‘Lover?’ Christina’s temper flared anew.
‘You! ‘ Mark showed his teeth in a savage snarl and threw an accusing stare at the young woman who just a moment before he’d been attempting to rape. His eyes flared with rage as he spat, ‘Bitch. You told them. You dared betray me.’
‘Betray you!’ She stiffened with alarm, for she had indeed intended doing just that if he refused her request to leave Oakbridge. ‘No, Mark, I didn’t. Lord Rockley must have followed me here. I swear I didn’t tell him—I swear I didn’t.’ No one listening to her could miss the note of desperation in her voice or in the expression on her face.
‘He isn’t surprised to find you here.’
‘I told you. Only because he followed me.’
‘It must have been a shock to his sensibilities bursting in on us and seeing what we were about. When you came to me all dewy eyed and soft lipped, little did I know we would be interrupted in our loving pursuits. Then, of course,’ he sneered as his gaze appraised the other man’s handsome looks, ‘I can see how he will appeal to your sex, my dear, and why you might have betrayed me with him.’
Christina uttered an indignant cry. ‘Betrayed you! You lie.’ Unable to hear any more and beside herself, she stepped towards Simon, desperate for him to understand what Mark had really been trying to do to her. ‘Don’t listen to him! He’s nothing but a mischief maker—a wretch who uses people to serve his own interests. Love, he called it. How dare you call it that?’ she flung at her assailant. ‘The barbarous way you treated me? Is that what you call love, you—’
‘Silence,’ Simon ordered. ‘I know what I saw and there was no resistance on your part. But enough. How and where you conduct your affair is your business, not mine, and I would appreciate it if you would keep the sordid details to yourself.’
Christina closed her eyes. She felt sick with anger and despair. She seemed to be caught in a web of half-truths more damaging than any insults. She realised how it must have looked to him. What he’d seen was corroborative evidence.
Simon’s voice rang out. ‘Will you place yourself in my custody, Bucklow, or must I take you by force?’
Mark bunched his huge fists, his eyes threatening to explode. ‘Attempt to take me anywhere, Rockley, and I’ll slit your throat,’ he bit out between his teeth. Hearing the clatter of horses’ hooves down in the inn yard and raised voices, he looked from Lord Rockley to the window as he considered his escape.
Christina remained stricken and frightened, seeing the rage running through Simon’s eyes as Mark sprang forwards, bitter hatred in his. All of a sudden, Mark staggered back when Simon sidestepped quickly and pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Mark’s chest.
‘Not so fast. Don’t do anything hasty. You’ll not escape, Bucklow. I believe those are the men sent by the magistrate I can hear below. There will be enough of us to deal with you as I would like, so I advise you to give yourself up. Do not give yourself up to death deliberately.’
Mark half-closed his eyes so that they gleamed like bright slits. ‘I think not, Rockley,’ he hissed. His next move was like lightning as he hit out with his fist and knocked the pistol from Simon’s hand.
Simon reacted with equal vigour and immediately seized Mark by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Christina fell back into a corner as Simon pounded Mark with the full force of his body behind his fists. She was shocked by this manifestation of violence from a man she had assumed was the very epitome of self-restraint. Mark was white with anger and fury and his anger gave him added strength. The two men fell upon each other, landing on the dusty floor where they became engaged in a desperate struggle. Their furious grunts were like those of wild beasts fighting for their lives and they moved so swiftly, Christina found it hard to follow their movements.
Punches were thrown and furniture sent clattering across the room. Mark fought like a man with no time to lose, tight-lipped, his face a mask of fury. Simon was constantly on the attack, but he was unprepared when the fight took them to the open window. Before he could be overpowered, Mark threw himself out just as the men who had come to take him prisoner could be heard clattering up the stairs.
Cursing fiercely, Simon grabbed his pistol and hung out of the window, taking aim.
