The Bride Wore Scandal

by Helen Dickson

‘That foolish, foolish young man,’ Celia retorted crossly. ‘What a disappointment he has turned out to be. He had every opportunity to make something of himself, to make his father proud and look after his sister. Instead, what does he do? He throws it all away for the amusements to be found here in London. It’s a disgrace, an absolute disgrace. And this Bucklow fellow? Has he been apprehended?’

  ‘No, unfortunately not.’

  ‘Then let us hope he is caught before he decides to avenge himself on your weak-minded brother.’

  Christina blanched at these harsh words. ‘It’s what we all hope for, Aunt.’

  ‘Of course you do. But there is more, isn’t there, Christina?’

  Swallowing hard, she nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid there is.’

  Telling her aunt about her relationship with Lord Rockley was a different matter entirely, for Christina found it difficult discussing such intimate things. For a moment she hesitated, but her aunt’s fading blue eyes regarded her with such a spontaneous sympathy that, lowering her gaze, she continued with her story, falling silent after she quietly announced that she was carrying Simon Rockley’s child.

  Christina feared her aunt’s reaction to this, but the old lady was not without experience. Leaning forwards, she patted her goddaughter’s hand as it lay on her lap and sighed deeply.

  ‘And to think I thought I had led an exciting life. You, my dear, leave me standing.’

  Christina raised her eyes and almost timidly asked, ‘You are not shocked?’

  ‘Indeed I am. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know how disappointed you must be,’ Christina said forlornly, looking down at her hands. ‘I’ve brought disgrace to my family.’

  Celia smiled at her gently. ‘Nonsense, my dear. Sometimes a girl cannot help the things that happen to her. She’s just a victim of circumstance.’

  ‘Or Lord Rockley,’ Christina murmured.

  ‘Or Lord Rockley. Thank goodness you did not try to keep this from me—although it was not what I expected to hear. I do not blame you. You found yourself in a situation where you had no choice—you merely followed your heart.’ She cocked her head on one side and eyed her niece quizzically. ‘This Lord Rockley. What are your true feelings for him? Are you in love with him?’

  Christina shook her head. What could her aunt be thinking of to ask such a preposterous question? Had she not understood anything she had told her? For a second Simon’s tall figure seemed to invade the quiet room, but Christina thrust it back.

  ‘In love with him? No—no, of course I’m not in love with him.’

  ‘So why do I see shadows in your eyes when you speak of him?’

  ‘I allowed myself to become—vulnerable,’ Christina whispered.

  ‘And the child? Lord Rockley will do the honourable thing and marry you, I trust?’

  Christina grimaced. ‘If he does, he will do so for the child alone.’

  ‘Christina, you are a lovely young woman, inside and out, whom any man would be glad to marry for herself alone. Lord Rockley is lucky to have you, regardless of the manner of it.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ Christina replied. ‘But even if we were to marry, it is all so complicated.’

  Celia’s eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to her. ‘Am I to understand that he knows nothing of the child?’

  Christina shook her head. ‘No. I have not told him—indeed, I have not laid eyes on him since.’

  ‘Then he must be told. He has a right to be told. Then you and he will work it out.’

  So torn about her emotions was Christina that tears stung her eyes. ‘It is not that simple. If he rejects me, how will I bear it?’

  ‘Christina, none of us can predict what others might do. You care for this man. I know it—no matter how you try to hide it. You just have to allow love into your heart.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can,’ Christina whispered at last.

  ‘You will, and in the meantime we must work out what’s to be done.’ She glanced at her niece, a sudden frown creasing her brow. ‘You—do intend informing Lord Rockley that he’s to be a father, don’t you, Christina?’

  ‘Yes. I think I must. As you said, he has a right to know.’

  ‘And the sooner the better. Where is he now?’

  ‘I believe him to be here in London. He has reason to think this is where Mark Bucklow can be found.’

  ‘I see. Then I shall make enquiries as to where he is staying. It shouldn’t be too difficult tracking him down.’

