on that.’
In every respect, Lord Rockley was the most coldly rational man Christina had ever met. His forthright manner and questions broke through her wall of politeness and she attempted to curtail the discussion. Drawing herself up straight, she looked him straight in the eye.
‘Sir, as you are aware tonight my brother and I have a house full of guests. I do not take kindly to being questioned in this manner about a subject that does not concern me. Your perseverance is beyond belief. If you came here to interrogate me, then however discourteous I may seem, I must ask you to leave. Either that or you will speak no more of robbers tonight. I find your manner extremely rude.’
Christina stood quivering, visibly struggling against a growing anger that made her eyes gleam like two hard blue stones. Simon looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, touched despite himself by her obvious youth and scruples. At length he said in a more gentle manner, ‘You are quite right. I have been unforgivably rude and I ask your pardon.’ He held out his hand. ‘You are upset, I can see. Come over to the fire now and sit a while before you return to your guests. There will be no more talk of highwaymen tonight.’
Christina eyed him warily. ‘Do you promise?’
‘I promise. We shall just—talk. Light-hearted conversation with an intelligent and extremely beautiful woman is almost a forgotten pleasure to me.’ A definite note of cajolery lightened his voice as he added, ‘I’ll do all the talking if you agree.’
Christina hesitated, stunned to his reference to her as a beautiful woman, then she decided he’d meant nothing by it except a little empty flattery—although he had kissed her at the very moment of their meeting, and what she had seen in his eyes then went way beyond flattery. A few moments more without tension and fear was being offered to her, and her battered nerves cried out for relief. What harm was there in what he asked?
‘Very well, then. I will sit for just a moment longer and then I really must show my face—if you agree to do the talking.’
He nodded, a lazy grin sweeping over his handsome face as he realised she was agreeing to favour him with more of her precious time, and the unexpected glamour of that white smile did treacherous things to Christina’s heart rate. In an attempt to calm her emotions and put a safe distance between herself and this man, she crossed the room to the hearth.
Simon waited until she was seated in the chair she had vacated on his arrival before sitting opposite. He was silent as he gazed into the heart of the fire. Christina was struck by his stern profile outlined against the golden glow of the flames. She saw a kind of beauty in it, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was out of keeping with the unfortunate situation they had been thrown into by his sudden arrival. Suddenly he turned and looked at her. He was relaxed, his eyes as calm as the sea on a fair day.
The fire cast a glow on her, turning her hair to silver, and causing a shadow on her cheeks. Simon thought how young she looked, how innocent. With an openly gracious manner and a beauty charmingly enhanced by her ice blue gown, she truly seemed imbued with a radiance of her own.
Sitting back, he crossed his legs and nonchalantly tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, his gaze doing a leisurely sweep of the dimly lit room. It was clearly Miss Atherton’s domain. The large armchairs in which they sat were drawn up to the fire and embroidery and books littered the surface of a small inlaid side table. Picking up an open book, being careful not to lose the page, he read the title on the leather spine.
‘A Gentleman’s Journey through France and Italy. Very interesting. Are you reading the book, Miss Atherton?’
‘Yes. Not only is the book interesting, but informative, too. Unfortunately, William is not a great reader. He is a sporty type and enjoys being outdoors—horses and shooting and fishing and that kind of thing.’
‘And he leaves you to run the house.’
‘Yes, but I don’t mind.’
‘You are very understanding, Miss Atherton.’
Christina laughed to hide her confusion. ‘I have to be. Whatever I do or say, William is invariably of a different opinion.’
He grinned. ‘Brothers generally are. And you enjoy reading?’
‘Very much. It is one of my favourite pastimes.’
‘No doubt you enjoy reading books with happy endings—about love and romance, which is the sort of reading that suits most young ladies.’
‘Some, perhaps, but not on the whole. Your remark is exactly the kind I would expect from a man.’
He chuckled low. ‘And it clearly offends you.’
‘Yes, it does. I think you are misguided like all men and arrogant in your presumption.’ She thought he was about to protest, but he merely stared at her with amazement. Devilment prompted her to add, ‘You’re not used to having your attitude questioned, are you?’
‘Not since my dear mother passed on.’
A smile softened her rebuke and her eyes sparkled with humour. ‘To believe that ladies are satisfied with the banal and cannot understand the highest forms of art is simply not true. We have equal intelligence and are as capable of appreciating literature and poetry as any man.’
‘And you, Miss Atherton, I believe you are a lady of that description.’
Somewhat dazzled by the warmth in his voice, Christina could feel a blush rising. ‘I like to think so.’
‘And I am thinking that I am lucky to be in such fine company,’ he murmured softly.
Christina met his gaze. When she was in his presence, she felt as if she were walking on egg shells. She smiled nervously. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘I met your valet earlier, by the way—in the cellar.’
‘Henry? We saw military service in the Netherlands together,’ he said by way of explanation.
‘Either he has a partiality for fine wines, Lord Rockley, or he was snooping.’ And if so, Christina wondered, on
whose orders?
Lord Rockley cocked an amused brow. ‘Snooping?’ He grinned. ‘Now there’s an interesting thought. Henry never snoops.’
‘Then we must assume he has a partiality for liquor.’
‘He has been known to take a drop,’ he remarked, and left it at that.
Christina was not appeased by his taciturn reply and she glanced at him sharply. ‘He seemed sober enough to me at the time. In fact, he seemed to me to be a man well in control of his faculties. Do you always leave him to his own devices—to go wandering about at will?’
‘Always. Henry is his own man and quite harmless, I assure you.’ After a quiet moment, he said, ‘And you are content here at Oakbridge? Does not the London scene and all its frivolities beckon?’
‘Not really. I have simple tastes and I am quite content to remain here. But I do not remain at Oakbridge all the time. I have an aunt who lives in London and I often visit her—Aunt Celia. She’s a dear and we are very close. When William marries—which will be soon, I think—I shall go and live with her.’
‘But you will miss Oakbridge.’
‘Of course I will. Oakbridge has always been my home—as it will become Miranda’s.’
‘And you have no wish to get in the way of that.’
‘No. As newlyweds they will want to find their own way. I should hate to be looked on as some interfering sister.’ Hearing a commotion outside the door and realising that the guests were returning to the house, she rose, smoothing down her skirts. ‘I must go. William will be looking for me.’
Chapter Three
Simon followed her to the door. ‘You are very much like your brother,’ he remarked, reaching out for the brass doorknob.
‘I am? How?’ Christina glanced up at him to find he was looking at her strangely, as if he was preoccupied. She was bewildered by his mood and, caught up in a rush of irrational confusion, she looked away from him—she felt mesmerised, uncertainty flooding over her. He touched a lock of hair that was coiled on her neck, and she felt the brush of his fingers on her flesh. When they lingered, her heart beat erratically, a thrill of anticipation spreading through her. Brief though the touch was, his fingers left their imprint upon her flesh. She was conscious of the power of his masculinity. So great was the pull.
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