Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride

Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesClaiming the Marchesi bride Some call Christina Thornton spoilt, others simply call her beautiful. But one thing’s for certain: she’s a young woman firmly in charge of her own destiny…or so she thinks! When the dark-hearted Count Marchesi rides into town, it is to claim Miss Thornton as his bride. Christina’s stubborn protests are of no use, for her future is in the hands of this brooding Italian.But how long can wilful Christina resist her passionate husband, when her heart is urging her to give in…?

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

Eyes narrowed, with a proud lift to her head, she waded out of the water and moved towards him, seemingly not in the least embarrassed at confronting a complete stranger in her sodden petticoat.

‘I trust you’ve had an edifying look, sir—pretending to be a gentleman, riding about the countryside on a fine horse on the look-out for poor, defenceless girls.’

Max smiled. ‘You? Defenceless? Now you do exaggerate. Something tells me you are afraid of no one.’ Her clenched fists and rose-tinted cheeks, the brilliance of her green eyes, told him so.

The accented voice was courteous enough, which only seemed to exacerbate Christina’s temper. ‘Have you nothing better to do with your time?’

‘I can’t think of anything more pleasurable just now than looking at you,’ he replied easily. ‘I was merely out riding.’

‘Then you must be a stranger, otherwise you would know you are trespassing. This is private land.’

A slow, appreciative smile worked its way across his face as his eyes raked her from head to toe once more and then moved back to her furious eyes. ‘A thousand apologies. I hadn’t realised. But my crime—if that is what it is—was well worth it.’

Helen Dickson was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her husband, on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

Prologue

During the quiet of the afternoon heat, when everyone was at rest and nothing moved in Castello Marchesi in the Tuscan hills, the boy crept up the curving staircase and gingerly went towards the nursery. Pushing open the door, holding his breath, he halted on the threshold and peered inside. The light was subdued, the curtains having been partly drawn, one of them fluttering in the gentle breeze from an open window.

Rosa, the nursemaid, was nowhere to be seen, but he knew she wouldn’t mind him being there. Looking directly ahead of him, his eyes came to rest on a cradle with diaphanous curtains.

Tiptoeing across the richly patterned carpet, he peered uncertainly over the side at the tiny bundle lying there—a girl just six weeks old. Inhaling the innocent fragrance of her, studying her face with a smile of wonder, he watched her sleep.

As he looked at her he felt a stabbing pain of joy to his heart and tears sprang to his eyes. Never had anything moved him as this child did, and with infinite gentleness he reached out his hand and touched the tiny fingers curled into a ball on the pillow beside her cheek. They twitched and he smiled, his bright blue eyes alight with tenderness.

‘Do you know how beautiful you are?’ he said aloud to the child, and then, more softly. ‘You are the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen.’

The child’s eyes opened a moment—emerald green and sparkling, exquisite they were—unusual, the boy thought, he had been told that all babies’ eyes were blue when they were born. They fluttered closed and he laughed softly. ‘Oh, you little beauty,’ he whispered, his heart aching for his own empty childhood. ‘You see, little one,’ he murmured, lightly brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, ‘already I disturb your dreams. With eyes as lovely as yours you will set the whole world alight. If only you knew what trouble your arrival has created.’

This was true, for what a terrible time that had been when Lydia, the baby’s mother, had died. Her father, Roberto, unable to cope with the grief of losing his beloved wife, had appeared at Castello Marchesi with the child and faced his mother, the boy’s step-grandmama, and begged her to take the child. From where he sat in a secluded part of the balcony reading his book, he had heard it all.

Looking through the glass doors his gaze had been drawn to his step-grandmama. Tall and thin with a spine ramrod straight, her eyes were alight with the brilliance of a demon as she glared at her son. Although he hadn’t known Lydia well, he was aware that she had been a wilful, spirited young woman—unlike her husband, who was totally subordinate to his formidable mother. As always, it was his step-grand-mama’s voice that prevailed. Roberto had sat cowed, too distraught to put up a defence. That was when he had heard his own father calling his name from the drive below and he’d turned away.

Leaving the child to sleep, he left the nursery, only to return the next day clutching a small fluffy bear as a gift. But things were not right. Rosa was folding a basket of freshly laundered clothes on the table, and he saw that she was quietly weeping. His eyes went to the cradle and slowly he walked towards it and bent to look inside. It was empty.

He straightened slowly and turned, looking at Rosa with a sudden tension on his face. ‘Rosa? Where is she? Where is the baby?’

‘The English lady and gentleman—you remember, they came yesterday. The lady is the baby’s aunt—Lydia’s sister. They—have taken her to England.’

‘You mean Grandmama has given her away?’ He stood transfixed, unable and unwilling to believe the old lady would do such a cruel thing. ‘But—Roberto will look after her. He is her father.’