Christina stared, round-eyed, then with a shriek and careless of her own safety, blindly she threw herself forwards. ‘No, No more! Please don’t kill him,’ she cried, throwing herself forwards and knocking Simon’s arm to distract his aim, unable to understand why she did so apart from the fact that she hated killing in any form.
Simon, surprised by her intervention, lowered his arm and looked at her, and in doing so allowed Mark to pick himself up, dust himself down, and with a mocking salute disappear into the woods. Cursing savagely, thrusting Christina away and calling her a crazy fool, Simon strode to the door where he barked orders to the men on their way up, telling them to scour the woods for Bucklow and any of his cohorts who could be found, before he turned to Christina.
‘You crazy little fool. You should not have done that. You should have stayed out of it.’
The air was hazy with dust as she stood there, numb and immobile. ‘I—I couldn’t let you shoot him in cold blood. Enough harm has been done.’
‘Bucklow deserves no better. Still, it is done now—and thanks to you the scoundrel has escaped. Follow me down,’ Simon told her, breathing heavily and wiping blood away from a cut on his lip, his fury reduced to a dangerous calm. He handed her a small cover from a nearby chair with which to conceal her torn gown, earning from her a quiet, ‘Thank you.’ He averted his gaze, allowing her a moment to cover herself, before going on ahead of her.
Sure that right was on her side, Christina followed him down the stairs and out of the inn. She was too proud to make excuses for herself, let alone implore his forgiveness. She had calmed down and now adopted an attitude of icy composure. Taking a deep breath, she tossed back a lock of hair and asked, ‘What are you going to do with me? My brother must be suffering great anxiety on my behalf. I am sure he would like to know—even if it should be the worst. Are you going to arrest me?’
Simon did not answer immediately. Christina could not know that if he refused to look or even speak to her, it was only because he did not feel in control of his emotions since first laying eyes on her in Bucklow’s arms. Added to this was the humiliating fact that Bucklow had outwitted him. He was in the grip of a white hot fury unlike anything he’d ever known, turning his mind into a boiling volcano of rage. Parading before his eyes were visions of a bewitching young woman in his arms, laughing up at him, yielding him her lips, such a short time ago. He cursed himself for his stupidity in trusting her.
‘While we search for Bucklow, you are free to go home,’ he said at length. ‘I will come to you there shortly.’
‘And William?’
‘He has committed a crime of such seriousness, I cannot ignore it. Your brother was foolish and gullible and basically weak. I will spare him if I can, but I promise nothing. You will tell him not to leave Oakbridge until I have spoken to him. Is that understood?’
Knowing how it must look to those gathered around outside the inn, Christina stood upright, clutching the cover tightly about her shoulders, enveloped in clouds of hair, which blew wildly about her in the strong wind that had risen, heralding the end of the hot and humid weather. As she walked towards Tom, who was holding her horse, she scornfully ignored the comments—some flattering, some impudent—that her predicament and her beauty brought from them.
She was aware of all these eyes looking her, but what angered her most was that Simon Rockley, believing her to be as guilty as Mark Bucklow, made no attempt to defend her.
* * *
As Mark fled from the Black Swan Inn, after escaping that arrogant, meddling lord, he’d dashed into the woods, frantic to make good his escape. Circling back to the inn where he dragged himself on to his horse, the rapidity of his flight was evidenced by the sound of the mount’s hooves cla
ttering out of the inn yard. He never halted until he was confident that he had lost his pursuers. Only then did he begin to breathe more easily. He did not much care that his plans had gone awry, but he had reached the point where he was tired of what he did, tired of being in England, and was impatient to go to France, where he would fight the Jacobite cause close to the young King James.
He was angry at being thwarted and made the fool this day, but there would be another day, and he would not forget Christina’s betrayal in a hurry. He vowed silently that he was not finished with her.
* * *
William was not at Oakbridge when Christina got back. Apparently he had left the house shortly after her own departure for the Black Swan Inn. According to one of the servants, he had been in a state of agitation. And, no, the servant said when Christina enquired, he hadn’t said where he was going.
