Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride

Christina was to recall later how, on observing her parents, they exchanged worried glances and seemed unusually quiet as Mr Lloyd spoke, but she thought nothing of it just then. She realised their new neighbour was clever and keen minded as the conversation progressed, and he was evidently no stranger to the world at large. To her surprise she was anything but bored as she listened. He was so worldly and so well informed that she was fascinated and a little awed, and when he described the cities Sienna and Florence, and areas that were most dear to his heart, he seemed to sweep away the four walls and let sunshine and blue skies into the room.

Doing her best not to show her interest, she surreptitiously cast glances his way along the line of guests. At one point, without warning, he turned and she was caught in the act of staring at him. His gaze captured hers, and Christina raised her chin. A strange, unfathomable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he slowly inclined his head towards her. Angrily she averted her gaze. What a conceited, arrogant man he was, and she sincerely hoped that when the evening was over it would be the last she would see of him.

When the meal was over and the ladies had retired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to smoke their cigars and cigarettes and drink their port, bored out of her mind, Christina waited with considerable impatience. She was eager to talk to James, but when the gentlemen finally joined the ladies she was disappointed when he stuck to Peter and they continued discussing tomorrow’s cricket match.

Standing with the vicar’s wife, who was regaling her with the various stalls she had arranged to be set up the following day in the cricket field, Christina looked around her restlessly for an excuse to get away. Her gaze settled on Mr Lloyd, who was engrossed in conversation with Hal Jenkinson, who was not only the captain of the cricket team but the local doctor.

As if sensing her interest, Max turned. Their glances clashed and for a second she found herself marvelling at the colour of his eyes. They were bright blue, warm and glowing, as blue as a tropical sea, and in their depths was an enquiring look, as though to ask her what she had seen in them to arouse her interest. His eyes narrowed and his mouth lifted in one corner, and he cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

Furious with herself and with two spots of dark colour high on her cheeks, with as much dignity as she could summon she turned away.

As the evening wore on and it was clear that James was not going to come and talk to her, she flounced through the French windows on to the terrace.

From where he stood lounging indolently against the piano, on which one of the ladies was entertaining them by playing some lively, popular songs, Max’s eyes narrowed, and after a few moments he followed her.

Pacing impatiently up and down the terrace, a scowl marring her perfect features, from the corner of her eye Christina glimpsed a tall figure in the shadows. Convinced he was watching her, she walked towards him. The man was standing with one shoulder propped negligently against the trellising, idly smoking a cigar, the smoke curling slowly up into the night sky as he watched her in speculative silence. Only when she moved closer still and he stepped into the light spilling on to the terrace from the drawing room did she see it was Max Lloyd.

‘Why, Mr Lloyd!’ she said, boldly taking the offensive. ‘I might have known it would be you lurking in the shadows. You seem to have a penchant for creeping up on people.’

In no mood to be baited by the whip of her vitriolic tongue, Max’s eyes narrowed and his lean face darkened. ‘You’re mistaken, Miss Thornton. I never creep. Like you, I was merely taking the night air and seeking privacy to smoke my cigar.’ He extinguished his cigar in an ashtray placed conveniently on a low wall for those who, like himself, liked to smoke outside so as not to cause offence to the ladies.

‘Please don’t put it out on my account.’

‘I didn’t.’

Christina, momentarily distracted by the sound of laughter, was looking towards the French windows. A gentleman appeared, but after taking a look on to the terrace he went back inside. Max saw disappointment cloud her eyes and knew she had been hoping it was James Embleton who had come to look for her. Her reaction annoyed him and his temper took over.

‘It has not escaped my notice that you have been watching Mr Embleton a great deal,’ he remarked, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘You have had eyes for no one else all evening.’

‘And you would know that, wouldn’t you,’ she snapped, determined to make her escape, ‘since you have been watching me?’

Max’s dark eyebrows arched and his eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Thornton. I have watched you no more and no less than anyone else present tonight.’