‘Roberto has gone.’ She shook her head, sorrow etched into every line of her face. ‘He said he was not coming back.’ Rosa stopped what she was doing and looked at the boy. His eyes were wide open, his face like a chalk mask. ‘The English couple will be her parents from now on,’ Rosa said gently, wiping away her own tears, for she had become fond of the child and she would miss her.

‘She will have a new father and a new mother, one who will love her as much as Lydia, which she would not have—’ Rosa bit her lip to stop herself saying more, for Countess Marchesi had laid down a proviso before the couple left. She had insisted that the child be raised knowing who she was and when she was eighteen she would return to Italy and wed her betrothed—this young boy whose heart she had already stirred. Their union would join two of Tuscany’s most successful houses. The boy was at an impressionable age. These things were best left to his family to explain.

‘But this is her home. I thought we would be a family now. Oh, Rosa, this is too cruel.’

Striding out of the nursery, he went to his room and through the French windows out on to the balcony, where the olive groves and the vineyards with rows of ripening grapes spread out before him.

Having told him as gently as she could, Rosa watched him go. She’d never before encountered the pent-up, rigidly controlled grief that the boy displayed, and for the first time she realised his mind was so powerful that it seemed able to completely override all his emotions when he wished. Rosa had cared for him since the moment of his birth—the moment he had taken his first breath and his mother her last.

He was well cared for with everything money could buy, his school in England the very best, but of parental care there was a total lack. His step-grandmother was a cold woman who grudgingly accepted his presence and wore the air of someone doing a duty where he was concerned. His father was kind, in his brisk, ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ manner, but it was Rosa to whom the boy turned for the love and affection he craved, from Rosa, fifty and never married, that he received it.

All manner of things careered through the boy’s mind, not the least of which was his own loss, of the child he felt closer to than any human being. It came to him that if the child had been given away then neither his grandmama nor her father could love her—if they did, then they would not have done it.

A dark anger rose up in him as he dwelt on the child’s image, and with tears running fast down the coldness of his face—the first and the last he would ever shed—he looked up at the sky, a breathtakingly beautiful blue. And in a firm, clear and defiant voice he said, ‘She was mine. That child was mine. One day I will find her. I swear I will.’

It was the sound of her ringing laughter that first drew Maxwell Lloyd to Christina Thornton. Until now only the subdued call of birds, his own quiet breathing and the lazy drone of a browsing bee disturbed the silence of the woodland. Riding slowly along the dim chequered path, he heard more shrieks and laughter, now masculine as well as feminine. He came out of the trees and on to the edge of the small private lake on Sir Henry Thornton’s estate. It basked in the benign warmth of the sun and long tendrils of willow brushed the surface.

On the grass he observed two pairs of men’s boots and stockings neatly tucked into the tops. Beside them were two piles of carefully folded trousers, shirts and tweed jackets. A little further apart what he saw brought a smile to his firm lips and told him much about the owner of the possessions. A small pair of leather shoes and more delicate cream stockings had been discarded with less care on the ground, and a red dress had been thrown untidily over a bush—such fine-quality material would not be worn by a servant.

Halting his horse on the edge of the trees, he surveyed the scene before him with astonishment. The sun was hot and the water looked cool and inviting and, had the lake not been occupied by three young things, he would have taken off his clothes and dove into the silent dark depths himself.

Two boisterous young men were cavorting in the water with a young woman scantily clad in what he assumed must be her petticoat. With carefree, wholesome hearts they were too absorbed in their antics to notice him, so he could look his fill.

But he only had eyes for the young woman. In those first dazzling moments he acted as any hot-blooded male would and all he could do was stare as a thrill of excitement ran through his veins. But Maxwell Lloyd was no ordinary man and he recovered at once.

Of medium height and as slender as a wand, her perfectly rounded breasts rose in two delectable white hemispheres above the lace of her petticoat. Saturated, it clung to her, outlining her body, her hips arched from her small waist, and the perfect shape of her legs. Her breathtaking beauty quickened his soul and stirred his mind with imaginings of what further loveliness lay concealed beneath her flimsy attire. Her hair was an explosion of bright, rich, dark brown curls hanging down her back to her buttocks in a tangled mass. Her face was heart shaped, her mouth like a ripe raspberry.

The two young men, one dark, the other fair, were teasing her mercilessly, splashing her with water and shrieking louder when she tried to back away and fell, dowsing the whole of her in the lake. The fair-haired young man took her hand and hauled her to her feet; not a bit chagrined, with a riotous sense of fun she laughingly threatened them with the same. In mock-terror the two young men immediately dove under the water and, when they emerged, with strong swift strokes began swimming towards the centre of the lake.

