Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride

‘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.’

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ she retorted, averting her eyes while realising she must look a mess. She took a deep breath, trying to stifle her rising embarrassment. Max Lloyd had caught her at her most vulnerable. Anger at being so surprised made her voice tremble and her eyes gleam like two hard green stones as she said coldly, ‘Please excuse me. I’m—in a hurry to get back to the house.’

‘Then I’ll walk with you.’ Taking the reins of his horse, he walked beside the irate young woman, matching her quick strides with his own. Turning his head, he looked at her for a moment, touched by her obvious youth and perhaps also by some private scruples. As she moved she had the animal grace of a young thoroughbred, yet at the same time a warm, vibrant femininity that touched a deep chord in him.

‘You’ll probably resent me saying this, but you look more than a little out of sorts. What, I ask myself, is so important as to drag you from your bed at this hour and make you cry?’

‘Fishing,’ she snapped. ‘And I’m not crying.’

He arched a brow. ‘Fishing? You like fishing?’

‘I do.’

‘Alone?’

‘No. Peter and James have taken the boat out on to the lake.’

Max was beginning to understand. Concealing the irritation he always felt when James Embleton’s name was mentioned, he said, ‘And you wanted to go with them.’

‘Yes. They refused to take me.’ She sighed, her face crestfallen. ‘I was too late anyway.’ Turning to look at him, she saw the blue eyes laughing in the tanned face and amusement tugging at the corners of his firm lips, which quickly rekindled her ire. ‘Don’t you dare laugh. It’s in very poor taste.’

‘Why should I laugh?’

‘Because there is no more foolish sight than a woman who makes a fool of herself over a man who does not want her—the way I have done over James Embleton.’

‘So the unimaginable has happened.’

She nodded. ‘It looks like it.’

‘I think you are more upset with your own behaviour than James Embleton’s rejection of you. So he isn’t as susceptible to your charms as you would like him to be.’

‘You don’t understand. You’ll never understand,’ she blurted out before she could stop herself.

‘I can understand only too well. You seem to have got yourself into quite a pickle, as you English say, over this young man. You are very young, Christina, and have much to learn.’

Christina stiffened with childish fury. How dare this impudent foreigner say these things to her? ‘I’m not obliged to discuss my feelings with you. It’s always the same assumption. Can no one think of me in any light but as a silly na?ve girl?’

A slow, lazy smile swept across Max’s face, and Christina braced herself for him to say something mocking, but his deep voice was filled with admiration and teasing. ‘You are a delightful girl, Christina, who has a habit of doing without thinking first. Like I said, you have much to learn about life—and men.’

She stopped abruptly and glowered up at him. Not for one second was she deceived by his tender concern. ‘And who will teach me these things? You?’

He smiled and his eyes shone with a roguish gleam. ‘I would like to.’

‘Is there something wrong with me? Am I not attractive to look at?’

‘You worry too much,’ Max said, his eyes held by the pale, graceful figure. The lights in her glorious hair changed colour rapidly in the light that filtered through the upper branches of the trees, from the deepest brown to a rich mahogany. A kind of anger welled up inside him against James Embleton for causing her distress. ‘Take it from me, there is nothing wrong with the way you look. James Embleton must be blind. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.’

‘He doesn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Then—would you like to kiss me?’

Max frowned and looked away. She didn’t know what she was asking.

Christina misinterpreted his response and continued to walk on in a huff, her hands clenched and her chin thrust out. ‘There, I knew it. There is something wrong with me.’