The Bride Wore Scandal

by Helen Dickson

  Christina glanced at him quizzically. ‘What are you doing downstairs at this hour? Is there something that you want?’

  He shook his head and stood looking down at her. She was very pale, the pupils of her eyes dark and dilated, as if with some kind of horror. ‘I’m a light sleeper. I heard a noise and came to investigate.’

  ‘That would be William snoring.’

  ‘No. It was something else. It sounded very much like voices raised in anger, followed by someone running.’ He directed his words at her, watching her closely to see their effect upon her. She started—there was only the slightest flinch—but he had seen it. It was enough.

  Feeling a crimson rush of embarrassment creep into her cheeks burning and confusing her, Christina averted her eyes, crossing her arms over her breasts. She felt that his eyes missed nothing—the fear she still felt from Mark’s intrusion into her room, the trembling of her body beneath the fine fabric of her nightdress.

  ‘I—I can’t think what that could have been. I heard nothing myself. P-perhaps it was the wind you heard.’

  ‘There is no wind tonight.’

  ‘Then maybe you imagined it. This is an old house. Creaks and groans are heard all the time.’

  He nodded, still watching her. ‘Yes—maybe you’re right and that’s all it was. How did you know your brother had not gone to bed?’

  ‘I went to bed without seeing him. I did not hear him come up and I was worried.’

  ‘Is it usual for him to get in this condition?’

  ‘No—I mean, yes—sometimes. Liquor affects him very quickly. It doesn’t take much for him to get like this. I keep telling him not to drink so much—particularly when we have guests—but he doesn’t listen.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s worried about something? Is he, Miss Atherton?’

  He was watching her intently. ‘I—I cannot think that he has anything untoward to worry about.’

  Suddenly he grinned. ‘Not now, perhaps, but he will have in the morning.’

  Her eyes flew to his in alarm. ‘He will?’

  ‘Most certainly. His head will feel as if an army is marching through it. Why do you not simply leave him where he is?’

  ‘I would prefer the servants did not find him like this in the morning. I have a reluctance to lend William to the ridicule that would surely follow.’

  ‘Then we’d better see about getting him to his room.’ Subdued amusement played on his face as he bent over William and lifted a limp eyelid. The snores continued undisturbed, and when Simon glanced at Christina, his humour had grown more obvious. ‘Would you like me to try to carry him?’

  ‘I would be most grateful—but I think he will be too heavy.’

  With a quick and easy movement, Simon lifted William from the sofa. The fabric of his shirt stretched taut for a moment, revealing the flowing muscles across his shoulders and arms. The weight that Christina had been unable to move was casually laid over his shoulder. He glanced at her, strong white teeth sparkling behind a broadening grin.

  ‘There. Nothing to it. Lead the way, Miss Atherton, and we’ll soon have your brother tucked up in bed and sleeping like the proverbial babe.’

  As she brushed past him to obey, a gentle cologne touched her senses with an acute awareness that left her almost weak. She hurried across the hall and ascended the stairs, her cheeks hot and pink as she felt her back almost smothered by his perusal as he followed close behind. Indeed, had she glanced behind and seen the admiring attention he paid to her gently swaying hips beneath the thin fabric of her robe, she might have had even more reason to blush.

  Entering William’s room and going quickly to the four-poster bed and folding back the covers, she then busied herself with lighting a couple of candles and watched Lord Rockley lay her brother down with a gentleness she had not expected from him, easing him on to the pillows, removing his shoes and drawing the covers over him.

  Feeling vulnerable and very much alone, she had the feeling that had her brother been more like this man, she would have been able to cast off her unhappiness and all her difficulties. But it was absurd, a fantasy, and she must not allow her thoughts to run along those lines. She must not forget Lord Rockley’s purpose for being here, and she was sure that even when he had left Oakbridge, it would not be the last they saw of him.

