The Bride Wore Scandal

Slipping past the wine racks, she suddenly noticed the large, swarthy-skinned man who had just stepped out from the shadows. He was well within her sights and, judging by his stillness, he’d clearly been taking full advantage of that fact. She didn’t recognise him and wondered who he could be. She approached him, determined to find out.

‘I did not see you there. Are you lost? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I’m Miss Atherton, Lord Atherton’s sister.’

‘And I’m Henry, Lord Rockley’s valet, Miss Atherton, at your service. I’ve just been to the kitchen for my supper.’

‘I see.’ She noted that he was well turned out, despite having the appearance of a large hound, and had his deceptively sleepy eyes fixed on her—she suspected he was far from being the idle man he looked. ‘I hope you were accommodated.’

‘Very well, thank you.’

‘This, as you see, is the wine cellar and some distance from the kitchens.’

‘I know. I couldn’t help myself. This is a fine house. I was just taking a look around.’ He stepped back. ‘Excuse me. I’ll find my way back.’

Christina watched him go, wondering what he had really been doing in the wine cellar. How much had he seen? Never had she seen a valet who looked less like a valet. Servant he might be, but there was a single-minded determination in his face and in the set of his thick jaw that reminded her of his master. Most certainly he was just as arrogant, because he had not troubled to lower his eyes when he had spoken to her.

When she reached the hall, she was relieved that everyone was still outside watching the firework display, which was lighting up the night sky in a fantastic array of colour. Feeling the need to compose herself, she took refuge in her own cosy sitting room, closing the door behind her. The only light was from the fire, which she had insisted on being lit despite the warmth of the summer night. Drawing out this moment of quiet solitude, she sank into her favourite chair next to the hearth.

The fear her meeting with Mark had left in her heart was more than she could bear. She closed her eyes and his face appeared with such terrifying clarity she found herself trembling. The picture was so clear that she opened her eyes to make it go away, but they were misted with tears and she seemed to see him in the shimmering firelight, and even thought she heard him laugh.

Sensing she was not alone, she turned her head and looked in the direction of the door. The figure of a man was just visible outside the circle of light cast by the fire’s glow. She saw a flash of shiny buttons on a coat front, and the hint of white neck linen, and he was tall. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair.

‘Why do you cry?’ a cool, drawling voice spoke suddenly. ‘Are you hurt?’

It came to Christina that the face she had glimpsed in her mind’s eye and taken for Mark was quite real. Alarmed, she brushed the tears quickly from her eyes to see the speaker more clearly. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, surprise lending more strength to her voice than she felt. ‘I am perfectly all right. What do you want?’

He moved further into the light and she recognised Lord Rockley. She rose, realising she would be at a disadvantage if she remained seated. Caution also dictated that she leave his presence immediately, but something else, something far less familiar, kept her rooted to the spot. It was as if the damp of the tunnel had seeped into her brain, making her forget everything save this man who was once again regarding her with bold, unguarded interest.

‘Lord Rockley! You find me taking a moment’s respite.’

‘I can fully understand that.’

‘You can?’

‘You’re a young woman with a large house to run, with many decisions to make. I imagine the responsibilities are vast.’

‘Truth to tell, Lord Rockley,’ she quipped, slightly irritated because he had intruded on her solitude, ‘only one person dares to threaten me at this moment.’ Christina had said it pointedly, leaving him in no doubt to whom she referred.

‘Since I have never threatened a woman in my life, I can only think it is your peace of mind I threaten.’

‘Maybe intimidation is a more appropriate word. Do you seek to intimidate me, Lord Rockley?’

‘So you feel intimidated, do you, Miss Atherton?’

‘No, I do not feel in the least intimidated by you,’ she lied.

His smile was quick and disarming. ‘If I ever do make you feel intimidated or threatened in any way, you can be assured you are misunderstanding my concern for your welfare.’

‘Really, Lord Rockley! You do not know me, so how you can feel concerned is quite beyond me.’

‘Why are you sitting with only the fire for light?’