The young woman watched them go without attempting to follow. Throwing back her head, she laughed loud, with none of the ladylike posturing of other young ladies of Max’s acquaintance.

‘Cowards,’ she called, shaking her fist high. ‘You can look out. When you come back I’ll get my own back. I swear I will.’

Max was riveted. Vibrant and vital, she had a freshness and a delightful simplicity that captured his attention.

Suddenly her back stiffened and she became still, like a young animal that has caught the scent of danger. She spun round and her gaze flew directly to where horse and rider stood. Eyes narrowed, with a proud lift to her head she waded out of the water and moved towards him, seemingly not in the least embarrassed at confronting a complete stranger in her sodden petticoat. There was indignation in the thrust of her chin and anger in her narrowed eyes. Stopping a short distance away, her feet were luminously white on the green grass.

How small and slender they were—like a child’s, Max thought. He could see her eyes were heavily lashed, tilted, feral, and emerald green. Something that had lain dormant for many years stirred inside him. There was something about her, the boldness in her eyes, the tilt of her head that attracted him.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said boldly, having no idea who he was. ‘We were unaware that we were being spied on.’ Lifting her chin haughtily, she met the brilliant blue eyes beneath dark brows that were observing her with frank interest—far too much interest, she thought as he scrutinised her with a thoroughness that made her feel more undressed than she was. His gaze moved over her unabashedly. She stiffened with indignation. No one—especially not a man—had looked at her in quite that way before.

The man was obnoxious, she decided, although the clean-shaven face beneath his thick black hair was terribly handsome, she would grant him that. There was also an uncompromising authority in the set of his jaw and an arrogance in the tilt of his head that was not to her liking. Astride a magnificent strawberry-roan horse, his skin was as brown as if he was used to hot climes, which put her in mind of her friend’s brothers, when they had come back from serving in the army in India.

Christina’s pride had been pricked and she was hardly in the mood to forgive this stranger for being at hand when she was so scantily clad. With ill-suppressed ire she scowled up at him. ‘I trust you’ve had an edifying look, sir—pretending to be a gentleman, riding about the countryside on a fine horse on the look out for poor, defenceless girls.’

White teeth gleamed in a reckless smile as Max responded. She was like a kitten spitting and showing its claws. Again his gaze slid from her moistened lips, following the line of her throat down to the tantalising orbs of flesh exposed to his view above her clinging wet petticoat. With her head thrown back and her irate breathing, they quivered and peaked invitingly, emphasising the undeniable fact that she had left her childhood behind and was on the brink of becoming an alluring woman.

‘You? Defenceless? Now you do exaggerate. Something tells me you are afraid of no one.’ Her clenched fists and rose-tinted cheeks, the brilliance of her green eyes, told him so.

The accented voice was courteous enough, which only seemed to exacerbate Christina’s temper. ‘Have you nothing better to do with your time?’

‘I suppose I could find something to occupy me,’ he replied easily, ‘but I can’t think of anything more pleasurable just now than looking at you. I was merely out riding. The day is too pleasant to remain indoors.’

‘Then you must be a stranger, otherwise you would know you are trespassing. This is private land.’

A slow appreciative smile worked its way across his face as his eyes raked her from head to toe once more and then came back to her furious eyes. ‘A thousand apologies. I hadn’t realised—but my crime, if that is what it is, was well worth it,’ the foreign voice said smoothly.

‘Really?’ His eyebrows arched and his eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement, which seemed to infuriate her all the more.

Her tart reply almost brought Max to outright laughter. ‘Then since I am trespassing and you apparently are not, I can only assume you must be related to the Thorntons.’

His eyes widened as a slow realisation of who she really was made its way from the wound that had been inflicted on his heart so many years ago and never healed. ‘I see,’ he said, giving no indication that he knew more about her that she would like. ‘Forgive me if I seem surprised.’

‘It’s not every day I come across a young woman cavorting near-naked with two gentlemen in the same state of undress.’

Unashamed of her behaviour and resenting his interference, she threw back her shoulders and lifted her head haughtily, unaware as she did so how the gesture lifted the roundness of her pert breasts and caused Max to experience an exquisitely painful sensation in the pit of his belly.

Turning her head, she looked in the direction of the lake. There was no denying the look of melting adoration when her eyes lit upon James’s bobbing fair head as he continued to swim away from her.

Her head swivelled round to find his eyes probing hers. As she comprehended his meaning, bright pink stained her cheeks, her expression telling him they were in love so there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. ‘Yes—yes, he is. He is also a gentleman, which you clearly are not.’

Max raised a sardonic brow at her tone and contemplated her snapping green eyes. ‘That’s quite a temper you have there.’

‘Yes. It can be quite ferocious when I’m provoked. Now, please go away. We are enjoying the sun and minding our own business. I suggest you mind yours. You are intruding.’