  * * *

  The following day began a period of social activity for Christina as her aunt escorted her to several minor social events. Attending concerts, plays, visiting museums and one exhibition after another was part of a cultural repertoire that shaped Celia’s everyday life. For Christina these were occasions when she could become reacquainted with old friends. It was only after two weeks of being in London, at a party given in the Assembly Rooms close to Charing Cross, that her aunt finally ran Lord Rockley to ground.

  It was a well-attended affair. The noise of the throng, the heat and the music hit them when they entered the ballroom, where an orchestra played on a raised platform at one end of the room. It was a kaleidoscope of colour, of dazzling ball gowns, men in brightly coloured waistcoats of silks and satin, and powdered wigs of every description. Celia was a popular figure and was at once surrounded by her friends.

  When Christina was being led off the floor by her partner after dancing a minuet, a man appeared in the doorway. Christina recognised Simon instantly. Her heart gave a fearful leap and she swayed on her feet. She caught a glimpse of his aristocratic profile and tall and erect figure, whose every line was eloquent with haughty contempt. She watched as he greeted a friend and then turned to survey the scene, a bored expression on his darkly handsome face.

  As if he knew she was there, he turned his head slowly. His sombre gaze met her own and stayed there without flinching. His mouth lifted in a slow, amused smile, and, raising a finely arched brow, he inclined his head to her in the merest mockery of a bow. Conscious of those searing eyes upon her, Christina trembled. With unsteady fingers she clutched her gown at her bosom, remembering that powerful gaze that seemed to strip the clothes from her body.

  He disappeared as the party guests surged around in a rough swell of movement. Christina turned away, but his presence was like a long, drawn-out torture for her. Throughout the evening she talked, smiled and graciously accepted the attentions and compliments that her beauty attracted. But all the while her eyes sought out Simon Rockley.

  Celia rarely left her side. When a friend told her that Lord Rockley had arrived at the assembly, she scanned the guests until her gaze fell on the man she was sure was responsible for her niece’s wretched condition.

  ‘Is that Lord Rockley?’ she asked Christina.

  ‘Yes, that’s him,’ Christina replied, trying hard not to look at him.

  ‘I thought so. He’s terribly handsome, isn’t he?’ Celia noted that the gentleman was surrounded by several young ladies. With heightened colour on their cheeks and eager gazes, they all vied for his attention. Lord Rockley, she noted, was treating them with a bored, amused tolerance. His attention was on the only woman in the room who was immune to his magnetism. Christina.

  * * *

  Across the room, Simon had to drag his gaze from Christina and force himself to converse with his friends, so that he wouldn’t meet her gaze and wouldn’t start wanting her. Wanting her? he thought with bitter disgust. He had started wanting her ever since he had seen her that day by the stream, and he wanted her no less badly now, within minutes of seeing her again.

  Clad in a gown of sapphire-blue silk spangled with silver, her hair perfectly arranged in curls around her perfectly shaped head, she made his body harden with lust. He glanced at two of the ladies in his group—both beautiful women, beautifully gowned and coiffed, their manners impeccable. Neither one of them would have considered removing their stock
ings and dipping their bare feet into an ice-cold stream, or attempting to rescue a dog from a trap of thorns. But then, neither one of them would have looked so wonderful had they tried.

  In the past he’d thought Christina was some kind of sorceress because she’d mesmerised him so completely. Now he tried not to look at her, but he could actually feel her gaze on him. The glances were soft and inviting. They infuriated him and made him want her more, for didn’t he know what it was like to feel her writhing beneath him, to have his hands all over her body? Christina alone knew what she could make him want—and make him remember.

  He knew about her brother’s marriage and that Christina had come to London to live with her aunt soon afterwards. He had also known that she would be at the Assembly Rooms tonight. Knowing this, he had been driven by a ridiculous eagerness to see her again. He had been tormented by the manner of their parting. He had left her in anger and confusion, when he should have offered her firm but gentle moral support. By now that beautiful, spirited girl had probably worked herself into a fit of rebellion because he had made no contact with her since he had taken her virtue.

