The Bride Wore Scandal

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Don’t be. I’m here to ask you once again—and I hope for the last time—to leave Oakbridge. You must find somewhere else to store your ill-gotten gains.’

  ‘Is that all? And I was hoping it was my own charming self you had come to see.’

  He was taunting her as he invariably did, and it was with a combination of anger and nervousness that she said, ‘I have made it plain to you what my feelings are. I am here to discuss a way out of this mess for William and me. Nothing else.’

  Mark looked at her with some amusement and not a little impatience. ‘And you think I might have softened between last night and now, do you, Christina? Think again. If you imagine that I’ll simply pack up and go, then you are mistaken. I meant what I said. I’m going nowhere. I will see your precious brother dead and in hell first.’

  ‘Please, I implore you. William is not one of the other poor fools you have inveigled into this mad, dangerous venture—this Jacobite scheme which can only end in death. To do all this, to risk death, for a king you have never seen.’

  ‘You know nothing of Jacobite affairs,’ Mark snapped in anger. His expression became ugly. ‘Until my business is finished, I’m going nowhere.’

  ‘Not until you have supplanted Queen Anne and installed James on the English throne.’

  He smiled thinly, his hooded eyes darkening. ‘So, you know about that—not that it matters. How do you know that I am a Jacobite? How do you know, Christina?’

  ‘Lord Rockley told me,’ she said, her voice quivering with desperation, ‘and we want no part of it, do you hear? Especially after what happened to Mr Senior when his coach was held up by you or another of your gang of thieves last night. You terrified that poor man to death.’

  Mark chuckled at her rising ire, not in the least concerned by the death of one of his victims. ‘That was unfortunate, I grant you, but he was old anyway. His death is hardly a loss.’

  ‘You would complain if you were the wife of that man. You are evil,’ she accused. ‘Evil. William is risking everything by letting you use Oakbridge for your treasonable activities—everything, and it cannot continue.’

  Mark shot her a dark look. ‘Treasonable? Be careful how you bandy that word about, Christina. It will go ill for the man—or woman—who betrays us.’

  ‘And you don’t care how many people you hurt or kill in your aim to succeed, do you?’

  He shrugged, growing tired of the discussion. ‘The end will justify the means, so they say.’

  ‘So you intend to go on stealing indefinitely.’

  ‘Out of necessity—until I have what I need. I had to have a great deal of money to accomplish my goal, and there was no way I could earn it honestly. I became a thief, yes, but I only rob the rich, the gentry, lifting baubles from empty-headed women who won’t mourn their loss. Some jewels are valuable, but their value decreases drastically when I take them to the fence—the best fence in London, I might add. A few more jobs and then I will retire and go to France.’

  Becoming silent, he reflected on the beauty of the woman. Always cold to him, he likened her to an ice maiden. There were times when he was tempted to break through that thin barrier of ice and have his way with her. One day in the near future he fully expected to reap the rewards of his patience—but then, why wait? She had come here of her own volition. She was alone and must have known the risk she was taking.

  ‘We will give you some money if you agree to leave,’ Christina offered in desperation, moving towards him, her face eager with her decision.

  His look was one of contempt. ‘Pay? What with? As far as I am aware, your brother has precious little money to bandy about.’

  ‘We would consider selling off some land…’

  ‘Land?’ He laughed, shaking his head, as if what she had suggested was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. ‘I don’t think so, Christina. Sell it by all means and give me the dues, though it will not persuade me to leave.’

  Suddenly he moved closer to her, bending his hateful face close to hers. His eyes devoured her with greed in his ruddy face and a repulsive smile twisted his lips. He noted the moment when she shuddered in revulsion. His laugh was scornful as his gaze roamed over her and he seemed to enjoy the fear he saw in her face. ‘You know what I want, Christina. There is a way William can eventually be free of me. His sister only has to be nice to me.’

  ‘No,’ she choked through her fright, stepping back. ‘No! You’ll never have me! Never!’

