The Bride Wore Scandal

by Helen Dickson

  Backing her against the trunk of the nearest tree, Simon kissed her with all the persuasive force at his disposal, his mouth slanting over hers, his tongue teasing and provoking, his hands sliding down her arms and then around her narrow waist. Her body became pliant against his as he stroked her back and sought her breasts, taking her nipples between his fingers and forcing them to tighten into hard buds beneath the soft fabric covering them. He pressed her closer to him, his mouth plundering hers, his tongue tormenting.

  To Christina, what he was doing to her was like being wrapped in a cocoon of dangerous sensuality where she had no control over anything. Particularly herself. Somehow her hands had crept up to his shoulders and around his neck. Her fingers were tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, and when a groan leaped from her throat, she felt him smile against her lips.

  ‘Now that’s what I like to hear. Enjoy it, my sweet.’

  ‘But I think we should stop,’ she whispered breathlessly against his mouth.

  ‘Shh,’ he murmured. ‘Be quiet.’

  Subdued by his authoritative tones, Christina fell silent and was still against him. She had neither the desire nor the strength to do so, as once again his mouth seized hers in a possessive, wildly erotic kiss that was astonishingly personal. Pleasure shot through her like an arrow, and she stared with dazed eyes at the face above her own. The urge to push him away, to stop this madness now, still remained, but with each touch, each kiss, it was growing fainter. The world around them seemed to melt away, leaving only Lord Rockley and herself locked together in a charmed circle against which dull reality crumbled away.

  Christina was a little frightened by the violence of the passion that had so suddenly been unleashed in her.She had never felt before this wild longing to be near, to touch a creature of flesh and blood. Clasped in his arms, pressed against his hard chest, she shivered from head to foot. Lord Rockley’s bronzed skin was damp with fine sweat and he was breathing hard, the sound filling his willing captive’s ears. Their kiss seemed to go on for ever, becoming more passionate, arousing Christina’s blood to madness. She was no longer aware what Lord Rockley was doing. He unfastened her bodice and it was not until his lips left hers and he buried his head between her warm breasts, that she found she was half-naked in his arms. But the sight of her own flesh, rosy in the sun’s light, did not embarrass her in the least. It was as though she had been created for him alone, for his pleasure and happiness.

  Lord Rockley evinced a remarkable vigour. His quick, masterful caresses were those of a soldier for whom every second counts. And yet, in this violence of his that robbed her of all will to resist, Christina found an extraordinary gentleness. In a few seconds, the old Christina, who had met the passionate advances of the local young men with such cool composure and indifference, turned into a passionate woman for whom a man’s admiration had suddenly become the whole meaning of existence.

  Finally Simon released her lips and drew back a little. With his palm still on her breast, he could feel her heartbeat, feel it slowing, her body still languid with pleasure, her eyes still dazed with passion. For a moment all was quiet around them, and then with a sudden jolt, Christina’s heart began to pound and her body stiffened, and Simon knew that memory had returned. And with it realisation.

  Christina felt horrified with the returning knowledge and hastily fastened the bodice of her gown. What have I done? What madness had possessed her to do something that was wild and completely against her nature? How could she have been so foolish? Both wretchedness and self-recrimination beat at her like hard fists. Had she not learned her lesson from her association with Mark Bucklow? She had managed to evade that highway robber so far. She remained free. At least that was what she told herself over and over again. Until she almost believed it—until she had met Lord Rockley.

  What was it about the man that made her so pliable with him? He was handsome, no one could deny that, but there was a quality of manliness that very much appealed to her. She had allowed herself to fall into his arms without a thought. He was practically a stranger and she had allowed him to touch her and kiss her—worse, she had revelled in it. At the time, nothing else had mattered. Never in her life had she felt like this. It was as if her body were awash with feeling, alive with need. What she had just done complicated everything. Without looking at Lord Rockley she gently pushed him away. Her chest ached, but she held tight to her self-control.