  Simon’s loins tightened as he recalled the way she yielded to him, having surrendered her maidenly inhibitions. The sweet desire she felt for him had been there. She had wanted him, and he had wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

  Observing the beautiful young woman swirling around the floor in the arms of a good-looking young swain, suddenly furious with his weakening resolve, he excused himself and moved away from his group. He would leave and go to his club, where he intended to drink himself into a private stupor if that’s what it would take to keep him from going to her. Yet there she was, standing beside an elderly lady—her aunt, he thought—and, as if his feet moved of their own volition, he found himself heading in her direction.

  * * *

  Christina watched Simon approach, her mouth dry. A tall, slender-hipped, broad-shouldered man, Simon Rockley was as handsome of physique as he was of face. Attired in silver-grey silk and white shirt and stock, he looked the part of landed gentry. His chiselled profile was touched by the warm light of innumerable candles, and the growing ache in her chest attested to the degree of his handsomeness.

  Now the moment had arrived, Christina turned her thoughts back to her present predicament and cringed inside at the thought of the outcome. Suddenly she was reluctant to speak to him. As he strode nearer, there was something about his measured stride that suggested the implacable approach of Fate itself. Her heart suddenly started thumping wildly. It was this that she had been dreading, as Lord Rockley no doubt felt obligated to dance with her.

  When she thought of the manner of their parting, that he had left her to face what he had done to her completely alone—and the cruel things he had accused her of prior to this—she was tempted to turn her back on him and walk away. But to do that or to refuse to dance with him outright would publicly humiliate him and herself, yet her fierce pride ached to do precisely that. He was a man of such arrogance, she would love to deflate him. He might have saved her from Mark Bucklow’s lust and covered up William’s part in that Jacobite affair, but she refused to be the object of any man’s pity and was frantically searching for a way to balance common sense with pride when he halted before her.

  Simon bowed with a grand, sweeping gesture. ‘May I have this dance, Miss Atherton?’ His heart slammed into his ribs when she raised her eyes and met his gaze. Try as he might, he’d been unable to wipe her from his mind this past two months, and now, being in the same room as her only made his desire stronger. Why did he lose all restraint when he was near her?

  Doing her best to avoid her aunt’s curious gaze, Christina lifted her chin, keeping her voice low so only he would hear. ‘You honour me with your request, Lord Rockley, but surely you would enjoy the dance more with another choice of partner.’ She gave the slightest of nods to other young ladies plainly eager to dance with him.

  Simon gave no more than a flicker of a glance in their direction before settling his eyes on Christina once more. ‘I am single-minded in my pursuits. It is you I wish to dance with, Miss Atherton. Had I wished to partner anyone else, I would have asked them.’

  ‘Then what can I say except that I accept. But before you whisk me into the dance, Lord Rockley, I would like to introduce you to my aunt, Mrs Celia Slater. Aunt Celia, you remember I told you about Lord Rockley and his pursuit of a certain criminal who was terrorising the neighbourhood around Oakbridge.’

  Celia’s eyes locked on to those of the handsome Lord Rockley and she smiled assuredly. ‘You did indeed, Christina. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Rockley. I wish you every success in bringing that particular criminal to justice.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Slater. I have every confidence that I shall—and I would like to say that it’s a pleasure to meet you, too.’

  Purposefully Simon took Christina’s arm and guided her on to the dance floor as the strains of the music filled the room. They began to dance, slowly at first, until the rhythm of the music eased their tensions and they began to unbend. The enchanting chords began to entrance them as each was filled with the other’s presence. They moved with the music and swept and swirled around the floor. Christina knew only that Simon’s arm was around her and his dark, handsome face above her. He was conscious only of her softness within his embrace, the delicate scent of her perfume, and the dark, mysterious blue of her eyes.