‘Hostile, too. I don’t usually encounter such hostility on a first encounter.’ Max looked down at this spirited young woman, her flashing eyes and defiant chin elevated to a lofty angle. He cocked a dubious brow. ‘However, I would have supposed a true gentleman would not engage in this kind of sport with a gently reared young lady. I find it hard to believe your father allows such wantonness.’

Her hand pushed back the heavy weight of her hair from her forehead. ‘He doesn’t know; besides it’s none of your business, Mr…’ She shrugged for she couldn’t care less who he was. ‘Whoever you are.’

‘Maxwell Lloyd,’ he provided, finding himself unable to look away from her. In his experience, beautiful females were always conscious of their appeal and the fact that she either didn’t care, or didn’t know, further added to her allure. Firm hard flesh, he thought—she would be hard and soft in all the right places. Damn it! What was wrong with him? It wasn’t spring, when a man was expected to have aberrant thoughts, when the wind was soft on exposed flesh after a long, hard winter—when sap was rising—and she was right. What had it to do with him?

Suddenly the sun was painfully, unbearably brilliant. He wanted to ride away. What did he care for these three young people enjoying the day and each other? And at the same time he wanted to prolong the moment, to keep the girl talking—this special girl—to fill his eyes and his ears with the sight and the sound of her.

The name was unfamiliar to Christina. She tossed her head haughtily. ‘No matter. Please go away. Not only are you a trespasser, you are offensive.’

‘I apologise if that’s how I seem to you, Miss Thornton. But I have to say that you are the rudest, most impudent young woman I have ever come across, and I have every sympathy with your parents,’ he told her calmly, ‘and why they don’t take you in hand I can’t imagine. My father would have had you thrashed and locked in your room with nothing to eat and drink but bread and water for a week.’

For an incredulous moment Christina was speechless, then, forgetting her intention to walk away, she glared up into his far-too-handsome face, with authority and arrogance stamped all over it, her eyes two brilliant chips of ice. That was the moment she decided he was detestable.

‘I can thank God he is not my father, who is more civilised,’ she hissed. ‘I am perfectly content with the one I’ve got. I don’t give a damn who you are or where you come from—’

Christina could feel the colour burning on her cheeks as she gazed at him with pure loathing. ‘I say what I like. My only concern is that wherever it is you do come from you return there and stop bothering me.’

Max grinned affably and prepared to ride away. ‘I think I like bothering you, Miss Thornton, and I shall enjoy bothering you a good deal more before I’m done.’ Inclining his head politely, his eyes doing one last quick sweep of her delectable body, he said, ‘Good day’, and rode away.

When the stranger had disappeared back into the woods, somehow Christina managed to turn and make it back to the edge of the lake. Suddenly the brightness had gone out of the day and the breeze held a bitter chill. Stepping into the water, feeling the coldness lap at her ankles, she paused and took a deep breath and tried to stop the angry trembling inside. What a dreadful, dreadful man, even more dreadful than any man she had ever met, and she detested him thoroughly.

Suddenly James rose out of the water and splashed towards her, his lips stretched in a wide smile over his youthful face, his blue eyes laughing and so very appealing, and suddenly the warmth came back into the day and the obnoxious Mr Lloyd was forgotten.

The Thornton family had a long and distinguished history in Cambridge. In the reign of Queen Anne, William Thornton, a man who revelled in hunting and was a lover of all country pursuits, had bought several hundred acres of farmland and forests, built the magnificent Tanglewood and settled his family there.

It was so named because of the thick woodland that had to be cleared so the house could be built. It stood at the end of a drive of beech and oak like a timeless old lady, its brooding structure of mellow stone preserved for centuries, looming out of the shadows of another time.

Having separated from James and Peter, Christina made her way to the back of the house. It would never do if Mama saw her in her bedraggled state. Hopefully she’d make it to her room and she would be none the wiser.

She entered the servants’ block, with its numerous rooms housing at least fifteen servants, as furtively as any criminal. Unfortunately she had to go by the kitchen, which was the proverbial hive of industry, with extra catering staff employed to assist cook with the evening’s dinner party. She would be lucky to pass unnoticed. She didn’t. Holding her breath as she sneaked past the open door, she froze when Mrs Barnaby’s voice boomed out.

Carrying her stockings, her skirts saturated halfway up to her waist, her wet petticoat uncomfortable beneath her dress, with her face a picture of guilt, Christina slowly turned and looked into the cavernous kitchen with its ranges, dressers and gleaming copper pans and a massive central table. Kitchen maids, preparing ingredients for Mrs Barnaby’s use, and scullery maids, scouring pans at a large pot sink, paused in their work to gape open mouthed, their eyes popping out on stalks, at the young miss who resembled a drowned rat. Although it was nothing new. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen her in a similar state—often much worse.