  She bent over her brother and loosened his shirt. When she straightened, her heart quickened, for Lord Rockley was standing much too close. Her senses felt dazed. Meeting his silver gaze, she observed that his eyes glowed with a warmth that made her heart beat unevenly in her chest. He really was extremely handsome, and try as she might, she could find no flaw in those wide shoulders, lean waist or long limbs. Mentally chiding herself for allowing her thoughts to run away with her, she stepped away and smoothed the covers over William’s chest.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she murmured, warmed by his solicitude. ‘As you said, he’ll have a bad head and be as cross as a bear in the morning.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I shall not go near him until he’s recovered his temper.’

  ‘Very wise,’ he replied, handing her William’s shoes.

  Christina reached to take them and was almost startled when his fingers deliberately lingered on hers. A sharp thrill went through her, slowly shredding her nerves. Never had she been affected as deeply as by this casual contact. In an attempt to calm her emotions and put a safe distance between herself and Lord Rockley, she crossed the room and placed the shoes on the floor beside a chest of drawers before turning to look back at him.

  ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your bed. William will be all right now, but—if you don’t mind, I would rather he didn’t know about this. He—would not approve of you being here alone with me—dressed as I am.’

  Simon looked rakishly across at her, boldly appraising her as she turned her head and looked at her brother, his eyes touching her everywhere. The pure white nightdress showing beneath her parted robe flowed in fluid lines about her body, moulding itself against her as if reluctant to be parted, showing the womanly roundness of her firm breasts and the graceful curve of her hips. The pale light illuminated her profile like a cameo against the shadows of the room. He noted the delicacy of her features, and the tilt of her chin. She was very young, he thought, and frightened.

  ‘Heedless of your brother’s opinion, Miss Atherton, I do approve most heartily.’ He moved towards her, standing close and capturing her eyes in her upturned face. ‘Is there anything more that I can do for you?’

  She shook her head, tearing her eyes away from that penetrating gaze, noticing how her heartbeat had quickened its pace with the knowledge of his presence. The sudden warmth in her cheeks and the way her fingers shook as they drew the belt of her robe tight about her small waist gave testament to her nervousness.

  Aware of her unease and unable to resist this lovely young woman, vulnerable and so very innocent in her night attire, Simon lowered his head near the curling mass of gold-lit fair hair and closed his eyes as her fragrance spiralled through him with intoxicating effect, snaring his mind and his senses.

  Christina felt his nearness with every stirring fibre of her body, with every shivering wave that washed through her. Her eyes remained downward as the warmth of his breath touched her ear, and she stared in fixed attention where his shirt gaped open, partly revealing a firmly muscled, darkly matted chest. As he moved closer, her nerves jumped and she placed a cautious hand against that firm chest, taking a step back, but the contact was explosive. It caused her heart to beat even faster.

  ‘I think,’ she stated breathlessly, ‘that you should leave now, Lord Rockley.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘Does my presence unnerve you, Miss Atherton?’

  She gazed up at him, feeling more powerfully drawn to him than ever, her body reacting in that age-old way a woman responds to a man. ‘Yes—if you must know, it does,’ she answered honestly. ‘It is not my habit to be alone in a bedroom, dressed in my night attire, in the early hours of the mornin
g, with a gentleman who happens to be a virtual stranger to me.’

  ‘Worry not, Miss Atherton,’ he murmured, taking pity on her confusion and moving away from her. ‘A young woman’s reputation is such a fragile thing, and I have no intention of taking advantage of you. I promise that whenever we are together, I shall be a gentleman personified.’

  Christina cocked a brow at him, conveying her distrust. ‘A gentleman who takes his liberties seriously.’

  ‘How else would I take them?’ he teased gently.

  She laughed softly. ‘I think the sooner you go to your own room, the better. I really do not think I am safe in here with you.’

  ‘Come now, Miss Atherton. Will a man ravish a woman in whose house he is a guest?’

  ‘If he’s desperate enough,’ she replied skittishly.