  ‘That should not have happened. I think we should go back now.’ When he opened his mouth to speak, watching him as if she half-expected him to pounce on her and tear her clothes off, she quickly silenced him. ‘Please—do not speak of it,’ she burst out. ‘And I am not your sweet, so don’t you ever call me that again. You have no doubt charmed many women out of their virtue. I only hope I do not find myself a victim of some ploy you’ve construed.’

  ‘Worry not. I play no games with your heart.’

  Slowly, deliberately, Simon reached out a hand to touch the cheek of the beleaguered girl, relieved when she did not draw back. Her skin was warm and soft, and he wanted more of her. But she would not allow it and he would not allow himself to force her. There was a bittersweet triumph in his self-denial. It was not often he denied himself a woman.

  ‘Are you afraid of me, Christina?’ he said, quietly and carefully, using her first name with a familiarity that had come with the kiss.

  ‘No, of course not. You seem to forget that you are our guest at Oakbridge. You take too many liberties, Lord Rockley,’ she reproached to hide her confusion and roiling emotions, which were in danger of getting out of control. ‘I should certainly not be here alone with you, and I should have known better than to allow it. We will forget this moment, I promise you. We will put it behind us and never speak of it again.’

  ‘Aye, we will never speak of it again—if that is your wish,’ he said. ‘Everything will go on as before we kissed—but if you think you will ever be able to forget it, then you are a fool.’

  ‘I will forget. I must,’ she whispered fiercely, with more conviction than she felt. ‘I—am not ready for this yet.’

  Simon’s hand lifted her chin, and his fingers slowly stroked her throat as he stared into her eyes.

  ‘I want you, Christina,’ he breathed in a husky murmur, the pulse beating in his temple making her aware of his needs, and he saw the confusion in her face. She shook her head in an almost pleading gesture of denial, mutely appealing for mercy, but he pulled her close and she stared with helpless entreaty into those smouldering silver-grey eyes as his face loomed above her own. Again his mouth lowered, opening and slanting before covering hers.

  Murmuring words of endearment and passion, he pressed fevered kisses upon her throat and cheek and lightly touched the delicate eyelids that flickered downwards to receive the featherlike kisses. When he found her lips once more, his kiss was deep and filled with passion, and then he raised his head and released her.

  Their eyes met and held. Hers so blue and his of a paler hue, entwined, touching hidden places, remembering. She had spoken a lie when she had said she was not ready for any of this just yet—they both knew it, and she was all too aware of the loneliness that would settle down upon her when they were parted. There was no denying that Lord Rockley had fascinated her from the moment she saw him. Though she wanted to hold him at arm’s length for her own good, she was becoming increasingly aware of him as a man. Her spirit was nurtured by his nearness and the comfort he could bestow, and she wanted to draw succour from his strength and his caring attention.

  The truth was that she would not forget his kisses—they were the first she had experienced, and she desperately wanted him to kiss her again, to feel his hands caressing her naked flesh—and more—and the sad thing was that he knew it. Abruptly she glanced away, denying the truth, and grasped the reins of her horse. Placing his hands on her waist, Lord Rockley lifted her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all, before mounting his own horse.

  As she was about to
ride on, he reached out and touched her knee, halting her. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, waiting for him to speak. On a more serious note, he said, ‘I meant what I said earlier. I want you to feel that you can trust me. I speak in all seriousness.’

  There was no mistaking that he was in earnest, and Christina felt a sudden warmth in her heart at his kindness. After what had just transpired between them, the offer was so unexpected, the tone of his voice so inviting, that it would be so easy to tell him all, to unburden herself completely and put all her trust in him. His mere presence gave her a feeling of safety and security. And yet it was all an illusion. He was the danger, and it was danger of a different kind to the danger Mark Bucklow posed. Nevertheless, even though she knew it to be the truth, her heart could not credit it.

