‘No, Christina,’ he said icily. ‘No more. I have heard enough. I know how little your pretty speeches are to be trusted. I remember how you evaded the issue when I asked you about Bucklow. When I asked you if you knew his whereabouts, you told me you didn’t. That was a blatant lie—for when he wasn’t at the Black Swan Inn, he was here at Oakbridge, making use of your house for his criminal activities. At every opportunity your deception has got in my way. How you must have laughed when in good faith I asked you to trust me. I was a fool. You are to be congratulated, Christina. You have at artful tongue and great powers of persuasion that would put all the deviants I have ever known to shame.’
Christina backed away from him. She placed a shaking hand on the back of a chair as if needing support, but her eyes met his proudly with a look as cutting as steel. He had, in those few, brief moments, become a total stranger to her. An impenetrable barrier had been thrown up between them, without doors or windows, one she would never break down. She smiled contemptuously.
‘You have it all worked out, don’t you? Very well. I have nothing to say to you in my defence since I see little point in wasting my breath on someone whose ears and mind are closed. Please go now. No doubt you will be back to speak to William. Anything further you have to say to me, you will communicate through William.’
‘Do not worry, you will not be questioned further,’ he said, striding towards the door. ‘After this I do not care a damn where you go or whose bed you occupy. You have a highly refined sense of survival and I have every confidence you’ll land on your feet wherever you go. No doubt you’ll join up somewhere with Bucklow. Wherever he is, Bucklow has an equally good sense of survival—but he cannot run for ever. I am sure the two of you will find a nice little hovel to roll about in somewhere.’
Unable to believe he was saying these cruel things to her, Christina’s face went white with anger and her eyes glittered. ‘How dare you?’
With his hand on the door handle Simon paused and looked back at her. ‘But I do dare, Christina. You, my dear, are a born courtesan if ever there was, and you don’t set too high a price on your charms.’
His words effectively destroyed Christina’s last shreds of self-control. Nothing could have more blatantly underlined her wretched status in his eyes. ‘For pity’s sake—what have I done to you that you should treat me so?’
‘What?’ said Simon sarcastically. ‘You need me to spell it out? That you could happily climb into bed with Bucklow only hours after leaving my arms? Who knows? Perhaps you were acting under instructions, and it was your way to wheedle information out of me while I was in the throes of passion. Congratulations. You drove me out of my senses for a time. I shall have to put it down to the fact that I haven’t met whores as attractive as you, and now my senses are fully restored I see you for what you are.’
Mad with rage now, forgetting the passion he had awakened in her, Christina stalked with clenched fists to where he stood. ‘I think, Lord Rockley, you should apologise to me for that.’
‘Apologise? To Bucklow’s whore?’
He spat the word at her. At this cruel attack she saw red. The whole gentle interlude they had shared had turned into a humiliating farce. It was no use arguing, she realised, because this man was blinded and deafened by fury. She was about to turn from him when a sudden surge of pride made her lift her elegant head and fix scornful eyes on him.
‘One day,’ she said coldly, ‘you will go down on your knees before me and beg my forgiveness for what you have just said to me. But I will not forgive you. You will get neither pardon nor mercy from me.’
As she turned from him his hand shot out and grasped her arm. In a soft, blood chilling voice as he loomed over her, he said, ‘Those are words you will never hear from me. When this is over I shall forget you as if you had never been. The next time we meet will be in a court of law when you are convicted. Be prepared to see your lover hang, and after that…’
Christina threw back her head insolently. ‘You have cast me in the role of villain without granting me the courtesy of a hearing. No rightful magistrate in the land would dare convict a felon without a fair trial.’ She gave a cold, mocking, maddening little laugh of contempt. ‘If you were sitting on the judge’s bench, you would joyfully have had me strung up beside Mark by now.’