  ‘Desperate?’ His eyes caressed her face and there was a smouldering darkness in their depths. ‘I am that. I would like to take things further, but if I want to gain your trust it is not the way for me to carry on.’

  ‘You are right. Trust is important in any relationship.’

  He looked at her speculatively. ‘Would you not like me to escort you to your room?’

  Christina was certain as he spoke that there was more than a conventional offer in his words. What did he know? What had he heard? Did he guess at the possible danger that might lurk in her room? ‘I shall be perfectly all right now. Thank you.’

  ‘There’s no reason to thank me. I am glad I was able to help.’ He crossed to the door. ‘Goodnight, Miss Atherton. I hope you sleep well.’

  She watched him go and listened to him walk along the landing towards his room before blowing out the candles and going to her own, her mind still occupied by their guest. Gingerly she pushed open the door and stepped inside, recalling Mark Bucklow’s earlier invasion. It was funny how fear could disappear, only to return and terrorise you once more.

  * * *

  Christina rose early, when the air was still and the grass drenched with dew and traces of a thin chill vapour lurked beneath the trees. Quickly donning her riding clothes, she slipped noiselessly along the lightening gallery and down the stairs. From there she let herself out of the house and made her way to the stables to saddle her spirited chestnut mare without encountering a living soul. Anyone who saw her would have thought she had a definite secret object, but she had nothing on her mind other than riding out over deserted countryside.

  She knew the area well and there was no lane or pathway with which she was not familiar. She always avoided the place where the entrance to the tunnel was located, having no wish to come upon Mark or any of his villains. Giving her horse its head, she delighted in the sharp morning air on her face as it rushed by.

  When she entered the woods, the air was hot, clammy and oppressive. She rode on, relieved to see the river ahead, thinking that she might sit a while in the shade and dip her feet in the cool, flowing water. So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she was unprepared for the sight that sprang upon her. A horse was nibbling the lush green grass that grew along the river bank, its owner about to plunge into the water. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a silent O on recognising Lord Rockley.

  As she was hidden by the dense foliage, Christina gazed across the narrow stretch of land that separated them and did an admiring appraisal of him as the sun beat down on his almost naked form in shimmering waves of heat. A narrow cloth covered his loins and provided the minimum of modesty as it moulded itself to his manhood. As a respectable young woman, she knew she should avert her innocent eyes, but, eager to see more, she carefully parted the branches. She froze when they rustled slightly. Holding her breath, she paused, not wishing to be caught looking. Lord Rockley remained facing the river, and she was thankful that he seemed unaware that he was being observed—but she failed to see the knowing smile that played about his lips and that his eyes were dancing with silent laughter.

  Completely mesmerised, the heat crept into her cheeks at the sight of him standing on the river bank like some bronze-skinned statue. Suddenly he turned in her direction, and for a moment she thought he had seen her, but he merely looked about him, brushing his hair back from his face.

  No detail on his magnificent, finely honed body was obscured by the distance that separated them. Lean of waist and hip, his shoulders were broad and rippled with muscles. The light furring on his chest dwindled into a shadowed line as it trailed down his flat belly. His legs were long and straight and corded with muscles.

  An ache of suppressed passions began to spread through Christina, stirring a quickness in her blood. Her eyes followed as he turned and strolled closer to the water’s edge, lowering to the flexing buttocks as he waded out to deeper water. Arching his back, he plunged further out with a clean dive. He swam into the centre of the slowly flowing river, his arms stroking the water relentlessly.

  Christina could sense his need to exert himself, to wear off some of his pent-up energy by pitting his body against the current, and she was aware of an ache in her own body. How she wished she could wear out her frustrations in such a way. Knowing she was in danger of being seen, she reluctantly turned her horse and headed in a new direction to continue her ride.

  She hadn’t ridden far when another rider suddenly appeared behind her, galloping hard. Reining in her horse, she waited for him, recognising Lord Rockley. Riding towards her, he seemed in total control of his horse’s movements, yet he did it with such ease, the pair flowing together as one.