Attired in a pristine starched white apron and cap, moving towards her, her hands on her ample hips, Mrs Barnaby’s eyes ran up and down her appalling appearance disapprovingly. ‘Why, Miss Christina, it’s plain to see you’ve been on one of your jaunts. I don’t know what your mama will say to this.’ Hadn’t she seen her crossing the park in the direction of the lake with Mr Peter and his friend hours ago, their laughing faces as they larked about seeming to suggest they were up to something exciting?

Mrs Barnaby had been at Tanglewood since before Christina was born and, with the familiarity of an old retainer, felt she could say what she liked—indeed, every one of the servants and even Lady Thornton stood very much in awe of her.

Well and truly caught and in something of a fix, knowing she would have to bluff her way out of it, on a sigh and shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, Christina shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Barney,’ she said, addressing Tanglewood’s large and cosy cook by the nickname she’d used since she’d learned to talk. ‘I know how it must look to you, but I had the most awful accident and slipped and fell into the lake. Please don’t tell Mama. You know how cross she gets. Besides, I know she’s got company this afternoon, so I don’t want to disturb her. I don’t want her to see me looking like this.’

‘And I should think not. She would scold you most severely, as would your papa.’

Mrs Barnaby sighed, shaking her head. If her parents couldn’t stop her, who was she to interfere? ‘Ah, well, I’m up to my eyes in preparations for tonight, so away with you and have Molly prepare you a bath.’

As Christina scampered off to her room, Mrs Barnaby went back to preparing the food for the evening’s dinner party. Would the girl never grow up? She was seventeen and supposed to be a young lady, but there had been nothing ladylike about her just now. An image of the handsome young Mr James Embleton’s sisters came to mind—sweet natured they were, always stitching samplers or dabbling in water colours or playing the piano, a trouble to no one, which could not be said of Miss Christina.

Defiant of all restrictions and rebellious of all convention, she was a complex young woman—untameable, hot tempered, truculent when she failed to get her own way, and an angel when she did. Her parents despaired of ever making a lady of her.

Molly was folding some of Christina’s clothes away into drawers when Christina flounced in, crashing the door behind her and making Molly almost jump out of her skin.

‘I need a bath,’ she declared, throwing her muddied stockings on to the bed and kicking off her shoes. ‘I’m filthy.’ Immediately she began peeling off her clothes.

Molly stopped what she was doing and wrinkled her nose. For all the world her young mistress looked like a wild thing. ‘I can see that.’

Molly was a first-class lady’s maid. Lady Thornton had employed her when Christina was fourteen years old. She was thoroughly experienced, a first-rate hairdresser and experienced in dressing a lady and everything that appertained to her office. Molly had never met anyone quite like her mistress. In the beginning she’d been tempted to seek another position, but as she got to know her better she found there was something so appealing about her that she’d decided to stay.

‘I suppose she’ll want to rest in preparation for the dinner party this evening.’ Christina stepped out of her undergarments, leaving them in a wet heap on the carpet, from where Molly immediately retrieved them, curious as to their dampness, but deciding it would be better not to ask.

‘I’ll wear my sapphire blue gown tonight.’ Wrapping her robe around her now naked body, Christina tied the belt tight around her small waist. ‘I want to look my absolute best.’

Molly gave her a puzzled look. ‘But you don’t like that dress. You hate sapphire blue.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, James having told her that sapphire blue was his favourite colour.

Sitting at her dressing table, she carefully began studying her face from every angle—which she had taken to doing frequently of late, much to Molly’s quiet amusement—one didn’t have to be a genius to know the cause of this sudden interest in her looks and that it had everything to do with her brother’s friend.

‘And you can dress my hair—all sophisticated like, with some of those glittering combs Mama likes to wear.’ So James will notice how grown up I am, how pretty I am, she thought. She knew she hadn’t imagined his liking for her, although as yet he hadn’t told her he had any special feelings for her. He was always telling her what a good sport she was, that she was clever and interesting, and once, when she’d made an extra-special effort with her appearance, as she would do tonight, he had told her she was pretty. How she wished he would get a move on. He would have to go back to university soon. Perhaps she was going to have to make the first move.

Having brought the sapphire blue gown from Christina’s dressing room, Molly was surveying it with disapproval. ‘I don’t think this is suitable for a quiet dinner party at home. The neckline is daringly low—far too revealing in my opinion.’

‘You will certainly not wear it,’ came her mama’s firm voice from the doorway. Lady Thornton breezed in. ‘Molly is quite right. The cleavage is far too deep and will shock Mrs Travis, the vicar’s wife, who will be sitting across from you. Dear me, what would she think? The evening will be a low-key, conservative affair, so your pale yellow muslin will do nicely, so be a dear and get it out, will you, Molly? And your hair, Christina—wear it down tonight. I prefer to see you with it that way for the present. There will be plenty of occasions for your sophisticated hair-dos on more formal occasions.’

