The Bride Wore Scandal

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Whatever you decide, I wish you a pleasant journey.’

  He cocked a questioning brow, his silver-grey eyes holding hers. ‘You want me to go?’

  ‘I—think you should.’ She faced him, forcing herself to meet his eyes, wanting him to understand that she meant what she said. It was partly because she was afraid of what he might uncover if he remained at Oakbridge any longer, but also because of the havoc he was creating in her heart. Here he was too close, too compelling, and even when he was gone it would be impossible for her to thrust him out of her thoughts for longer than a moment, for a situation was developing between them that must not be allowed to go further.

  He stared back at her, his gaze caressing her features, delving into her brain. ‘I understand only too well, and I know my valet and I are a nuisance, imposing ourselves upon you in this manner. Methinks I have been a soldier too long and have forgotten how to behave in civilised society.’

  Christina was embarrassed that he should think she wanted rid of him. ‘Oh, please don’t think you are a nuisance. You are not—but…’

  He held up his hand to silence her. ‘Please don’t explain. There is no need. I know I am outstaying my welcome. I understand exactly what you are trying to say.’ Unexpectedly he took her hand, drawing her closer to him. His eyes searched her face, which was pale, she knew. She avoided his gaze, wondering what he was seeing, what he was thinking.

  Simon sighed. ‘I want to take the fear out of your eyes, Christina. Why will you not tell me what is wrong so that I can help you?’

  He would help her? It was as if a warm, soft light had pierced Christina’s sense of aloneness that had begun to engulf her. A sudden desire to weep misted her eyes.‘How can you help me?’ she asked him, her voice husky with emotion. Afraid of what he might read into her reply, she summoned her self-restraint and a wobbly smile curved her soft lips. ‘As I said, there is nothing you can help me with.’

  Simon leaned in so close to her that his breath warmed her face. ‘And I do not believe you, Christina. You cannot hold yourself responsible for the problems you are thrust into.’

  How Christina wished it were so. But he did not know her. She sighed. ‘Things are not—easy at Oakbridge just now. You must have seen for yourself that the house is somewhat—run down. Things are not what they were when my father was alive. I learned when he died that I must be strong for my brother as well as myself.’

  Their eyes met. Christina saw no particular reaction in Lord Rockley’s, but he must know William’s love of the gaming tables in London had brought them to this.

  ‘You know, Christina, you are a complete contradiction to me—in fact, in everything.’

  ‘Why, what can you mean?’ she asked with a puzzled look.

  ‘Because one minute you look delicate and weak and very vulnerable, and the next you are strong and determined and more than a little obstinate.’

  She smiled slightly. ‘Oh dear! Is it that bad, Lord Rockley?’

  ‘I’m afraid so—and my name is Simon.’

  ‘But you hardly know me,’ she uttered reasonably.

  He shook his head, his fingers caressing hers, sending a wave of heat through her body. ‘You are mistaken, Christina. I need only to look into your eyes and I know everything I need to know about you. I know your beauty, your pain, your strength and your courage.’

  Tears filled her eyes, and she bowed her head. Security seemed an almost tangible substance whenever he was close to her, and somewhere deep within her a yearning grew, as if her soul commanded her to speak. ‘You cannot know,’ she whispered. ‘You cannot possibly know what my life is like.’

  ‘I believe I do—more than you realise.’

  There was a caressing note in his voice. Christina felt a sudden quiver run through her and a quickening within—as if something awakened that had been dormant until he had kissed her. Never had she wanted to be as close to a man as she wanted to be close to this man, never had she allowed her mind to be subjugated by her feeling in a situation such as this. It had always been too dangerous—and now more so than it had ever been.

  Simon’s face became very serious as he raised her hand and lightly placed his lips on her fingers. ‘Take care, Christina. I shall come and visit you very soon. You can count on it.’

  William came to stand beside her and together they watched Lord Rockley ride away with his valet. When they were no longer within their sights, they drifted into the drawing room.

  ‘He said he’d be back,’ Christina whispered. ‘I’m sure he will be.’ She looked at her brother. ‘I was surprised you invited Lord Rockley to stay for luncheon when you wanted him gone from here. Was there a reason for this?’