‘Aye,’ he growled. ‘You and your brother both—’
He would have gone on, but his furious diatribe was interrupted when Christina, beside herself with rage and indignation, dealt him a resounding blow across the face. The sight of the shock and surprise followed quickly by absolute rage that entered his eyes did not cause her the slightest twinge of regret. He had insulted her basely and she felt obscurely happy at having been able to inflict pain on him.
Mechanically, Simon raised a hand to his cheek, which was turning red. To all appearances it was the first time such a thing had happened to him and he was rendered speechless. Realising this, Christina threw her head back proudly and contemplated him with satisfaction.
‘Forget me if you can, my lord, but after that I doubt you will be able to.’
When he’d gone, Christina stood staring at the closed door for a long time, her chest heaving with anger. Gradually she felt her strength leave her, to be replaced by a terrible pain in her heart. Would she ever see him again? What did it matter? What did his fury matter to her now? He had inflicted a cruel wound on her. What had happened was irrevocable. He scorned and despised her, and all because of a misunderstanding that she was too proud to clear up, and he was too stubborn to learn the truth.
He had wanted proof of her innocence, if he were interested in her at all, which she was now convinced he was not. When she looked at it from his side, she had not defended herself because she was guilty. What other excuse could she have had?
She closed her eyes, willing the tempest to calm inside her, and when she opened them again she took a deep, determined breath. Where was William? Where was her brother? She must go and look for him.
* * *
Simon left Oakbridge to ride to the magistrate’s house. Tomorrow he would take a look at the chambers beneath Oakbridge where Bucklow had stored his stolen goods. In a state of anger and frustration, he rode his horse hard in an attempt to put his thoughts into proper perspective. He always found it diverting to race across the countryside on the back of a stallion without regard for speed or the terrain. Following his meeting with Christina, he wasn’t in the mood to care, not when he wanted to take his mind off the cold, dark emptiness that had settled on his heart.
He rode past the place where he had kissed her, but the memory of that blissful time—was it just that morning?—darkened his mood further, for it brought to mind the difference a few hours passing could bring to a man’s life. Could a woman who had so ardently yielded to his embraces, and still warm from those embraces, then turn so completely about face and callously give herself to another? If she was truly innocent and what he had witnessed was Bucklow taking advantage of her, why had she failed to defend herself? Was it because she had not wanted to add another falsehood to the list, adding further proof of her guilt?
* * *
When William had failed to come home that night, Christina’s worries for his safety increased. Morbid images of him in serious peril assailed her relentlessly. As the hours of the morning ticked away and still he did not return, spurred on by a sharp goading fear that he had left because of his deep-rooted fear of Mark, after donning her riding clothes, she went to the stables.
Her mare seemed to sense her mistress’s urgency, for when Christina touched her heels to her flanks, she leapt into motion. Soon they were racing down the lane towards their nearest neighbour—the first of many that she would visit that morning to enquire if they had seen William, but without success.
* * *
After two hours of riding about the countryside and having run out of ideas of where to look for him next, she turned for home, hoping that in her absence he would have returned. P
eering up at the sky, she felt her heart sink and new fears congeal in her chest. The winds she had relished earlier had strengthened, bringing with them a roiling mass of black clouds that snuffed the last of the rosy glow from the horizon. Even as she started towards home, a jagged steak of lightning tore across the sky in a sizzling display of the storm’s power. Droplets began to fall, first in a light sprinkling that washed the dust from the air and brought the sweet scent of rain, and a moment later she was being pelted by stinging rain as a torrential downpour marched across the land.
A groan of despair slipped from her as she urged her mare into the shelter of the trees and out of the punishing rain. The horse responded readily, quickening its pace, but even the trees offered small relief from the torrent of rain unleashed upon them. Floods of water poured down upon the earth, blurring the outlines of everything around her. Christina could barely see, and in no time at all her clothes became so thoroughly soaked that they clung to her like second skins.
Suddenly, to the side of her, a dark shape flitted through the trees. With her heart thumping in her breast, gazing over her shoulder she peered through the pounding rain. Nothing stirred and yet she could not shake off the feeling that someone was out there. Uneasy, she urged her mare forwards.