  Mark laughed in a terrifying way and Christina braced herself to flee and made to dart past him, but he was quick and caught her round the waist, dragging her writhing, kicking and with arms flailing about in an attempt to claw him or do him some injury. Pressed against his naked chest, heavy with the flab of good living, Christina continued to struggle, but his arms held her in a bone-crushing grip that made her breathless and made movement nigh impossible.

  ‘Let me go.’ Sick with revulsions, her voice was little more than a desperate whisper.

  ‘So, my beauty! So we’re showing our teeth, are we? Don’t want to give me my bit of fun, eh? I have different ideas. I plan to have you, so there’s no reason why you should fight me. I’m a strong man. I do enjoy force if that is what it’s to be, but I prefer willingness.’

  Terror shot through Christina when he lowered his head to hers and she realised her mistake in seeking him out. She cursed herself for being unable to free herself from the trap she had set for herself. He laughed again as she tried to turn her face aside, but he dug his fingers into her jaw and, with his tongue, ravished the depths of her mouth. Holding her with one muscular arm about her slender waist, with the other, just where the point of her collar ended, he ripped open the bodice of her gown.

  * * *

  Unaware that they were being observed by Tom hidden from view among the trees, Simon and Henry surveyed the Black Swan Inn into which Christina had disappeared.

  ‘What are you planning?’ Henry asked the stern-faced Lord Rockley. ‘Do you think Bucklow is inside?’

  ‘I would bet on it,’ he replied, knowing they were dealing with a dangerous man. ‘The man I saw looking out of that upstairs window at the end of the building I would swear was Bucklow. We must proceed with caution.’ Hearing the gentle whinny of a horse close by, he rode towards the small thicket. Before he reached it, Tom came out, leading Christina’s horse.

  ‘Where’s your mistress?’ Simon demanded. ‘Did she enter the inn alone?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Aye, she did. I wanted to go with her, but she told me to wait here.’

  ‘Would I be right in saying she has come here to see Mark Bucklow?’ When Tom stared at him mutely and shook his head, Simon snapped impatiently, ‘Answer me, man. I have no time to waste.’

  Bending to the other man’s authority, Tom nodded. ‘She came to see him—even thought I tried to talk her out of it. But he might not be here.’

  ‘He’s inside all right—and we don’t know how many of his cohorts are in there with him.’

  ‘Should we summon more men?’ Henry asked.

  Simon nodded. ‘Cruckshank assured me he has men standing by should I need them. You know where he lives, Henry, and fortunately it’s not too far away from here. Ride hard and tell him to get here without delay.’

  When Henry had ridden off, Simon surveyed the inn a while longer. Taking note of Tom’s agitated state and afraid that Christina might be in danger, he decided not to wait for Henry to return and approached the door with Tom close on his heels.

  His eyes did a quick sweep of the men drinking at the tables before he turned his attention to the landlord and demanded to see Mark Bucklow. At first the man’s manner was furtive and defiant, but when Simon made him aware of his identity and his purpose for being there, and that more men sent by the magistrate were about to descend on his inn at any moment, reluctantly he directed him to the stairs.

  As those present seemed to melt into the shadows,staring up the stairs, Simon felt the hackles prickle on th
e back of his neck. A chill seemed to penetrate his inner soul and he had to shake himself from the spell of it before he began to climb.

  Chapter Six

  No matter how hard Christina fought Mark in desperation, it was no use. He flung her on to the bed and himself on top of her, pinning her down. The weight of his sweaty body was so heavy that she wondered if her ribs could stand the pressure without cracking. The fact that she was being held against her will by this loathsome man, and the looming possibility that she’d soon find herself a victim of his lust, was not only thoroughly frightening to her, but immensely revolting.

  His lips sank to her throat, moving on to her bosom. She winced in pain as his sharp teeth bit the tender flesh, and a sick feeling of nausea rose within her when his questing hands lifted her skirts and fondled the bare flesh of her thighs. She continued to struggle with every measure of resolve she could muster to gain her freedom, until, no match for Mark’s brute strength, she felt her own strength leave her and she lay pliant beneath him. The utter helplessness of being a woman totally at the mercy of this man struck her with full force.

