Helen Dickson - Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride

‘Why are you nervous all of a sudden?’

His penetrating blue eyes were searching her face. She was not imagining his interest in herself. She might have no experience of men, but she was perfectly able to recognise admiration in a man’s eyes. Suddenly it was like being on an obstacle course of emotions that left her confused. Without warning she had passed from the love she bore James to the more dangerous ground on to which this stranger sought to entice her.

She made absorbing work of putting on her bonnet. Until she’d come into the garden she had known exactly what she wanted, but now her dream was clouded with uncertainty. Now there was something else, something dark and secret stirring inside her that had nothing to do with James, and she didn’t like it, not one bit.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, avoiding his eyes.

‘That’s a pretty bonnet you are wearing. Would you like to know what I see when I look at you?’

‘Not if you’re going to sound like some amorous Latin lover I don’t.’

He laughed softly, noting the tremulous brightness in her eyes and the way her fingers trembled as she tied the bow beneath her chin. ‘We Italians are born with the ability to make love. Are you not curious to know more, Christina?’

She swallowed convulsively, her cheeks having turned a glorious shade of pink. ‘Yes,’ she whispered with all the honest innocence of youth. ‘Of course I want to know more, of course I want to know what it feels like to be kissed, but certainly not by some Latin Lothario.’

Inexplicably, Max threw back his head and shouted with laughter, the sound disturbing the quietness of the garden and causing startled birds to take flight. At one and the same time this delightful girl managed to be an intriguing, alluring young woman and an enchanting young girl. In the course of three days she had treated him with outright anger and rebellion, cold disdain, and now with a sprightly impertinence and lightheartedness that he found utterly exhilarating. Still chuckling, he shook his head slowly, his eyes sparkling with humour, his teeth gleaming white between his parted lips.

‘I am immensely flattered that you should liken me to Rowe’s libertine, but let me assure you, my dear Christina, that I am nothing like that reprobate. However, it is clear to me that I have made an impression on you and it warms my heart to know it.’

‘You have no heart,’ Christina quipped good naturedly, smiling radiantly, finding it impossible to be cross with him when he hadn’t done anything wrong or said anything to offend. ‘If you had, you would never have lured a helpless female out into the garden for tea and cakes.’

‘I did not lure you and you are anything but helpless,’ he told her, grinning broadly. ‘However, I won’t embarrass you or offend your tender ears by explaining to you what Lothario was really like, so here,’ he said, pushing the plate of cakes towards her, ‘have another cake.’

‘I should be leaving,’ she said, standing up. ‘I swear the sun is getting hotter.’

‘In Italy the people are content to take their ease when the sun is at its height. Won’t you stay a while longer until it cools down?’

‘I mustn’t. I’ve been here for ages and if I don’t show my face soon Molly—my extremely strict maid who has promised to keep a watch over me while Mama is away—will send out a search party.’

‘Then we mustn’t upset Molly. Come, I’ll walk back with you.’

‘No, you can’t possibly. It isn’t far.’

‘I insist.’

And so Max accompanied her back to Tanglewood, and not until he’d left her did she remember the reason for her visit to his house.

To Christina’s delight, James arrived at Tanglewood later in the day. Smiling in anticipation and hope, from the long window in the drawing room she watched him get off his horse. Handing it to a groom, he bounded up the steps to the house.

‘Don’t look like that, Christina,’ Peter remarked crossly, putting down his newspaper and standing up.

‘Like what?’ she retorted, pretending innocence.

‘Like the cat that got the cream. Since his house is full of guests for the weekend, James has come to stay the night. We’ve planned to do a spot of fishing in the morning. We’re taking the boat out on the lake at first light.’

Christina’s eyes lit up. There was nothing she loved more than fishing in the early morning when the fish were at their keenest. ‘That sounds like fun to me. I’ll be there.’

‘No, you won’t. This time it’s to be just James and me. If Mama were here, she wouldn’t allow it.’

‘Well, Mama isn’t here.’

‘The answer is still no.’

‘But I always go with you.’

‘Not this time, so don’t come trailing after us. It’s becoming embarrassing, the lengths you go to to attract James’s attention, as if you consider him your personal property. He’s not interested, can’t you see that? Really, Christina, why can’t you be like other young ladies, who sew and read romantic novels that are all the rage?’

‘I hate romantic novels,’ she remarked, her lower lip drooping petulantly. ‘There are far more interesting things to do than read about heroines swooning over devastatingly handsome gentlemen all the time.’

‘Ha! And I don’t suppose you can see a similarity between that and your own silly behaviour with James. You never find his sisters hanging about like you do. Why can’t you be more like them and interest yourself in clothes and fashions—?’

‘For which I care even less.’

‘At least they are demure, delicate and refined—and quiet.’

‘And such dreadful bores.’