Looking around for better shelter, she suddenly realised that she was close to the entrance to the chambers beneath Oakbridge. Being surrounded by a thickly wooded area on all sides, they were well concealed. She was loathe to enter, but at least they would provide shelter from the storm. Long before she reached the chambers she was shivering and utterly miserable in mind and body. Dismounting, wind billowed beneath her wet cloak, sending a piercing chill through her as its frigid breath touched her soaked gown. Leaving her horse beneath a lean-to close to the entrance, she stumbled inside, taking a moment to adjust her eyes to the gloom.
Inside it was cold and damp and very still. Lighting a couple of candles, she sank down on to a pile of sacks. Peeling off her dripping cloak, no sooner had she done so than she became aware of someone outside. Watching the entrance in horror, terror seizing her heart, through a curtain of wet hair covering her face, she looked at the figure that pushed its way inside. His long cloak streaming with water, his face invisible under a wide-brimmed hat, she knew it must be the person she had glimpsed in the wood.
At first she thought it might be a member of Mark’s gang of thieves who was not aware that the game was up, that his leader was being sought and that he should give their base a wide berth. Then she felt suddenly cold. It was not until he removed his hat and lifted his head that she saw it was Simon Rockley. If he was surprised to see her, he gave no sign of it. Those eyes of his, which she had only yesterday seen softened by tenderness, were hard and he held his head in just the same arrogant way.
Chapter Seven
‘Well, well,’ he said, and there was a touch of irony in his mocking tone. ‘I thought Bucklow’s gang of thieves would have deserted this place as fast as rats deserting a sinking ship.’
Christina looked at him, the cut on his lip and bruising on his face brutal evidence of his encounter with Mark’s fists. Uneasy about being alone with him, she was conscious of the sudden tension and nervousness in her. She was uncomfortably aware of their last encounter the night before, and the scene flashed into her mind with all its searing pain and bitterness. Scrambling to her feet, she drew herself up, trying not to think of her uncomfortable, clinging wet clothes. The image of Mark Bucklow rose between them, intangible but strong, and an unexpected sense of pain filled Christina’s heart.
With an effort, she said, in the coldest and most condescending manner, ‘Good day, Lord Rockley. I needn’t ask what brings you in such haste to this place.’
He raised one thick, well-defined eyebrow, watching her. A faint half-smile played on his lips as if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. ‘No,’ he replied, his gaze doing a quick sweep of the large chamber, noting the chests and sacks of stolen goods still stacked against the walls, before coming to rest on Christina once more. ‘While I was out hunting a wild animal of the human kind, I glimpsed you in the woods. I took you for one of his cohorts and thought if I followed you you would lead me to his lair. As luck would have it that is precisely what you did. With a bit of luck he will return to it and be caught red-handed.’
‘There are no wild animals in these parts, Lord Rockley, as you choose to call Mark Bucklow, only men trying to evade the law,’ Christina retorted with sudden impudent defiance, resenting his effect on her, the masculine assurance of his bearing.
The flowing cloak accentuated the long lines of his body, and she noticed again how incredibly clear his eyes were in the flare of the candles, the flames wavering and setting strange shadows dancing around them. She was conscious of an unwilling excitement, seeing him arrogantly mocking and recklessly attractive. Here they were, just the two of them, together in this deserted place where only the elements ruled, in an atmosphere bristling with tension.
‘If you think Mark will come back here then you are in for a long wait,’ she said belligerently, fiercely. ‘He is clever and cunning, not stupid, as you seem to think.’
For a fleeting second the intensity of Simon’s silver-grey eyes seemed to explode. An expression she did not understand flashed through them, then it was gone.
He smiled sardonically. ‘And as I expected, I take note of how quick you are to defend him,’ he remarked coldly. ‘And you? If you are not here to meet up with Bucklow, what are you doing here?’