  Then, invaded by a nameless terror, she lay perfectly still, her gaze suddenly riveted beyond Mark to the open doorway. She had to bite her lips to stop herself crying out in horror, for she saw who stood there. It was Simon Rockley. His tall, broad-shouldered figure blocked out the light and seemed to fill the whole room.

  Sensing a change in her, seeing her stricken face, her eyes wild as she stared at the doorway behind him, Mark raised his head and looked towards the door. The smile of triumph on having Christina pliant beneath him froze on his face. With an angry snarl, he leapt to his feet. He would have rushed the intruder, but seeing him holding a sword pointing directly at him in one hand and the glint of a pistol in the other, then eyeing his own pistol out of reach on the table beside the bed, he backed off warily.

  Christina shrank against the pillows. The blood left her face and rushed to her heart, which seemed to have stopped beating, leaving her suffering as she had never suffered before. Her eyes never left Lord Rockley’s eyes, which were wide and savagely furious as he looked at her in murderous silence, his lips curling with disgust as he absorbed the scene. Such a transformation had come over his features that she recoiled before the change. All that had ever been controlled, attractive and good-humoured had given way to hot fury and positive revulsion. The silver-grey of his eyes seemed sheathed in ice, and anger fixed his mouth into a straight line.

  ‘My compliments to you, Miss Atherton,’ he emphasised contemptuously, ‘on your duplicity and your dishonesty.’

  With a wildly beating heart, she stammered, ‘S-Simon…’ She longed to run towards him and explain that the scene was not at all as it seemed.

  His eyes threatening to explode on finding the woman he wanted for himself inextricably entwined with the villain he now had every reason to believe was her lover, Simon looked at her. His gaze took in her hair, a mass of disordered curls about her head, her clothes creased and in disarray, her bodice torn. Despite her ravaged appearance she looked glorious and he hated her for it—for bestowing her favours on Bucklow so soon after leaving his arms. Rage ran through him.

  ‘Be quiet,’ he ordered. ‘This is a matter for Bucklow and me and I order you not to interfere.’

  ‘But it isn’t what you—’

  ‘I told you to be quiet,’ he hissed, his eyes blazing, refusing to yield an inch. ‘I don’t want to know what is between you and this—this scurrilous villain. I’ve more important things to consider.’ His gaze shifted to Mark. ‘If you make any forward move to get away from me, I’ll blow your head off. Do you understand?’ He hesitated until Bucklow replied with a hesitant nod of his head. ‘Now carefully pick your weapon up by the cylinder, place it on the floor in front of the bed and slide it very slowly over here to me. If you make one quick or unnecessary movement, you will be the one to pay for it. And it you don’t think I have it in me to kill you, you are mistaken.’

  Simon met his opponent’s gaze and, reading the simmering anger in his eyes, knew he was dealing with a dangerous man. As instructed, Bucklow took the pistol from the table and laid it on the floor and pushed it out towards him, then gave it a light shove, sending it sliding slowly across the floor. Without taking his eyes off Bucklow, Simon gently kicked it back to the doorway and Tom.

  ‘Take it,’ he instructed. He waited until his order was obeyed before handing his own pistol to Tom. ‘Keep it aimed on this villain, Tom. There’s no telling what he might do.’ Holding the sword in his right hand, he waved it at Bucklow. ‘I’ll allow you to get your shirt on. Though Miss Atherton may prefer your present state, I’m sure there are other ladies who will be unduly shocked if you go out wearing only your breeches.’

  As Mark reached for his shirt and thrust his arms into the sleeves, Christina quickly rolled off the bed and stood quivering at the side of her attacker. She was still furious from being manhandled by Mark and at Simon’s mistaken assumption that she had been enjoying it. Her hair was streaming all over the place, and the bodice of her dress was parted down the middle, which she hastily pulled back together—but too late to hide the plump flesh of her breast and shoulder.