Christina’s mouth was hard, her eyes like flint. ‘How dare you speak to me like this? You keep your nose out of my business. James is a gentleman and he treats me—’

‘Like a lady? Is that it?’

He advanced towards her, and for a moment Christina felt compelled to back away from him, almost stumbling over the short train of her dress.

‘What I saw you doing today were not the actions of a well-brought-up young lady,’ he told her—but then, he thought, even the most naïve could see that Christina Thornton was no meek young miss who did as she was told.

Christina threw back her shoulders and lifted her head imperiously, the action saying quite clearly that she was not ashamed. ‘We were doing nothing wrong,’ she retorted with an insistence meant to convince him. It was as though she had resolved to justify her actions, knowing very well that if anyone else had come along—and heaven forbid it had been one of her parents’acquaintances—her reputation would have been ruined for life.

‘It was you I saw cavorting near naked in the lake in your petticoat and with your hair flying loose, which no lady of my acquaintance would dream of doing,’ he said accusingly, not stopping to consider why he was in such a temper and why he was intent on goading her.

Max was appalled by his own words. What was wrong with him? Why was he being like this, when all he wanted to do was talk to her, look at her? He sounded priggish and intrusive, even to his own ears, and as her expression said so clearly.

‘I am different from the women you know. That’s not unusual. I am a foreigner for one thing and in Italy I believe young women are—more modest, less free and easy, and I think you want to subdue me on this account.’

‘It is for your parents to do that and why your father hasn’t done so I can’t imagine. As I told you this afternoon, I know my own would have done if you were his daughter.’

Incredulous Christina was struck speechless. For one mad moment she was tempted to slap the smile from Mr Lloyd’s arrogant lips, but she knew she could not shame her parents by creating a scene in front of their friends. Forgetting her intention to escape the presence of this overbearing man, she glared murderously into his face.

‘Then I can thank God I’m not his daughter,’ she hissed, her chin jutting dangerously and her eyes flashing in the semidarkness. ‘I wouldn’t wish the most loathsome fate of having you for a brother on my worst enemy, and I shall continue to behave as I like, however controversial that may seem to you.’

‘The kind of behaviour I witnessed today would be considered both offensive and unacceptable where I come from.’ He lifted one eyebrow ironically. ‘You know, you really should do something about that temper of yours. You’re lit up like a firecracker that’s about to explode at any minute.’

‘Explode? Believe me, Mr Lloyd, you wouldn’t want to see my temper explode. My father would show you the door if he knew you were speaking to me like this.’

Max chuckled softly, his anger of a moment earlier abating in the face of her ire. There was an edge to her that was cutting, but beneath her glaring eyes and acrimonious tongue, he sensed the warmth and passion in her, the longing to be free, to be wild and to do as she liked when she felt like doing it. He could not blame her for that; in fact, God help anyone trying to tame her—if such a thing were possible, which he doubted—and to break that spirit of hers.

She was flushed and could barely speak because of her anger, and he had a strange feeling that her rage was directed not just at himself but at James Embleton for not seeking her out.

‘Somehow I don’t think he would. He would probably congratulate me for having the courage to deal with his headstrong daughter and thank me for pointing out to her her—faults.’

‘Faults? Why, you unspeakable, insufferable… And I don’t suppose you have any faults yourself, have you, Mr Lloyd?’

‘On the contrary. I would be the first to admit that I have many. I am far from perfect, Miss Thornton.’ His lips smiled, his teeth flashing white. ‘Now, have you finished being rude to me, or are you to continue giving me a dressing down?’

Christina stared at him. He was incredulous! One minute he was reproaching her most severely for what he called her unacceptable and offensive behaviour, and the next he was treating their altercation lightly, as though it was of no consequence whatsoever. Continuing to smile, he perched his hips against the back of a bench and continued watching her intently. She did not know this man. She had never seen him before today, and yet he was watching her with a look that was much too personal—and possessive.

She became uncertain, and was beginning to feel very foolish, bad tempered and childish. In truth, he had done nothing wrong, whereas she had been ill mannered and should know better. A rueful smile lit her eyes and her lips curved softly as she responded with a spontaneity which, when she was to think of it later, would astound her.