‘Because I like sitting in the dark. What are you doing here? Have you lost your way?’

‘Forgive me for intruding. I have seen all I wish to see of the fireworks and sought a place where I could sit a while. I saw you enter this room and followed you. You weren’t among those watching the display. I did wonder why you deserted your guests.’

His high-handed manner had an unexpected effect on Christina—her shock gave way to anger rather than fear. What did this man mean by telling her what to do in her own home? The fact that he should seek her out, knowing she would be alone, suggested that he had something more to say that would not be to her liking. ‘I merely took the opportunity to make sure everything was going according to plan.’

‘Then I hope everything was to your satisfaction.’

The tone was natural, but its very ordinariness struck terror into Christina, who thought she read into it the most dire threats. ‘Yes, it was. Now please excuse me,’ she said quickly. ‘There are things I have to do. I have neglected our guests too long.’

‘You are of a hasty nature, Miss Atherton. You make a custom of taking your leave unexpectedly.’

‘Not really. As I said, I have duties to attend to.’ She turned away but he was beside her. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.

‘One thing I have observed about you, Miss Atherton—you have confidence in the way you do things.’

‘As in most things.’

‘And you are most gracious.’

She turned to find his gaze levelled on hers. ‘I hope I am never ungracious.’

‘No,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t think you would know how to be, even though my arrival was both unexpected and, I suspect, unwelcome, because of who I am and the reason for my being here. Should any of your guests have connection to those I seek, my presence will be unnerving for them.’

‘I can speak for most of the people here tonight, and I know they would not involve themselves in criminal activities.’

He nodded imperceptibly, his inscrutable gaze unwavering. ‘Since you are a respected lady of the community I believe you, for I do not believe you would include disreputable villains among your guests knowingly. But it is the remainder of those present who concern me. Thieves are suspicious men. Is there no one you can think of who fits the description?’ he pressed.

‘No—but—one hears things—rumours—of robberies on the highways and house breaking,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘It is inevitable, you will agree, for it goes on all the time and not just in this area.’

‘And you will agree that the villains need to be caught. Imagine how you would feel if they were to break in here and steal items you hold dear, family heirlooms that cannot be replaced. The stolen property will be sold and the more unusual the items, the more easily they are traced. If recovered, the property will provide valuable evidence against the thieves, who will otherwise be hard to identify. They may even be local men, but building a case against them … well—that is quite another matter. It is firm evidence I need.’ He moved closer so that they stood just inches apart. ‘Mark Bucklow, Miss Atherton. That is the name of the man I would very much like to find. I am sure you know who I mean.’

Christina’s heart gave a lurch and alarm flared in her eyes. Her throat tightened so much she was afraid it would strangle her. He turned from her and moved away slightly, giving her a moment to digest the name he had unexpectedly thrown at her. Unable to think of an answer, she tried to spare herself embarrassment by pretending confusion. ‘M-Mark Bucklow?’ she whispered. ‘I—I don’t understand,’ she said.

His deep voice was quiet, but his reply forbade further pretence from her. ‘I think you do.’

Christina stared at him. In response he lifted his brows, waiting for her to reply. ‘No, I’m not sure—’

He didn’t like her continued attempt to evade the issue, and he made it clear by saying, ‘You do know him, do you not? Or you will have heard of him. Are you saying you have not?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

He smiled at her continued evasiveness, a slow, strangely secretive smile that made his eyes gleam beneath their heavy lids. Christina was clever and sharp and noticed the nuances of that smile and she instantly sensed peril lurking behind it. It was the dangerously beguiling smile of a ruthless predator who wanted her to sense his power. She straightened her back, lifting her chin with a show of bravado. She had never allowed Mark Bucklow and the men who worked for him to see her fear—perhaps that was why they respected her more than her brother—and nor would she show this stranger that weakness.

‘I am sure there isn’t a person hereabouts who hasn’t heard of him, since his felonious activities have given him a certain notoriety. I dare say you might tell me he is as civil a gentleman as one could hope to meet, but somehow I don’t think so.’