Helen Dickson - Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride

Christina stopped in the centre of the room and turned to face him. ‘There’s nothing humble about your dwelling that I can see, Mr Lloyd—unless, of course, you’re used to something on a far grander scale.’

‘Tell me, Miss Thornton,’ he said, moving to stand in front of her, ‘do you make a habit of calling on gentlemen alone?’

‘Of course not, but I had to come—and with good reason.’

Max’s eyebrows lifted in mute enquiry.

Christina locked her gaze on his. ‘Who are you really? You told me that Lloyd was your mother’s maiden name and that you prefer to use it to avoid complications and to be inconspicuous when you are in this country. So, how are you known in Italy, I would like to know?’

He answered her with slow deliberation. ‘Max—which is short for Maxwell.’

‘I know that. And?’

‘Count—Count Marchesi.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Count? I am impressed.’

His smile widened. ‘I thought you might be.’

‘And why would Count Maxwell Marchesi want to rent a cottage in this out-of-the-way little village in Cambridgeshire masquerading as Mr Lloyd?’

‘I am not masquerading, and I told you I am here to reacquaint myself with old friends and to spend some time in Cambridge.’

‘That may be so, but why go to all the trouble of renting a house? You could have stayed in a hotel in Cambridge.’

‘I prefer the country.’

‘You prevaricate, Mr Lloyd.’

‘I am entitled to. It is, after all, my business where I stay. Had I wanted to stay in Cambridge then I would have done so.’

‘I am convinced there is more to it than that. What is your real reason for coming to Leyton?’

‘There has to be another reason?’

‘Yes, I’m certain of it. What did you want to speak to my parents about yesterday? You don’t know them and, as far as I am aware, you have never met them before. Whatever passed between the three of you upset them terribly. In fact, I’ve never seen my father so upset, or my mother for that matter.’

‘Then I am sorry about that. It was not my intention to cause them distress,’ he said with such sincerity that Christina found herself believing him and wondering if she was barking up the wrong tree. However, she went on regardless.

‘So? Will you tell me?’

‘Have you asked your parents?’

‘Yes. They were non-committal.’

‘So am I.’

‘They dance around the issue—just like you’re doing now.’

‘I cannot tell you.’

‘You mean you won’t.’

‘Both.’

‘Does it concern Peter—or me?’

‘I’ve told you, you must ask your parents. And now no more questions—and it’s too nice a day to be sitting inside. Let me offer you refreshment. You are my first visitor and I would like to welcome you to my home—temporary though it is.’

Christina shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I have to get back.’ She was thinking that James might call and she didn’t want to miss seeing him, yet she was curious to know more about Mr Lloyd—Count Marchesi.

‘Nonsense. I refuse to take no for an answer. Come,’ he said, striding to the door. ‘Lorenzo has prepared tea and cakes for us in the garden.’

‘How very civilised.’

‘We Italians pride ourselves on the warmth of our hospitality.’

‘But it isn’t tea time.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Well, in certain circles it would—but, no, I suppose you can be excused—since you’re Italian.’

His chuckle was rich and deep. ‘How nice of you to say so, although I’m not quite sure whether I should be flattered or offended by your remark.’

‘You must interpret it as you like—but I truly meant no offence.’

They went outside and walked along a flagstone path that separated the flower beds leading to an arbour. A white lace table cloth covered a small, round, wrought-iron table on which delicate china tea things and cakes had been set out. Max pulled out a chair for Christina and Lorenzo poured the tea before excusing himself and disappearing along the path and into the house.

‘That’s Lorenzo, by the way, my steward, secretary and—’

‘General factotum by the look of things,’ Christina was hasty to add. ‘He seems to know how to lay a perfect tea table as well as take care of his secretarial duties.’

Sitting across from her and resting one foot atop his other knee, Max unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back in the chair. Relaxed and comfortable, he looked across at his companion, transfixed as he stared at her seated against a backdrop of vibrant climbing red roses. Having removed her bonnet and with her luxuriant hair tumbling over her shoulders and her green eyes glowing from between the thick fringe of black lashes, she presented such a captivating picture that he was torn between the urge to shove the table and its crockery away and pull her into his lap, and the equally delightful desire simply to relax and feast his eyes on her.

He was unable to believe she was here with him after so many years. Ever since she had been taken away from Castello Marchesi, without fully realising what had happened he had carried his dream of meeting her again in his heart, and the fact that the boy had become a man had not diminished that dream.

Chapter Three

‘Would you like a cake?’ Max said, picking up a plate and offering Christina one of the dainty confections Lorenzo had purchased at the village bakery earlier.

Christina took one and put it on her plate. She smiled, diverted by his ever-present courteous formality, even when she wasn’t being particularly nice to him. A lazy somnolence had descended on the garden and the perfume of roses—red, white, pink and yellow—was heavy and sweet.

‘Why do you stare at me?’ she asked, settling back in her seat and taking a bite out of her cake, finding it virtually impossible to ignore the tug of his eyes and voice.