‘You are quite right. I have been rude to you—and I beg your pardon,’ she uttered lightly, ‘but I am the one who has had a dressing down—which is a first for me—apart from Mama, of course, but she does it on such a regular basis that it doesn’t make any difference.’

Max’s eyes smiled his approval at her sudden change of attitude. ‘I’m glad to see you’re not angry any more,’ he said quietly. ‘Shall we call a truce and agree that we are even?’

A mischievous smile curved her soft lips. ‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

Her brows lifted in mocking challenge. ‘On whether or not you can get enough runs tomorrow to save Leyton from total humiliation.’

‘You are asking me to play in the match?’

‘Absolutely. Since you are to reside in Leyton indefinitely, you might as well make yourself useful.’

He smiled. ‘Done.’

It was a brilliant day, the summer air clear and sparkling. Christina and Molly arrived at the cricket field in a little pony carriage stacked with a heavy picnic hamper Mrs Barnaby had packed with freshly baked, mouth-watering pastries, tarts, sandwiches and delicious tit-bits. Without the slightest interest in the game, but in a love-struck state, Christina was keen to see the recipient of her unrequited devotion in action on the cricket pitch.

Enthusiastic young men in traditional white were milling about the field, waiting to start the serious business of the game in an effort to win the special trophy—a silver cup, to be presented by Christina’s father. He didn’t consider his participation an obligation, playing in a spirit of social duty and finding it a satisfactory bond of union with rustics and dependents. He was a true, passionate devotee of the game.

A large crowd had gathered—an amazing pleasure excursion from both villages and nearby hamlets—the women in every kind of dress and fancy hat and colourful parasols, the lads strutting about like peacocks while the young single women preened before them. Almost every patch of grass had been claimed. People lolled about or sat in deck chairs, some of the men drinking foaming mugs of ale that were being sold at one of the stalls.

There were entertainments for the children, who were playing noisily and romping about with reckless abandon. Colourful tents and booths had been erected, and even a coconut shy and archery range, and a band played a lively tune—in fact, it was more like a feast day than a cricket match.

Leaving the carriage and carrying the picnic hamper between them, Christina and Molly strode into the thick of it. Choosing a position of vantage and commanding a good view of the cricket pitch, with Tanglewood looming out of the trees behind them, to tower in magnificence over the village of Leyton and surrounding countryside, they settled themselves on the warm grass, but it wasn’t long before they strolled over to the coconut shy to try their hand with the villagers.

Later, when Molly had gone to gossip with some of the employees from the house, leaning her back against a tree, Christina felt her eyes drawn to the players assembling on the pitch. One figure in particular coming through a gate at the side of the field caught her attention. He was a tall man, lithe and broad shouldered and with an easy way of walking. As he drew closer to her brother on the pitch, Christina recognised the strong dark features and proud, confident manner. It was Max Lloyd. She smiled smugly to herself, happy that he had taken up her challenge to join the team. Whether or not he could save Leyton from being beaten was another matter entirely.

Despite herself she stared at him. As if he sensed her gaze, he turned and looked at her, half-raising his hand to acknowledge her, his eyes locking on hers. The effect of that lingering gaze on her was startling. Somewhere deep inside her a tremor was awakened beneath the intensity of his gaze and she suddenly felt afraid and insecure. Quickly she looked away, searching for her father. The cricketers and the crowd were becoming restless, impatient for the game to start, but they could not begin without the umpire.

Christina got to her feet and went to ask Peter what could be keeping Papa. Mr Embleton, James’s father, stepped forwards and informed everyone that unfortunately Sir Gerald was unable to take part and had asked him to stand in. After conversing with the players and a great deal of shaking of heads, they began moving into position to begin the match.

‘Where’s Papa?’ Christina asked her brother, deeply concerned. ‘He’s always umpired the game. Has something happened?’

‘Calm yourself, Christina. He wasn’t feeling himself, so he prevailed on Mr Embleton.’