  William’s mouth quivered and his eyes filled with tears. ‘I had a letter from Miranda earlier. She is to leave London shortly so we should see each other very soon.’

  So, Christina thought, it was this that accounted for the change in him. ‘I see. If her father brings her to Oakridge, then it will be difficult keeping what happens here from them—unless we can put an end to it before they arrive. Lord Rockley spoke to you about Mark, didn’t he?’

  A thoroughly worried man, William nodded. ‘Good Lord, Christina! I had no idea—not the slightest inkling that the man was a Jacobite. You must believe me.’

  ‘I do, but Mark was so determined to use Oakbridge that it would have made no difference.’

  ‘I always knew there was something—but this! It’s incredible that I didn’t suspect him of being a Catholic.’

  ‘He pulled the wool over both our eyes. Did you divulge anything to Lord Rockley?’

  ‘No, but by God I wanted to.’

  The stoical gloom of the early afternoon was keyed to the sombreness of William’s dour temper. Christina took no notice of it. Her brother sulked like a punished child and went to the decanter to pour himself a brandy.

  ‘This is the worst thing, Christina. The very worst,’ he complained, gulping the amber liquid down. ‘That Mark and his kind are prepared to kill the Queen to achieve their ends is abhorrent to me.’

  This knowledge cut mercilessly into Christina’s heart with the precision of a surgeon’s knife. It forced her to see William and herself and their motives clearly, as if for the first time, and she was ashamed of what she saw. If facing Mark was the only thing which could save them from a future that terrified her, then they would have to do it. She signified as much to William, and her icy resolution astounded him.

  ‘I agree, which is why we must go and see Mark and tell him we want nothing more to do with this business.’

  ‘I can’t,’ William said with a rising panic, shaking his head and pouring himself another drink. ‘I can’t, Christina. You know what he will do. He will kill me.’

  She sighed, knowing it really was beyond her brother to stand up to Mark Bucklow. She wanted to hide herself away somewhere and give way to her sudden and appalling dread. She wanted to have someone take this burden from her, for she already had enough to carry as it was. She wanted someone to tell her what to do, as her parents had once done, as William had once done, but now her brother was waiting for her to be the decisive one.

  ‘Then you leave me with little choice but to confront him myself.’

  William’s eyes flared. ‘No, Christina, I forbid it.’

  ‘Then do it yourself,’ she argued angrily, unfairly, because deep down she was deeply concerned for William’s safety. That he remained safe and alive was paramount to all else, and she knew that, to Mark, William really was dispensable.

  William averted his eyes and shook his head dumbly, his hand trembling as he drank some more. ‘He will kill us, I know it,’ he said, placing the glass down noisily. ‘We will never be free of him.’

  ‘We won’t if we don’t do something about it.’

  ‘There is nothing we can do and he knows it, damn him.’

  ‘I will bribe him—offer him money—anything to get rid of him.’

  ‘But we don’t have any
money.’

  ‘This house still has objects of value we could sell to raise some money. If he is so desperate for money to fund his cause, then he might listen to me. We could sell the few jewels I have left—or some more paintings—or even some of your precious horses,’ she said drily, thinking of the splendid horseflesh Mark had presented him with in the early days to buy his loyalty before William had become wary and afraid of his association with a criminal and wanted out and before Mark had issued brutal death threats against him. ‘I’m sure they’d raise a goodly sum.’

  ‘No, Christina, not the horses,’ William uttered, crestfallen. ‘You know how much they mean to me.’

  ‘You have to be prepared to make sacrifices if we are to raise some money to pay Mark off.’

  Feeling the pressing burden of a mountain she was finding impossible to climb, Christina turned from him and went to the door. Her conviction was born of self-preservation, and in her heart that instinct had taken firm root. She believed that if Mark Bucklow didn’t shoot him first, William would hang if she did not pay heed to it, and her distaste for such an outcome meant she did not take long to linger in deliberation. Her course of action was clear. ‘The way I see it, there is only one thing for it. It’s up to me.’