  ‘I must thank you for—for not divulging William’s part in that awful business at Oakbridge,’ Christina said when they had to slow down because of the sheer crush of dancers all vying for the same space on the floor. ‘I have been thinking what would have happened to him if—if he had been arrested. I can only say thank you.’ It was an effort to force the words from between her teeth, although in fairness she knew they must be said.

  For a moment she thought he was going to laugh, but instead he replied, ‘I did not do it for your brother. I did it for you. Had he been arrested, you would have been forced to share the grim consequences that would be immediate and unavoidable, for it would have been nigh impossible to convince everyone he didn’t know what was going on at Oakbridge. You did not deserve that.’

  ‘Yes—thank you. Although there is always the danger that someone will talk. After all, Mark’s men were convinced William knew what was going on.’

  ‘The men you speak of—those who are still at liberty—are scattered far and wide and only interested in saving their own hides. Worry not, Christina. You can relax. I have quashed any rumours connecting you and your brother to the crime. To his credit, William’s abhorrence for the Jacobites is well known. No one will believe he allowed them to use Oakbridge to further their cause. Since I don’t want it spread about any more than you, it will be our deep, dark secret.’ He raised a brow as he queried, ‘Do we understand each other?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Both William and I are grateful for what you have done. And—and Mark?’ she dared to ask, hesitantly, bravely. ‘You—have no word of him?’

  Simon’s lips twisted in a semblance of a smile, the angry look that entered his eyes telling Christina that the moment of intimacy that had kept them entranced at the beginning of the dance had vanished. As soon as the words had passed her lips, she regretted having asked, for as things stood between her and Simon just then, she might have been wiser to keep quiet. But she had never learned to resist the impulse of her heart, especially where important matters close to her family were concerned.

  ‘It matters to you, does it, Christina, what happens to him?’

  ‘I ask only out of concern. I—I would like to know what has happened to him—yes.’

  ‘Then be content when I tell you that I am on his trail. I have approached several of his associates here in London—all connected to the criminal underworld, I might add. He has unfinished business with them—they owe him money apparently. He is bound to turn up soon. After that I believe he will try to make his way to France an
d his fellow Jacobites.’

  ‘And you are sure of that, are you—that he is in London, I mean?’

  Simon looked down at her, his brow furrowed. ‘I am—unless you have proof that he is elsewhere?’ His frown deepened when she quickly averted her gaze and bit nervously on her bottom lip. ‘Christina,’ he said, his voice hardening, ‘tell me what you know. I demand the truth.’

  ‘Well—yes, I—I have seen him. Once,’ she confessed quietly.

  ‘Where? Where, damn it?’ he demanded angrily, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of the other dancers.

  ‘At—at Oakbridge—just before I left. He—he wanted somewhere to stay until it was safe for him to move on.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘William refused to let him into the house.’

  His eyes hardened. ‘And did it not occur to you to report the incident?’

  ‘William was going to do that.’

  ‘I see.’ Simon was beside himself with fury. He was incensed that she had seen and talked with Bucklow since they had parted. Thirty-one years of strict adherence to certain rules of etiquette could not be completely disregarded, and Simon kept his expression guarded, giving no hint of the rage boiling inside him like a

  fiery acid as his feet continued to move in time to the music.

  He was silent for a moment as he turned the information she had given him over in his mind, and then, his expression as sardonic as ever, and neither candid nor even remotely friendly, with a mocking smile he said, ‘There’s no need to distress yourself, Christina. If Bucklow is not in London and you have seen him at Oakbridge, then perhaps I should switch my investigations back there. Rest assured that I shall find him. I am determined to see him hang. And since you appear so concerned, I shall be sure to inform you of the fact so you can say your farewells before the noose is finally placed around his neck.’

  His taunting smile seared Christina and brought a rush of colour to her face. He was cruelly laughing at her and her stung pride would not allow that. He was treating her as if there had been nothing between them, as if they had never shared the intense passion between a man and a woman. It was incredible to her that those firm lips had kissed her, that those hands had caressed her and given her such delight. It was this incredulity rather than resentment over his attitude to Mark that brought her chin up defiantly. She glared up at him.