‘Is Papa ill?’

‘No,’ he replied, beginning to move away, as impatient as everyone else to start playing. ‘He’s just not up to umpiring today.’ Looking towards the picnic hamper, he grinned. ‘I’m glad you’ve come prepared. No doubt Mrs Barnaby has packed enough food for the entire cricket team. Look, I’ll see you for lunch. We lost the toss, so Farnley are to bat first.’

Peter left her just as James stepped up to bowl. Christina’s eyes devoured him, thinking how wonderful he looked with the sun shining on his fair head and forming a halo of bright light that almost took her breath away. Seeing her standing on boundary, he waved to her, and in that moment Christina’s heart soared.

And so the match progressed. Christina settled herself beneath the tree beside the hamper to await lunch. The heat and the crack of ball against bat lulled her into a sleepy state and she closed her eyes, totally uninterested now James was no longer bowling. There was a great deal of clapping and shouting as the atmosphere became loud and tribal.

Suddenly there was a stirring among the crowd and Christina was aware that there was a subtle change in the atmosphere. Opening her eyes, she saw Max Lloyd striding out to bowl. She sat up straight. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism dominated the scene. There was a vigorous purposefulness in his long, quick strides that bespoke an active, athletic life. He caused an amazing buzz of anticipation around the field when he grasped the ball, and when the umpire called ‘play’ and he started his run in, every spectator seemed to catch their breath.

It became evident almost immediately that he had an awesome power and could dominate any kind of bowling, the very essence of a natural cricketer. His commanding presence caught the spectators’ imaginations. He seemed to have a boundless energy and an all-consuming enthusiasm. His forearms were of an unusual strength and he had an impressively muscular upper body. Taking four wickets within an hour, it was clear to all that he didn’t do things by halves and this was one of his attractions—it made him so compelling and irresistible to watch.

Max Lloyd was determined and clear sighted about his objectives and Christina couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

During the break for lunch, as they all gathered round and munched their way through the hamper, Christina couldn’t resist sneaking a look at an extremely popular Max Lloyd, and she noticed again how incredibly blue his eyes were and how attractive he was with his finely marked brows slightly raised and his hair all tousled. He was studying her closely and she was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. A curious sharp thrill ran through her as the force between them seemed to explode wordlessly.

‘Are you enjoying the match?’ he asked, strolling towards her and dropping down on to the grass beside her, where she lolled against a tree sipping lemonade.

‘Certainly not. I hate the game. Grown men knocking a ball into the air with a bat? What’s interesting in that?’ she declared scathingly. Putting her empty glass down, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms round her legs.

‘It’s clear you know nothing about the finer points of cricket,’ he laughed, leaning back on his elbow and stretching his long, lean body out on the grass.

‘How can I? I’m merely a woman.’ Christina uttered with sarcasm.

Max grinned. ‘I’d have you in my team any day,’ he said softly.

She looked at him with a stirring of respect. ‘Why, thank you for that—but if my tennis is anything to go by, I wouldn’t be any good. I rarely hit the ball and when I do it never goes where it should.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘You bowled well. You must have played a great deal.’

‘I have, but not for a long time—not since my university days, in fact. I’m a bit rusty.’

‘Then you must be quite formidable when you’re on form. There’s nothing wrong with your bowling arm. So far you’ve proved an asset to the team.’

‘Enough to save Leyton from humiliation?’ he enquired, the question reminding her of what she had said last night.

She laughed lightly, her small teeth shining like pearls in the brightness. ‘It might very well be, if your batting is equally as good. We shall have to wait and see.’

‘I will be the last to bat.’

‘Then I wish you luck,’ she said, suddenly becoming aware of his closeness. He looked terribly attractive in his whites, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off the sunburned strength of his forearms, the neck of his shirt open to display the equally sun-browned column of his throat. ‘The village plays Farnley twice a year and they’re tough opposition.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘How did your meeting with my parents go?’

