Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride. Helen Dickson
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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?’
She brightened a little. ‘Yes—yes, I will.’
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.’
‘What about?’
‘James.’
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…’
‘Why?’ she gasped. ‘You’ve never minded before.’
‘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.’
‘He wouldn’t. He’s much too polite.’
‘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.
‘I’m simply trying to warn you of the dangers.’
‘What dangers?’
‘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.’
‘Why? Where do you live?’
‘At Cranworth House.’
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.’
‘And the other half?’
‘English.’
‘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?’
Her chilled