Christina was deeply anxious about her brother. Simon Rockley would assume that because Mark Bucklow ran his criminal organisation from Oakbridge, he must do so with William’s permission and that would make him just as guilty in his book. She knew she would have to face what this would do to him and to his standing in the community when it came out—if Mark didn’t find him first and kill him. Her brother would be censured and condemned as a traitor and looked down upon by the very people who had been his friends, those same friends who had once been so proud to be associated with the illustrious Atherton family.
With a terrible dread she waited in a state of jarring tension for the inevitable moment when Lord Rockley would come. Her trembling had finally ceased, but she kept playing Mark Bucklow’s terrible attack over and over in her mind, remembering the loathsome feel of his hands on her innocent flesh, and then her feeling of absolute relief when Simon had stormed into the room, his face a mask of cold fury. She would be for ever grateful for his timely arrival and relieved that he had dealt with Mark, but she was deeply saddened that he had misunderstood the situation.
* * *
It was dark when he finally arrived at Oakbridge, dressed entirely in black. His arrival would be followed by grave consequences for its owner and his sister. As soon as Christina saw him enter the house, reluctant to come face to face with him, she left the window and sat down on the bed to await being summoned.
She didn’t have long to wait. As soon as she was confronted by his presence, she realised the maid had not exaggerated when she said that Lord Rockley was in a dangerous mood.
Christina was pale and quietly dressed, her hair was drawn severely back from her face, accentuating her high cheekbones and large eyes. Simon did not even turn round when she closed the door behind her. He stood looking out of one of the windows into the courtyard. He had his back to her and his hands clasped behind him. Without moving, he bit out, ‘Bucklow escaped us. No doubt you will be overjoyed to know that. But wherever he has gone, his criminal activities are over. You and your brother can say farewell to all the schemes you have hatched out between you. I have been told your brother is not at home. Is this correct?’
‘Yes,’ Christina replied.
‘And his whereabouts?’
‘I—have no idea,’ she replied with faltering truthfulness.
‘I find his absence disturbing and rather curious. I ask myself what kind of man is it that allows his sister to do his dirty work. You have been brought almost to ruin by his ill-considered actions, and with suspicion hanging over him, he has left his sister to face the music, while he cowers elsewhere like the spineless creature he is.’
Christina’s face flamed with indignation at the injustice of his remark. ‘I object most strongly—’
‘Object all you like,’ he snapped. ‘When I issue an order to someone I expect it to be obeyed.’
Only a few hours before this tirade would have reduced Christina to quaking submission. But now it left her unmoved and angry. ‘You are not in the army now, Lord Rockley,’ she said, reverting back to formal address despite him asking her to address him by his Christian name. ‘My brother and I are not your subordinates. If you cannot speak to me in a civil manner, then I will take my leave of you.’
Simon whirled round to face her. His face wore the same glacial mask it had displayed earlier. Indeed, it was so expressionless it might have been carved from stone. ‘Be careful what you say,’ he uttered harshly. ‘And don’t be misled by the fact that just a short while ago I showed myself indulgent in my dealings with you.’
‘One might almost say more than indulgent! ‘ Christina retaliated with calculated insolence. ‘I remember when I attracted you and you desired me. I was almost ready to surrender myself completely to you without shame or remorse—to let you make love to me. You see I no longer felt as if I belonged to myself. Why do you look at me like that? Are you afraid of me—of what I make you feel?’
He looked at her directly in the eyes. ‘Afraid? No, I’m not afraid of you or your blandishments. Do you really suppose you can fool me with pretty speeches? They trip so smoothly from your lips that one would have to be mad to believe them.’
Despite her intention of keeping her temper, Christina found herself provoked beyond endurance. To have her feelings spurned and vilified in this manner was intolerable. Earlier, on their ride together, she had ventured much too close, and without warning had suddenly found her heart hopelessly ensnared. Those mesmerising silver-grey eyes had the strength to weaken her knees as well as her wit and will and she realised the folly of having lowered her guard. How quick he had been to reject her, so quick to accuse her of being Mark’s mistress. How harshly and contemptuously he had cast her from him. The insults he had flung at her seared and scorched her heart, but she would not be bowed.