  His sudden appearance disturbed her train of thought and try as she might she could not dispel the sight of his splendid, naked body as he had plunged into the river. She had thought about him more than she ought throughout the night, and to have seen him practically naked and to have him suddenly appear provoked a confusion of emotions. She felt the blood rush to her face in sudden embarrassment. How could she face him after last night and with this fresh memory disturbing her thoughts? How could she appear before him calm and unconcerned when she could remember only how he had carried her brother to bed in a drunken stupor—and she clad only in her nightgown?

  As he drew closer, he subjected her to the same sort of intense scrutiny he’d focused on her the night before, and she found it just as discomforting and overly personal. She was drawn to him, insofar as she knew him, but there were things about him to discourage a deeper acquaintance. The sooner he was gone from Oakbridge, the better it would be for her peace of mind.

  He pulled his horse to a halt beside her—a magnificent black stallion, the white blaze on his nose creamy in the sunlight. Christina held her breath when she saw the beast bunch his muscles. He reared up, pawing the air, and was superbly controlled by his rider. She gasped, fearing Lord Rockley would be thrown, but he remained firmly in the saddle, his teeth gleaming white in a devilish smile, as his horse’s hooves hit the ground with a bone-jarring force that would have unseated a less-experienced rider.

  ‘Good morning,’ he murmured, looking across at her, his voice like a gentle caress. As he had ridden to catch up with her, he had thought she was like a fresh spring breeze. His eyes warmed in appreciation of her dazzling beauty and he smiled into her radiantly glowing face, knowing perfectly well that it was more than the exertion of her ride that was responsible for the pink that warmed her cheeks and that caused her to lower her gaze.

  He leaned forwards, better to see her face. ‘Did you like what you saw?’ he asked, in a lightly teasing voice.

  Christina raised her eyes and looked at him, the colour in her cheeks deepening when she saw the sparkling gleam in his eye. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  A roguish grin readily showed the contrast between his dark skin and white teeth. He was enjoying every second of her discomfiture. ‘Yes, you do. Don’t play the innocent. I know you were there—at the river.’

  ‘Oh—yes—I—I’m sorry. I just happened to ride that way. It’s rare I see anyone at this time. I—I beg your pardon if I interrupted your swim. I didn’t want to in
trude, so I rode on.’

  ‘You did not disturb anything,’ he replied briefly. ‘However, I can well imagine your confusion at the time, which sits charmingly on such a lovely face.’ It was not so much a compliment as much as a calm and sincere statement of fact, which caused Christina’s heartbeat to quicken. ‘However, you need not have remained hidden. You could have joined me—or at least stayed long enough to have a paddle.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I shudder to think what the servants would have to say if I went home with my hair dangling wet around my ears.’

  He grinned. ‘You could have sneaked into the house when no one was looking.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. The servants at Oakbridge have eyes everywhere.’ An ardent admirer of good horseflesh and eager to turn the conversation in a different direction and not dwell on his handsome looks and the way his damp hair curled about his head, Christina was unable to restrain an appraising smile. ‘I do not pretend to be knowledgeable about horses, but he is a splendid animal.’ She watched as Lord Rockley ran his hand over the stallion’s sleek neck, keeping him on a tight rein to control his prancing. There was a glaze of moisture on Lord Rockley’s brow from his exertions, but he was clearly enjoying the ride.

  ‘I salute your good taste,’ he answered, meeting her gaze. ‘I hope you managed to get to sleep after your disturbed night.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I did. And you?’

  ‘I slept well enough, though I am used to rising with the dawn.’

  ‘I imagine that is a consequence of being a soldier.’

  ‘Something like that. How is your brother this morning? Hung-over, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘I’m sure he is, but I haven’t seen him. If he runs true to form, I’ll not see him before midday.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is partly down to Henry. When all your guests had departed, your brother allowed my valet to lure him into making a night of it.’

  ‘William does not usually take any luring into a game of cards or taking a drink. I consider it a complete waste of time.’