  It was Mark she feared, Mark who terrified her, while there was something about Lord Rockley that made her feel that as long as he was there, she was safe. She desperately wanted to tell him of Mark Bucklow’s threat to William, to them both—of how he terrorised them and had threatened to kill them if they did not comply with his wishes—but she was much too afraid.

  Lifting her head, she looked straight ahead, drawing her body upright in the saddle. ‘It is indeed kind of you to think of me, but I assure you, Lord Rockley, that should anything be amiss—which there isn’t, I hasten to add—then I have my brother to turn to. Besides, you will soon be gone from Oakbridge and it is unlikely we shall meet again.’

  His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slowly. ‘Don’t bet on it. I shall make damned sure we do.’

  Urging her horse into a gallop ahead of Lord Rockley, Christina gave herself a mental shake. She had been an utter fool back there, being drawn to Lord Rockley and romanticising, simply because he was tall and handsome and because she was an idiot, a spineless idiot who was disgustingly and helplessly attracted to him. The sooner he was away from Oakbridge and her—before her weak will and fragile moral fibre crumbled in the face of his dangerous appeal—the better.

  * * *

  When they rode into the stable yard, it was clear as soon Christina set eyes on Tom that all was not well. He was subdued, his expression a mixture of anger and distress. Gently she placed a hand on his arm as he snatched the reins from her and turned to lead her horse to its box.

  ‘Tom? What is it? What ails you?’

  The groom hesitated and looked warily at Lord Rockley standing behind her. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s serious, Miss Christina, but…’

  ‘It’s all right, Tom. You can speak in front of Lord Rockley. Tell me what has happened.’

  ‘It’s Mr and Mrs Senior. Their coach was held up when they were on their way home last night.’

  Christina paled visibly. ‘Oh, no. This is simply dreadful news, Tom.’

  ‘Aye, well—like you say, but the ordeal was too much for Mr Senior.’

  ‘What can you mean?’ she whispered, her heart heavy with dread at what he might tell her, ‘Tom, what are you saying? Was he hurt?’

  ‘He’s dead, Miss Christina. Mr Senior is dead.’

  She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Dead?’ she gasped. ‘You—you mean those who held them up killed him?’

  He shook his head. ‘From what I’ve heard, it was some kind of seizure.’

  Christina was numb. Mr and Mrs Senior were two of the most liked and respected people in the district. The manner of Mr Senior’s death would upset and anger a lot of people. All at once, the full consequences of what they were doing swept over her in a sudden tide of apprehension and despair. Sometimes she felt it was all too much for her and that she couldn’t go on, but she had to. There was nothing else for it.

  She was aware of Lord Rockley standing close to her and knew he was watching her intently, but she dare not look at him, so she was oblivious to the hard gleam that had entered his eyes and his clenched jaw. Feeling that in some way she had colluded in Mr Senior’s demise, Christina was utterly overcome with shame and guilt.

  ‘Mrs Senior must be beside herself. I must go to her at once.’

  ‘Those thieving…’ Breathing deeply, not wishing to let his anger get the better of him in front of Lord Rockley, Tom regained control of himself. ‘They still took their valuables—not that the good lady had many. They took Mr Senior’s watch and chain from his dead body and left him.’

  Christina touched his arm sympathetically. ‘You’re upset, Tom, and rightly so. Have the carriage made ready while I change my clothes and I’ll visit Mrs Senior right away.’ She turned to Lord Rockley. ‘I’m so sorry. You’ll have to breakfast without me, I’m afraid. I really must go and see Mrs Senior.’

  ‘I understand, but I insist on you having breakfast and then we’ll go together.’

  Christina stared at him. ‘Together? But—you don’t have to concern yourself with this.’

  ‘You seem to forget that it is my concern,’ he reminded her brusquely, taking firm hold on her elbow and leading her towards the house. ‘The villains who waylaid them have to be caught. I’m sure Mrs Senior managed to have a good look at them, so she might be able to give me a description.’

  Christina stopped and stared at him, appalled by what he was suggesting. ‘I hardly think this is the time to question her. The poor lady will be traumatised enough after everything that has happened.’