Raising her chin proudly, she glared at him. ‘Believe what you like. It is nothing to me. As I said, I will leave now since you clearly find my presence displeasing. If you feel inclined to do so, you can wait for William to return from wherever it is he has gone. If not, I bid you good day.’ She was turning towards the door when his voice rooted her to the spot.
‘Don’t you dare walk out on me. You will stay here and explain yourself.’
Christina paused and looked at him once more. Disappointment in him wrenched her heart. The image of the man she had erected had been too perfect, too handsome, too noble and too admirable to have been realistic. Now, seen through new eyes, she could not find a trace of gentleness or kindness anywhere in his tough, chiselled features. There was a ruthlessness stamped on his handsome face, implacable authority in the tough jaw line, and a cold determination in the thrust of his chin. Inwardly, she trembled at the hard cynicism she saw in his eyes and the biting mockery she heard in his voice when he spoke. It did not rise above its usual low timbre, but she was not deceived. He wanted answers and he would not leave until he had them. He came to stand in front of her, looming over her, his eyes glacial.
‘Last night, when I heard voices—it was Bucklow leaving your room, wasn’t it?’ he said, his tone biting, demanding.
‘Yes, it was,’ she answered. Having done nothing to be ashamed of, she had no reason to deny it.
His blistering gaze sliced over her with absolute contempt and his face took on a look that to Christina appeared positively satanic. ‘I thought so,’ he went on, her look telling him all he needed to know. ‘You are lovers.’
‘That, my lord, was unworthy of you,’ she protested in outrage. ‘And as you said, it is none of your business.’
‘It is for me to be the judge of what is or is not unworthy. And let me advise you to moderate your voice if you wish me to hear you out.’ There was a pause in which he scrutinised Christina’s pale face. ‘And now,’ he went on, ‘now you will explain yourself. You will give me a complete and truthful account of everything. Do you understand? No more lies. No more deceit. I want the truth, and the whole truth. You would be unwise to attempt any more falsehoods. I read you too well.’
Christina dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep them from trembling. The pang of misery
that shot through her was unbearable. But not for anything would she have given him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words had hurt her. Bravely she lifted her head and stared very steadily into his eyes. In a voice devoid of emotion, she said, ‘You wish to know everything. Very well, I will tell you. And I swear that it shall be the complete truth.’
She began her story, speaking haltingly at first, forcing herself to find words that would be simple and convincing. She told him of how, when their father had died, William had gone to London and met Mark Bucklow, how he had lost a fortune at the gaming tables and how Mark had loaned him some money to help pay off his creditors. She told how, to raise money for their everyday living, they had sold items of value out of the house, and how things had taken a more dangerous, sinister turn when Mark suddenly appeared and began using the chambers beneath the house for storing his ill-gotten gains. When William asked him to leave, he had refused.
‘At first neither of us realised what it was all about. It was only when we met some of Mark’s men that we knew it was something very different and no gay-hearted adventure. But through it all, even though we were aware that Mark is of the Catholic faith, we knew nothing about his Jacobite activities. You must believe that.’
During all this time, Simon did not interrupt, but as she talked Christina saw the tightening of his jaw and the ominous steely glint that came into his silver-grey eyes. When she had finished speaking, she met his eyes squarely and said, ‘You know it all now. I swear to you that everything I have told you is true.’
‘You knew what was happening. You are implicated in the crime. And Bucklow?’
‘What about him?’ Suddenly she became aware of what he was thinking. ‘You really do think that we are lovers, don’t you? You think that?’
‘Your word is a frail defence against overwhelming evidence. My eyes do not lie.’
‘If you will only let me explain—let me tell you—’
The Bride Wore Scandal Page 14