‘Just in case you have not noticed, my lord, it is raining,’ she uttered sarcastically. ‘I am here for no other reason than to seek shelter.’
‘It is foolhardy to be out riding in such weather.’
‘It wasn’t raining when I left the house. I was looking for William—he failed to come home last night and naturally I am anxious as to his whereabouts. As soon as the rain shows signs of abating, I will make my way back.’
‘But you don’t have to do that. You could return by way of the tunnel that connects the chambers to the house—as you did on the night of the party.’
‘I could, but my horse might not take kindly to being dragged along a dark and narrow tunnel. Besides, it is locked at the other end, the key inside the house.’
Hands on hips, Simon glanced around. ‘Then it looks as if we’re stuck here together until it stops raining. We might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait,’ he said, removing his cloak and sitting on a large crate.
Christina’s eyes struck sparks of indignation. ‘You are conceited if you think I welcome your company. My desire is for you to leave me be.’
‘You would have me go out in this weather?’
Her trembling chin raised to a lofty angle as she eyed him coldly. ‘Yes, if it would relieve me of your detestable company.’
He looked back at her coldly and sprang to his feet in one quick, effortless movement. ‘You’ll be rid of me soon enough, I promise you. Meanwhile, I’ll take a look around.’
Christina cast her eyes around the chamber. ‘What will you do with the things that are left here?’
‘I shall inform Mr Cruckshank of what this place contains and he will see to it that the stolen goods are returned to their rightful owners.’ He looked at her, noting as if for the first time that she was soaked to the skin. Her snarled, glistening hair was tangled around her head and shoulders, and her dark eyebrows and lashes were shocking streaks across her pale, wet face. Taking pity on her wretched state, he said, ‘You really should go back to the house. You’ll catch your death. I have a dry redingote rolled up behind my saddle. Shall I get it for you?’
The softening in his voice stung her to attention. His concern was the last thing she expected or wanted from him. Just when she had hardened her heart against him he had to appear anxious for her well-being. Remembering the door he had brutally slammed in her face, she glared at him mutinously.
‘Spare me your concern. Keep your gallant offering,L
ord Rockley. I have no use for it, and after your condemnation of me last night, I find it in poor taste.’
Simon arched a brow as he peered at her. ‘Are you trying to convince me how foolish you are?’
‘Foolish or not, I will not wear it.’
At first Christina thought he would insist, but then he shrugged and turned from her, and said, ‘Suit yourself.’
With her cheeks and hands icy cold, Christina watched as he prowled about the chamber, contemplating several packages in thoughtful silence. She thought he had forgotten all about her, but after a while he turned and looked at her pointedly.
‘I imagine you are concerned as to Bucklow’s whereabouts. Fear not. If we fail to locate him, he may yet escape the scaffold—but I very much doubt it.’
‘You do not understand—you will never understand,’ Christina burst out before she could stop herself.
‘I can understand only too well, but don’t worry your lovely head—he may well come back to you, one way or another before he is captured—as will your brother when he deems it safe to do so.’
Christina’s hands clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed white, her mouth tense with astonished rage. ‘Now you go too far. How dare you?’ she hissed, all fired up. ‘Who are you anyway, to come here insulting me and my brother—you, who are not even good enough to lick William’s boots. You aren’t worth a tenth of him—you—you cold, arrogant, callous monster. Why don’t you go away and leave us alone?’
His eyes met hers in fearless, half-challenging amusement. ‘Now it is you who goes too far. Licking boots is not my stock in trade.’
Christina struggled impotently for the last vestiges of thin control, feeling it crack under the strain as he studied her, unabashed. He stepped closer, and all at once, in her weakened state, she found his presence threatening. Their eyes met and held for a long moment, the retired military man and the English gentlewoman, and although neither abated their dignity, or their unspoken opposition, the attraction between them was almost palpable.
The Bride Wore Scandal Page 15