‘Where are you going?’ Peter demanded, throwing down his newspaper and striding after her.

Christina smiled back at him sublimely. ‘To welcome James.’

‘Christina! James is my friend and my guest. I would be obliged if you would remember that and not make a fool of yourself.’

‘Fiddlesticks! Calm down, Peter. Please don’t make a scene in front of James.’

‘Christina!’ Peter called her, but Christina was determined to be deaf. ‘You will behave yourself.’ She answered with a haughty shake of her head.

Christina went into the hall to greet James, an irate Peter coming after her, still ranting, but quieter now James was present. She was sorry really, for she loved her brother and hated being on the cross with him, but she found it irksome that he was for ever trying to tell her what to do, believing he knew what was best just because he was older than she was. At times he could be so tiresome, worse than Mama where convention was concerned. If only he had a more casual approach to things and didn’t take things so seriously.

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant haze for Christina. Peter and James retired to the billiard room and she followed. Ignoring Peter’s glower and his silent demand that she leave this male preserve so they could play the game and drink their port in peace, she took a seat in the window bay and settled down to watch. She would have loved to challenge them to a game, for she was rather good at it and often beat Peter when they were alone, but that would have been taking things too far and have Peter physically marching her out of the billiard room and packing her off to bed.

Sneaking a glass of port when they became absorbed in the game, she sipped it slowly, feeling her body relax as the alcohol warmed her stomach. She never drank anything stronger than wine weakened with water, which was all her mama would permit. She wasn’t sure she liked the taste of this rich, fortified wine, but if James liked it then she decided there could be nothing wrong with having a glass.

She sat and watched him lean over the table, the large gaslights above the table shining on his golden head. When Peter went out to get another bottle of port, she stood up and sidled over to where James was chalking his cue. Her face was flushed with the wine and her head felt woolly.

‘Peter tells me you’re taking the boat out on the lake in the morning, James.’

‘That’s right, Christina. First thing.’

‘You won’t object to me going with you, will you, James?’

He smiled, trying to hide his discomfort. Much as he liked Christina and always found her fun to be with, he wished she’d stop seeking his attention all the time. He wasn’t stupid or blind and knew in which direction her thoughts were leading her, but if she was waiting for him to declare himself, then she was in for a long wait. She might be the sister of his closest friend and very beautiful—anyone looking at her could not deny her that—but when he decided to settle down to wedded bliss, it would be with a woman with a far gentler and easier temperament than Christina Thornton.

‘I’m sorry. Better not, Christina. Not this time. Peter—’

Sudden anger flashed in her eyes. ‘Oh, bother Peter. You want me along, don’t you?’

‘Well—I—I…’

He looked beyond her and Christina saw relief flood his eyes when Peter came striding in carrying a bottle of port. Peter looked at his sister accusingly. She put her chin up defensively in the face of his scowl, and with a flare of temper and feeling more than a little sick from the port, she turned and flounced out of the room.

Christina slipped from her bed when dawn was breaking, the sky a faint and rosy pink on the horizon. Careful to avoid the domestic quarters, where sounds of industry coming from the kitchen could be heard already, she let herself out of the front door. Running through the woods to the lake beyond, she hoped to be there long before Peter and James and was prepared to wait. With a bull-headed stubbornness that afflicts those who love, she was convinced that when they saw her they would capitulate and let her go with them.

Disappointment swamped her when she saw that the boat was already bobbing gently in the middle of the lake, both Peter and James oblivious to her standing on the bank watching them cast their lines into water.

Anger hot and fierce consumed her. How could they? How could they be so cruel? Peter was the worst kind of beast and James didn’t care for her after all or he would have stood up to Peter and not done this.

What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t he attracted to her? Was she plain, was she ugly? What? Compounded out of vanity and complacent confidence that she could make him love her, she had wanted him to notice her so much.

Her heart and her quick, intelligent mind now realised that she had made herself look a fool, running after him the way she had, and her heart quailed contemptuously at her forward conduct. The enormity of it all hit her like a rock and stung her to new rage, rage at herself with all the fury of thwarted and humiliated first love.

Blinded by tears, she whirled about, knowing only that she must get away from the lake. So lost was she in her anger and self-chastisement that she didn’t see the horse and rider coming towards her. A voice calling her name startled her. She jumped, not expecting anyone to be in the woods at this hour. She stopped and stood very still as the powerful figure of Max Lloyd drew level and he dismounted.

‘Christina? I didn’t expect to see you at this hour. You’re out and about early.’

‘I can see I’m not the only one.’

‘I like to ride early.’ He looked concerned as he studied her tear-stained face and the droop of her slender shoulders, realising she was in the grip of some powerful emotion, for there were tears of rage and misery in her eyes. ‘Is something wrong? You look upset to me. You have been crying.’