  ‘Christina, you can’t. Think about it.’

  ‘I don’t want to think. If you think too much, you never do anything at all. I’ve made up my mind. I do not want to live like this any longer. I’ve decided it is time to put words into action. The time for secrets and reticence is past. As I see it we have no choice but to confront him—and failing that,’ she said, looking back at William, ‘I will go to Lord Rockley and tell all.’ Whatever else he might be at this blackest of moments, Simon Rockley was a strong, unwavering gleam of hope for her to cling to in the darkness.

  William paled and stared at her in disbelief. A silence dense and solid fell between Christina, enclosed in a steely resolve, and her brother, who was shocked by what she had said. ‘Are you mad? If you want me to hang then that is a sure way to go about it, for I will never be able to convince him I am not involved with Mark.’

  ‘That is a chance we will have to take.’

  William’s frightened words echoed in Christina’s head as she went out without giving him time to protest further. Usually at times like this, she would think of something comforting to say, but for once her bright, clever mind was blank, her tongue silenced, and she realised she was as frightened as William. When she came to any decision she always acted upon it at once without stopping to weigh up the pros and cons.Everything depended upon her now. She wasn’t sure she was up the task, but she had to try. She was alone against the evil of Mark Bucklow.

  * * *

  As Simon rode away from Oakbridge, Christina was very much on his mind. From the first moment he had met the beauteous young woman and had found himself staring into her darkly lashed blue eyes, he had known that his life would be lacking a most important substance without her in it. His emotions were unmercifully churned.

  Their earlier intimacy had taught him to see beyond the outer layer of the lovely, vibrant young woman and to read the true depth of the person hidden within. He realised with some surprise that for all the pleasure he had derived from their shared passion, some deeper, richer emotion was taking root in his heart. It had a quality that was outside his realm of experience. As yet, he could put no name to it, but it was satisfying knowing her feelings ran along the same lines. But while his hopes for the future blossomed, his fears at the same time ran as deep as a bottomless pit.

  William Atherton had been non-committal when Simon had had the same conversation with him that he’d had with Christina in the coach earlier. As soon as he’d mentioned Bucklow’s name, the young man’s expression had become shuttered and he’d given no indication of his own involvement, but he’d been unable to hide the fear in his eyes when Simon had divulged Bucklow was an ardent Jacobite. That Atherton was somehow involved with Bucklow he had no doubt, but how he had become mixed up with such a ruthless individual, and involved his sister, he had yet to find out.

  He had to save Christina from Bucklow. He had to protect her, even if she didn’t want him to. Even if he wasn’t here at Oakbridge, he had to be in a position to protect her.

  * * *

  Having ridden some distance from the house, something—an instinct, and he always trusted his instincts, told Simon to stop and wait. Was it coincidence or a stroke of luck for him when Christina and the groom he had met earlier galloped full tilt away from the house? Hidden by the thick foliage of the trees on the side of the road, he watched them ride by.

  ‘Now where does she go to in such a hurry, do you think, Henry?’

  Henry shrugged. ‘Wherever it is, she’s in a hurry,’ he replied.

  ‘Then I think we should follow. I think, Henry, that we shall find it interesting. In fact, it is possible that Miss Atherton is about to lead us to Bucklow.’

  * * *

  Christina rode swiftly, her determination only a little stronger than her fear. She was heading for the Black Swan Inn at Wakeham in the hope that Mark would be there. If he wasn’t there, she would have to return to Oakbridge and wait until he came.

  Unaware that Lord Rockley followed like a shadow keeping a close surveillance, and with Tom keeping close to her, she followed the winding river for a couple of miles until the land began to rise above the river bank and the road veered off in another direction. The road became a narrow lane, eerie and hemmed in by dense woods. Seeing no one, she followed it a while, then, turning a bend, she saw the Black Swan Inn.

  It was an ideal spot for highwaymen. She doubted very much whether any constable would put himself at risk by coming out here. It was now mid-afternoon and, apart from a dog which sniffed and licked around the yard, there was little sign of life around the inn. Telling Tom that she would enter the inn alone in the hope of finding Mark there, instructing him to keep out of sight and ignoring his angry objections, she dismounted and handed him the reins.