A shadow crossed his face and he looked away. ‘Why do you ask?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m curious as to why Papa isn’t umpiring. As a rule neither fire, famine nor flood would keep him from the village cricket match. I saw him at breakfast and he was as excited and enthusiastic as he always is before the match.’ She frowned and gave him an enquiring look as a sudden disconcerting thought occurred to her. ‘You must have been one of the last people to see him. You didn’t say anything that might have upset him, did you?’

‘I sincerely hope not.’ Max looked towards the pavilion where Peter and his friends were indulging in a spot of larking about. ‘Your brother and his friends are enjoying themselves,’ he remarked suddenly, keen to change the subject, ‘and it’s clear that particular young man has turned your head.’

For the moment Christina’s concern about her papa was gone and she didn’t mind that Mr Lloyd knew how she felt about James. ‘What extraordinary beings young men are,’ she remarked grudgingly. ‘Peter can’t abide anything unconnected with that beastly game. During the holidays on wet days he and his friends play cricket in the gallery, without regard to furnishings and precious objects. I think it unfair that men can be so free. I envy my brother and James. They are able to do as they like, while I strain beneath the restrictions put on me by my parents and society. I do so hate it.’

‘I can see how difficult that must be for one so spirited,’ he remarked with mock gravity. ‘Better had you been born of the male gender.’

Her eyes gently enquiring, Christina found herself quite intrigued by this stranger and their extraordinary conversation. Her mouth trembled into a smile. ‘Do you know, Mr Lloyd, I do believe you’re right. But I do believe it is man who keeps women oppressed.’

‘I agree.’

‘You do?’

‘Absolutely. In an ideal world there would be equality in both sexes. But this is not an ideal world.’

‘Are you a radical, Mr Lloyd?’

‘I do have opinions that do not always agree with those of my friends and associates, so if that is what is meant by being a radical then I suppose I am.’

They looked towards the cricket pitch. James was striding towards the wicket to take up the batting. Tall and fine, he looked splendid in his freshly ironed white trousers and shirt. Her heart quickened.

Max watched her glance at the youth, saw the melting in her eyes, and, as he stood up to join his fellow players in the pavilion, his own were speculative.

Max Lloyd had swiftly established himself as a formidable player, and when he’d buckled on his pads, taken up his bat and begun to score runs in previously unheard-of quantities, hitting his fourth straight six, cutting between two fielders, the cheers from players and spectators were deafening. There was no other player on the field of that class. His murderous treatment of the bowlers caused them to rethink their method of attack. His finest performance, his team mates noticed, had come just before the end of the day’s play when they were most needed and he steered his side to safety.

The crowd melted a pathway before him as he came off the pitch and strode through them, some giving him hearty congratulatory pats on the back. From her place on the grass Christina had a clear view of him. His face was strong, striking, disciplined and exceptionally attractive, the expression cool and unmoved by his fellow cricketers’ mood of good cheer.

Unsurprisingly, the atmosphere among the locals was euphoric, and when Mr Embleton had presented the cup to the captain and people began crowding the stall for more ale to celebrate and commiserate with the losers, it was clear the celebrations would go on for most of the night.

Concerned about her father, Christina hurried home as the sky was a deep, flawless blue fading into a pool of glowing pink and red on the horizon. Against its warm, rosy colours lay the stark black silhouettes of the trees, beyond which stood Tanglewood with the lowering sun at its back.

Christina wasn’t the only one to leave. In no mood for celebrating, Max slipped through the gate to walk along the path that would lead him to his house just a short distance away, there to await the outcome of his meeting with Sir Gerald and Lady Thornton that morning.

‘Mama? What’s happened?’ were the first words Christina spoke as she hurried into the drawing room, dishevelled and with her hair all over the place, descending upon her mother like a whirlwind. Her mother was alone, sitting at her writing desk with a pen in her hand but not writing, just staring into space. ‘I have been so worried. Why didn’t Papa umpire the match? It must be something serious for him to stay away.’

Audine rose and faced her daughter. ‘Ah, there you are. I wondered when you’d be back.’