‘Because I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’

‘Are you always so…?’

One black arched brow lifted in mild enquiry. ‘What?’

‘Forthright? Why do you always seem to be on the verge of laughing at me?’

‘Not at you, Miss Thornton. For some unfathomable reason you amuse me—and because I happen to like you.’

‘I’m surprised.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there have been times when I have been less than polite to you. In fact, I’ve been positively beastly.’

‘I agree, but you’re forgiven.’

‘That’s gracious of you to say so, but I really was quite horrid to you when we first met.’ Christina glanced at him and smiled, shaking her shining head as the memory of how she had looked and what he must have thought assailed her, and when she met his eyes she saw that he remembered it too.

‘You mean when you were cavorting semi-naked in the lake.’

‘Yes. I was quite shameless,’ she murmured, finishing off her cake and licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers, unwittingly unaware of how this simple childish gesture warmed Max’s blood.

‘I agree, you were. You see, life in Italy has the Italian woman living under close scrutiny of family members. Her acquaintances with the opposite sex are selected and chaperoned, and if she were to be seen swimming almost naked with two young men, her reputation would be ruined and she would in all probability see out the rest of her life in a convent.’

A note of reproach hardened his voice and Christina wondered why, but quickly dismissed it as of no importance. ‘Dear me! I find that a bit extreme, but then—I’m not Italian,’ she remarked airily. ‘You seem very at home here, Mr Lloyd.’

‘Max—please call me Max.’

‘Very well. Mister Lloyd does seem rather formal, and I positively refuse to call you Count. You must call me Christina. Tell me what it’s like where you come from?’

‘In Tuscany?’

She nodded.

‘It’s very beautiful. Enchanting. Timeless. It is a different way of life altogether. You have to see it to appreciate it.’

‘What is it you do there?’

‘Why should I do anything? Being a count, I might be extremely rich and not have to work.’

‘You don’t strike me as a gentleman of leisure—no matter how rich you are.’

‘You’re right. I’m not. I like to be busy.’

‘So, what do you do?’

‘I grow grapes—as my family has done for centuries.’ He went on to talk about his vineyards, of which he was inordinately proud. He was full of enthusiasm and talked vividly about the Tuscan climate and the effect it had on the grapes, and how the weather could be one’s best friend or a grape grower’s worst enemy, and how they prayed for warm, dry summers before the vendemmie , the grape harvest, in the autumn. Christina proved to be an avid listener.

‘So you are very rich,’ she remarked when he fell silent.

‘My prosperity is largely due to my ancestors and in particular to my grandfather. He was a superb businessman.’

‘I suspect you take after him.’

‘I’d like to think so.’

‘How interesting you make it sound.’

‘It is. I—would like for you to see it,’ he said, watching her expression carefully. ‘Would you like to?’

She nodded emphatically. ‘But it’s just not possible.’

‘It might be. You would be made most welcome, Christina,’ he said, using her name for the first time and sending an unexplainable thrill of pleasure through her.

‘Are you married?’ she asked impulsively, wanting to know all there was to know about this strange foreign man who had unexpectedly appeared in their midst.

‘No.’

‘Are you likely to be?’

‘Why?’ he asked, his dark eyebrows drawing together over his incredulous blue eyes. ‘Would you like to marry me?’

His question spoken in jest caused her to laugh out loud and brought a sparkle to her eyes, yet somewhere deep inside her she could feel the first stirrings of discomfort. ‘Of course not. What I mean is,’ she said when he shot her a thoroughly amused look, ‘is there a woman in your life—someone special?’

‘You’re very inquisitive, Miss Thornton.’

Her eyes glowed mischievously. ‘It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.’

‘Then the answer to your question is that there are many women in my life.’

‘Any one in particular?’ she persisted, letting her eyes drift over his thick, smoothed-back black hair to his face, noting the Italian nobility and pride stamped on his bronzed features.

He met her eyes and the line of his mobile mouth quirked in a half-smile. ‘There might be.’

She glanced at him obliquely, a warmth beginning to suffuse her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. His voice was low pitched and though she wasn’t used to men like Max Lloyd—Marchesi, she knew it was sensual and was unsure how to respond to it. ‘You’re very secretive. In fact you’re as mysterious to me now as you were before I met you.’

‘Which adds to my appeal, I hope.’

‘Appeal? Now that’s a strange word to use. I don’t find you in the least appealing.’

‘You don’t?’ he asked with mock disappointment.

‘No, of course I don’t.’

His eyes narrowed and darkened, becoming warm and seductive. ‘And you are sure about that, are you, signorina ?’

‘Yes.’ Christina was glad he had called her signorina . It sounded alien to her, emphasising the difference between them and reducing the effect his blatant masculinity was beginning to have on her, bringing her drifting spirit back to reality. Her dawning response to him was solid enough reason to end the visit immediately. ‘I think I’d better be going. I’ve been here long enough and there must be things you have to do.’