‘No, Christina, and that is my final word.’ Lady Thornton smiled kindly at Molly’s relieved expression, glad that she had come in time to prevent a disagreement between maid and mistress.

Christina was a constant worry for Audine Thornton. Her daughter had always been unmanageable and refused to live by the rules of polite society. It concerned her that, because of her nature, Christina would probably never form a union with a man who would be prepared to put up with her wild ways. Unfortunately Gerald, her husband, who had given Christina free rein to do just as she liked from early childhood, didn’t share her concern.

‘I’m going to rest for a while, but I’ve come to tell you to be punctual and that you must be on your best behaviour. The company will be from the local community and perhaps not as young as you would like, so, if you get bored, please remember your manners and don’t let it show. There are a few additions to the invitations—Reverend Kingston and his wife—oh, and our new neighbour.’

‘What new neighbour?’ Christina asked sullenly, absolutely mortified that her mama had forbidden her to wear the sapphire blue.

‘The one who is renting Cranworth House while Major Il-lingworth is in India. He took up residence a few days ago. I sent him an invitation yesterday, thinking it would be polite to welcome him to the neighbourhood. I’m so pleased he sent a note to accept.’

Christina wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Cranworth House’s new tenant. Turning back to the mirror as her mama went out and Molly prepared her bath, she sighed. What did she care about any of the invited guests, as long as James was there?

Mingling with the guests—twenty in all, elegant, wealthy, local people, who were partaking of pre-dinner drinks, sherry for the ladies and brandy for the gentleman—Max took a glass from the salver of a circulating servant. Of course, by now everyone knew who he was and couldn’t wait to be introduced. His arrival among them had caused quite a stir—it wasn’t often that a man with so colourful and mysterious a background appeared among them.

Uncommonly tall and lithe, his features strong and darkly handsome, he moved among them with the confident ease of a man well assured of his masculinity and his own worth. His hair, parted at the side, was thick and glossy black, and he had the kind of looks that set feminine hearts aflutter.

Max conversed politely, seeming to give them his full attention, but the major part of it was concentrated on the door as he waited for the daughter of the house to make an appearance. And then, as if he was seeing a dream, there she was. Everyone paused in their conversations and glanced her way. Her smile was dazzling and she seemed to bestow it on every one of those present—and did he imagine it, or did everyone resume talking with more animation than before? He smiled. Christina Thornton could lift the mood of a room simply by walking into it.

Max’s whole sum and substance became concentrated on the slender young woman. She drifted in like a butterfly in a pale lemon muslin gown, lovely and expensive, completely at odds with the young hoyden he had met earlier by the lake. The waist was tight, around which was fastened a narrow gold velvet ribbon. The skirts dipped and swayed as she glided over the smoothness of the richly patterned carpet to reveal the tips of her gold-slippered feet. She moved with a fluency and elegance that drew the eye. Her back was straight, her head tilted proudly, and her small breasts thrust forwards showed beneath the modest bodice of her gown. Her hair, a rich dark brown bordering on black, thick and gently curling, was drawn off her face and hung to her waist.

She had an individuality that had nothing to do with her beauty, which took Max’s breath away. With her creamy-white complexion she was utterly feminine, but there was nothing demure about her. When in company other young ladies would keep their eyes cast modestly down—Miss Thornton showed no such restraint. Filled with restless energy, she stared directly, looking about her with a keen interest, her glance filled with anticipation and bright expectancy. When her eyes picked out James Embleton, the object of her desire, she smiled the widest smile that warmed and lit her features.

But then she saw Max. His eyes pierced her with their steadfast gaze and her smile disappeared. Something shifted in Christina. She was most surprised to find him among the guests and curious as to how he had come to be invited, but she did not show it. Tearing her offended gaze from his and lifting her head in that unique way she had of showing her haughteur and defiance, with a deliberate snub she turned her back on him and made a beeline to where James stood talking to Peter.

They were animatedly discussing the cricket match that was to be played the following day, one that was played twice a year, the second a return match at the rival village of Farnley. Christina was swamped with dismay when they told her they were to play. She hadn’t much use for cricket, considering it boring anda waste of time.

‘You are to play cricket? But I—I thought we could take a picnic—the three of us, to the lake. Peter, you promised.’

James smiled an apology. ‘I’m afraid not, Christina. We’ll have a picnic another day. It can’t compete with cricket. What do you say, Peter?’

‘Certainly not. Look, there’s Hal Jenkinson. He’s in charge. Let’s go and have a word.’