  Knowing how this must look and the look on Simon’s face telling her he was quick to judge, her dominant self-respect flared into life. His manner infuriated her. Angry and humiliated, her eyes sparkled wrathfully and her look clashed with his like steel on steel. They glared at each other for a moment, like two fighters measuring each other up, the one tall and haughty in the doorway,the other like a young fighting cock refusing to lower her gaze.

  Simon’s eyes passed briefly and with withering contempt over her, before discarding her and moving on to the man who stood beside her.

  ‘So, you are Bucklow. On one black day of despair I vowed to kill you.’ He took a step forwards, and when he spoke again his face had a look of such implacable hatred it transformed his features. ‘Listen to me carefully,’ he said, in a voice where anger simmered just under control. ‘I had a niece—she was the most beautiful child—who never did anyone any harm. But you shot her down like a dog. You killed her, you bastard—and wounded her father, my brother. Not a day has gone by since that I haven’t cursed you, Bucklow, and I swore to hunt you down and see that justice is done. And don’t insult me by denying what you did or that you don’t recall the incident.’

  There was so much fury and anguish in Simon’s voice that Christina’s eyes filled with tears. What Mark had done to Simon’s niece was too cruel to be borne, and the destruction of that world of love which had grown up around that young girl’s death was too brutal.

  Mark gave a casual shrug, his action compounding the crime. ‘Aye, I remember. It was unfortunate, but I haven’t lost any sleep over it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’ Simon’s lips curled with contempt as his eyes did a quick sweep of the room. ‘I presume this is where you spend your days skulking away from the authorities.’

  ‘And you’re the ferret employed to seek me out,’ Mark growled, eyeing the tall and powerful, good-looking man warily, bitter hatred in his eyes. He remembered the girl he spoke of, how she had tried to run away when he had stopped their coach; when her father had run after her he had shot them both. He spat in disgust on the floor, measuring this man and the threat of his sword. ‘The only thing about weapons is that one can never be quite sure of the other man’s abilities. I have heard that you are a dangerous man to tangle with, Rockley. You may be good,’ he sneered, ‘but are you good enough? I know how to keep myself safe and out of the reach of your kind.’

  ‘Clearly not,’ Simon said, moving further into the room while Tom looked on, fearful for his mistress. ‘It’s been no difficult task running you to earth. Perhaps now you will learn that stealing other people’s property doesn’t pay.’

  ‘I have a cause to fund—but then being the thorough investigator that you are, you will know all about that.’

  �
�I know that you are an active Jacobite and that the money you receive from stolen goods goes to fund the Jacobites in France—a cause that is doomed to fail. Despite being a Catholic, your father is a respected lawyer without a stain to his character. Unable to condone your Jacobite sympathies, it is no secret that he kicked you out. Forced to fend for yourself you turned to crime—to highway robbery.’

  A derisive chuckle came from Mark. ‘And why not? I’m good at what I do. My grandfather was a highwayman, so it must be in my blood.’

  ‘By all accounts he was hanged for his crimes—that, too, is in your blood, Bucklow. If you took money from

  your own kind to fund your cause, I would not take such a harsh view, but to terrorise others, to steal from them and often resort to murder when they resist, convinced me you had to be caught. So, by the authority of the Lord Lieutenant of this county, I am here to arrest you and order you to accompany me to a place of incarceration. You will then be taken to London, where you will be tried at the next sessions of the Old Bailey, where you will be called upon to answer for your crimes—among them your involvement in a plot to kill Queen Anne, a treasonable act.’

  ‘Like hell I will,’ Mark retorted, roughly pushing Christina away from him.

  Simon looked at her mockingly as she gripped the wooden bedpost to stop herself falling. ‘I owe you my thanks for having effectively detained this villain, Miss Atherton. My instinct told me that if I lingered around Oakbridge for long enough you would lead me to him eventually. How convenient for me that you kept your lover abed until I got here.’