  ‘That can’t be helped. It has to be done while the details of the event are still fresh in her mind.’

  ‘Still fresh in her mind?’ Christina repeated sharply. ‘I hardly think the events of last night will fade in a hurry.’

  Simon’s eyes narrowed and he said coldly, ‘You have no objections to me accompanying you, have you, Christina?’

  Christina had plenty, but kept her mouth shut. She hid what she was feeling, or hoped she did, as she walked beside him, bluffing before those hard, sharp eyes that were cleverer than any she had known. She had no appetite for breakfast, but she managed to eat a little fresh fruit. It was an awkward, silent and hurried breakfast. She kept her eyes downcast, well aware that Lord Rockley often glanced at her.

  * * *

  Escaping to her room to change as soon as she had finished and dressing hastily, she was surprised when an anxious and hung over William sought her out, making no apologies or even a mention of how he had got to bed. His fair hair was tousled and he had a night’s growth of beard on his chin.

  ‘William, what are you doing here?’ Christina demanded, more sharply than she meant. ‘You look dreadful. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you. Why did you have to drink so much? I understand you and Lord Rockley’s valet imbibed together when everyone had left. I cannot think why you would take such a risk by sitting up half the night drinking with a man who I am sure is as big a snoop as his master. I sincerely hope you didn’t give anything away.’

  ‘I didn’t divulge anything that might incriminate us, I assure you, Christina,’ he grumbled. ‘I do remember that much. I want to know what happened when you went to see Mark last night. It makes me devilishly nervous having Mark at Oakbridge with Rockley nosing around. Did he abandon his plans?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He would not allow Lord Rockley’s presence to change anything.’

  ‘Is Rockley still here?’

  ‘Yes, and as master of the house, William, you should be entertaining him, not me,’ Christina reproached crossly. ‘He accompanied me on my ride earlier. I left him having breakfast.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re getting on with him—you spent a good deal of time speaking to him last night. He’s a handsome devil, don’t you think?’

  ‘He’s—very attractive—in a dangerous sort of way.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly, which is why I want him gone from here as soon as possible.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ In too much of a rush to spend time dressing her hair, Christina twisted it into a knot in her nape.

  ‘He’s watching us—he’s watching all of us. It’s my belief that he’s been snooping about for a while. He misses nothing.
He’s looking for evidence, possibly against us, and if it exists he’ll find it.’ William looked at her in alarm. ‘Has he given you any indication that he suspects us?’

  ‘No—oh, I honestly don’t know, William,’ she answered wearily. ‘He’s looking for Mark—he did tell me that much. He means to find him.’

  ‘Then he’ll have to look hard. Mark’s a slippery customer. He lives on his wits and he’s managed to evade capture so far.’

  ‘I wish he would be caught,’ Christina said fiercely. ‘He—he came to my room last night.’

  William’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ she snapped, all the indignation and horror she felt on Mark invading her privacy coming to the surface. ‘To pester me. Not content with using this house for his illegal purposes, he has his lust-filled eyes turned on me. If he is thwarted now, you can be sure he will make us both pay. I couldn’t bear it if—if he…’

  ‘Christina—don’t upset yourself. Mark wouldn’t—’

  ‘And you are certain of that, are you, William?’ she flared. ‘Any kind of relationship between me and that man is impossible and too loathsome to contemplate. In the eyes of those who know me I would sink beyond social and moral redemption. I will not have it. I will not have Mark Bucklow entering my bedchamber when the whim takes him. I will not have him entering this house at his pleasure. He—he could have bumped into Lord Rockley, and then where would we be? Because when he is finally caught, you can guarantee no one will believe you took no part in his crimes and you will be condemned alongside him.’

  ‘Indeed, Christina, he has overstepped himself.’

  ‘In future, I will lock my door. But you are to speak to him, William. You must make him realise that he is not to enter the house again. We simply cannot go on like this—and to add to our worries, something dreadful happened last night.’