Seeing Christina’s downcast face, James smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Christina. Look, have Mrs Barnaby prepare a basket and we’ll picnic during a break in the match—at lunch time. How about that?’

As they were about to walk away, Peter turned back. Tall and still rather gangly, with light brown curly hair and brown eyes, he was like his mother. Sensing his sister’s disappointment, he gave her a pitying smile. ‘You go on, James. I’ll be with you in a moment. I’d like to have a word with Christina.’ Taking her arm, he drew her to a quiet corner. ‘Christina—this is awkward, but I feel I must say something.’

Christina stiffened, not liking her brother’s tone, which was suddenly serious and more often than not heralded a telling off. ‘What about James?’

‘Look, I know you like him, Christina, a lot, but try not to show it quite so much. This afternoon—well—you did go overboard a bit at the lake—you know, taking your dress off and…’

‘That’s because we’re always alone—and you’re my sister—but—you do trail after James a bit, and—well—you’re too forward, Christina, by far.’

‘Forward?’ Her eyes snapped with righteous anger. ‘I am not. I don’t see James complaining.’

‘I need no instructions on how to conduct myself when I am with him,’ Christina retorted crossly, careful not to be overheard as her cheeks flushed with hot indignation.

‘To stop you getting hurt—as you surely will. James sees you as my sister, someone who is fun to be with, and nothing more than that.’

‘Keep your warnings to yourself, Peter. I can take care of myself—and I will make him care for me.’

‘He won’t, Christina.’ Peter’s tone was sharp. ‘You will be wasting your time and more than likely make a fool of yourself into the bargain. Stop it now. Please.’

When he’d gone Christina was suddenly snatched from her angry preoccupations by a voice behind her, a voice that was deep and rich in timbre—and foreign.

‘Well, well, so we meet again, Miss Thornton. Who would have thought we would do so—and so soon?’

She spun round. Tall and incredibly handsome in the black and white of his evening dress, his black hair brushed to a smooth shine, Mr Lloyd towered over her.

His eyes were full of mockery when he smiled and quietly said, ‘I fear my presence this evening is going to bother you some more.’

Christina straightened imperiously. ‘What are you doing here?’ she retorted ungraciously, with none of the manners her mama had tried to instil into her. ‘How have you managed to wheedle your way into my parents’ dinner party?’

‘Lady Thornton very kindly invited me.’ His smile widened. ‘In truth, I suspect she took pity on my single state and thought to draw me into the fold, so to speak.’

‘As she would a stray dog,’ Christina retorted drily. ‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with Mama.’

‘I wasn’t, until yesterday when she issued the invitation. Since I am new to the area and wish to become acquainted with my neighbours, although my stay is only temporary, I accepted. It would have been ungracious of me to refuse.’

Christina’s lips parted in surprise and, despite herself, she felt her interest quicken. ‘Oh, really—so you are the foreigner.’

‘If that is what you want to call me, then please do so, although it is not a term I like. I am half-Italian.’

‘But why should you object to being referred to as a foreigner? If you are Italian—a very rich Italian, by all accounts—then surely the term is not incorrect.’

Max’s mouth tightened ominously. ‘And how can anyone here know my circumstances? My affairs are private. But then in a small community such as this, I suppose a stranger will be the subject of gossip and speculation. Have you done your share of speculating, too, Miss Thornton?’ he asked, one sleek dark brow arched, his eyes gleaming with derisive humour.

Realising that Mr Lloyd was trying to provoke her, Christina turned to walk away. Max stepped in front of her to bar her way. Their combined movements brought them closer together. He stared at her with impudent admiration, his gaze resting for a moment on the gentle swell of her breasts before moving up to her face. His brilliant blue eyes, the curl of his well-cut lips and the lounging insolence of his long body were saying something to her she did not understand. Perplexed, instinctively she looked away. Beneath his close scrutiny her cheeks had grown pink and hot, for she was young and had not yet learned the control which comes with age and experience.

‘Mr Lloyd, I would be obliged if you would step aside. I don’t want to talk to you.’

Directing a glance of wry humour at her, his eyes narrowing, he said, ‘Tell me, Miss Thornton. Are you normally hostile to everyone you meet, or is it just me?’

‘You have certainly none of your mother’s good manners,’ he remarked, looking towards where Lady Thornton flitted amongst her guests in a rustling lavender-grey dress. ‘She also looks so young you are more like sisters than mother and daughter.’

Christina’s eyes narrowed and her lips twisted scornfully. ‘What an expert flatterer you are, Mr Lloyd. Mama is still youthful, I grant you, but given the fact that she has produced two offspring, she can hardly be mistaken for my sister.’

Max turned and smiled at his host. Inwardly, however, he was not smiling, and he was mentally dictating a sharp reprimand, which he would deliver to the man who had masqueraded as Christina’s father for the seventeen years of her life.