  Pushing open the inn door, she took a step into the smoke-and-liquor-smelling public room before letting the door rattle shut behind her. She took a close look around. The inn was small in comparison to some, and run down, catering to a shady clientele. The ceiling was low, but the room was wide, crammed with a crude assortment of grease-stained tables and benches. A few of these were occupied with a motley collection of drinkers—all strangers to her—and two men leaned against the bar, talking to the heavily bearded landlord.

  On seeing Christina, he stopped what he was doing and cast an eye over her. She looked highly respectable, not at all the type of woman who usually frequented the Black Swan Inn.

  Through a doorway at the back of the bar Christina could hear the clatter of pots in what she took to be a kitchen. She scanned the faces of the men at the tables who watched her. They were a disreputable lot, and they did not look away when her gaze touched them. Trying not to show her nervousness, she moved towards the bar. Gathering her courage, she enquired about Mark Bucklow.

  ‘If he is here I—I need to speak to him,’ she said, looking the landlord straight in the eye.

  ‘And you know this is where he might be, do you?’ the landlord said gruffly.

  Christina stiffened her spine, determined not to show weakness. ‘I was told this is where he can be found. Is he here?’

  ‘He might be.’

  The landlord looked her over with some scepticism before bidding her to wait until he found out if the gentleman was available and he had informed him of her presence.

  Trying to shut herself off from the many pairs of inquisitive eyes directed at her, she listened to the landlord stomp up the wooden stairs that led to the first floor.

  ‘Perhaps the lady would like something to drink while she’s waiting,’ one of the men at the bar said to the other.

  Christina looked at him and hesitated. She was hot and thirsty after her long ride from Oakbridge, but she was in a hurry to get her b
usiness with Mark over and done with and to be on her way. A moment later the landlord came heavily down the stairs.

  ‘He’ll see you. Says to go on up.’

  ‘Oh!’ she uttered, hiding the relief she felt that he was indeed at the Black Swan. ‘Will he not come down?’

  ‘He says you’re to go on up. His room’s right at the end of the landing.’

  His room! So he did reside at the inn after all. With nothing else for it, Christina gingerly climbed the stairs. She was not easily frightened, but it took some courage to walk deliberately into the lion’s den. The door to Mark’s room stood partly open, and as she drew near the entry and peered inside, it was evident he was in the process of shaving. He was standing over a bowl of water, looking into a mottled mirror on the wall as he scraped away at his chin covered with a thick lather of soap. A towel was draped across his naked shoulders. On seeing her in the doorway through the mirror, he removed the towel and wiped the soap from his face.

  ‘Come in, Christina. As you see, you take me by surprise.’

  With quaking heart and Mark’s recent intrusion into her bedchamber still at the forefront of her mind, Christina pushed the door open further and went in. His hair was wildly tousled as if he’d just risen from his bed.

  ‘This is an unexpected honour. How did you know where to find me? That I spend some of my time here is known to just a chosen few.’

  There was that mocking note in his voice that always made Christina shudder. ‘I made it my business to find out.’

  He nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips. ‘I always did consider you to be brighter than your brother. You came alone, I hope?’ His suspicion of trickery showing,he crossed the rough-hewn planks to the wide-open window and looked down into the inn yard. ‘Were you seen?’ he demanded sharply.

  ‘I don’t think so. One of the grooms accompanied me. He’s waiting for me downstairs.’

  As he sauntered back to her his smirk was unpleasant. ‘You must really want to see me to risk coming here. I’m honoured.’

  There was something humiliating and degrading in the way his dark, bold eyes blazed down at her, travelling over the gown covering her breasts, where it lingered overlong. Christina was grateful her square, lace-edged neckline was demure or she might have found herself blushing. Whereas Lord Rockley’s perusals evoked a sensuality within her that was hard to ignore, she was highly insulted by the brazenness of this man’s scrutiny. To her, he seemed the epitome of everything that was bad, and she didn’t care to confront him on any terms, let alone now when she had no one but an aged groom to serve as her protector.