‘I have had that pleasure—and very charming she is. You must be very proud.’

Sir Gerald beamed. He was still a handsome man, despite his balding pate and slightly protuberant belly. ‘She most certainly is. And of course there is Peter, my only son, who is at Cambridge reading law—and doing well, I’m happy to say. Do you have family, Mr Lloyd?’

Max shook his head. ‘Sadly, no. I have no siblings. My mother died bringing me into the world, and my father followed her several years ago.’

His expression became guarded. ‘Several reasons, one of them being that my mother came from Cambridge—and I was at university here. I had a yearning to see it again—to spend some time here and look up old friends. It is where I spent many happy years in my youth.’

Christina gritted out a thin smile. ‘I believe there were some Lloyds in these parts many years ago—is that not so, Papa?—and if my memory serves me correctly, a wild bunch they were, too. In fact, I do believe one of them was hanged for holding up coaches on the Cambridge Road,’ she remarked airily.

The sweetness of her tone did not hide the sneer she intended. Max met it with a flicker of amusement showing on his lips, and his eyes narrowed challengingly. ‘Indeed! You must tell me more, Miss Thornton. However, I do not believe it is the same branch—my mother’s maiden name was Lloyd, you see, but I am intrigued by your highwayman none the less. We may have much in common. I always thought I was a direct descendent of Genghis Khan.’

Gerald smiled to himself. For one dreadful moment he thought he was going to have to intervene to defend his guest from his sharp-tongued daughter, but it seemed there was no need. He thought Mr Lloyd was quite capable of dealing with rude young women.

Failing to detect the teasing light in Mr Lloyd’s eyes, Christina’s eyes opened wide. ‘Who is he?’

Her sublime ignorance made Max want to laugh out loud, and it took a tremendous effort to keep his face straight. ‘When you have a few hours to spare, Miss Thornton, I will be happy to relate his exploits—but I will tell you he was a thousand times more formidable than your highwayman.’

‘And do you take after this ancestor of yours, Mr Lloyd?’ she asked in all innocence. ‘And why do you use your mother’s name and not your father’s? Is there something wrong with it?’

‘Christina,’ her father said testily, shooting a sharp look of reproach at her, a look telling her not to disgrace herself. Now she really had overstepped the mark. ‘Whatever name Mr Lloyd chooses to call himself by is his business, so please guard your tongue. Please forgive my daughter, Mr Lloyd. She is impulsive and far too outspoken for her own good. Those not familiar with her may take offence, but there’s none meant. Is that not so, Christina?’

Christina affected an expression of smooth innocence, but neither man was deceived by it. ‘Oh, absolutely.’

Quite undaunted, a dazzling smile broke the firm line of Mr Lloyd’s mouth. ‘I never pretend to be anything other than what I am, Miss Thornton. I do have my reasons for using my mother’s name, one of them being that when I use my Italian name in England, it draws unwelcome attention to me that I can do without.’

Sir Gerald sighed heavily when he looked fondly at his daughter. ‘Quite right, so no more questions, Christina. Unfortunately, I have fathered a rebellious, unbiddable child, Mr Lloyd. She was always difficult and of an unpredictable disposition. It grieves me to have to say that nothing has changed now she has reached maturity. All our attempts to discipline her have been unsuccessful, and now it’s too late.’

Max’s lazy smile hardened into a mask of ironic amusement as his gaze settled on Christina’s rosy face. ‘You have my sympathy, but it’s never too late to instil discipline.’

Christina was both appalled and amused. Her tenderhearted father, always good humoured, ready to laugh and generous to a fault, had never raised anything other than his voice to her in all the years she had been growing up, and the very idea that he would start now was downright laughable. ‘Yes, it is.’ She tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm when the butler announced dinner. ‘I’m too old to be spanked—and Papa wouldn’t do it anyway, would you, Papa?’

‘Don’t count on it,’ Sir Gerald replied with mock gravity while patting her hand affectionately.

‘Sir Gerald,’ Max said quietly, his expression suddenly serious. ‘I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you—you and Lady Thornton.’

Sir Gerald’s brows rose quizzically. ‘There is? I’m curious. Very well, although you’d better make it early—I have a cricket match to umpire, which I’m looking forwards to. In fact, I do believe they’re in need of an extra player, so, if you’re up for it, see Hal Jenkinson. He’s the captain. Do you play cricket?’

‘I most certainly do,’ Max replied. ‘I consider cricket as being a great part of human life and I cannot imagine what would become of the English without it.’

Christina peered at him sharply, wondering why all the men she knew were so fanatical about knocking a ball about a field, and she was also curious as to what a perfect stranger could have to discuss with her father.

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Аннотация к произведению Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride - Хелен Диксон

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

Prologue