Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride, page 7
‘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.’
Striding after her, Max took her arm and spun her round to face him. ‘Have you never been kissed?’
She shook her head sullenly.
Cupping her chin in his hand, Max looked deep into her eyes, his own intense and gentle at the same time. ‘One day I will kiss you, Christina. That I promise you, and when I do you will want me to go on kissing you. But not now, not when you’re all fired up and thinking of someone else. When I kiss you it will be because it is me you want. Do you understand?’
Max was attired in snug-fitting calf-coloured breeches and tan riding boots, bottle-green jacket and a rakish cream silk cravat around his neck and she looked at him hard, as if for the first time. His magnificent physique was displayed in a way that made her throat go dry. With a thick lock of black hair drooping across his brow and his incredible blue eyes, she thought how terribly attractive he was, the most attractive man she had ever met, and there was no point in denying it.
With the quietness of the woods all about them, for a moment she was held by his gaze, unable to drag her eyes from the ones that commanded her attention. It was as if he searched out her very soul, and he had a way of making her feel consumed by that heated regard. His fingers still cupped her chin and his touch excited her, warmed her, but her mind shied away from going any deeper than that, for it seemed obscene to even consider she might have feelings for any other man but James. He seemed to sense her discomfort; his smile became positively wolfish.
‘You must think me stupid,’ she retorted, taking a step back so that he had to release her chin. She looked away and stiffened her spine. Max’s dark brows drew together over incredulous blue eyes.
‘No, I don’t. You decided that.’ For a moment he studied her with heavy-lidded, speculative eyes. ‘Perhaps I will kiss you after all.’
Christina found she was unable to move when his hand suddenly cupped her cheek. ‘Look at me,’ he said in a low, velvety, unfamiliar voice that sent apprehensive and exciting tingles darting up her spine. She raised her eyes to his tanned face. Although no one had ever attempted to kiss her before, she took one look at the slumberous expression in his eyes and was instantly wary.
‘Are you really going to kiss me?’
A slow, lazy smile that made her heart leap worked its way across his face and Christina was unable to drag her eyes from his hypnotic gaze. ‘Yes, I am.’
Terrified of what would happen next and that she would make a complete idiot of herself, she whispered, ‘I—don’t think you should. It doesn’t matter—really…’
Ignoring her protests, Max tilted her face for a kiss. Lowering his head, he touched her lips with his. Then he looked at her to assess her reaction. ‘Well?’
Christina’s eyes were wide with bewilderment—and disappointment. ‘Was that it? Is that all there is to kissing?’
Max looked down at her, gazing into the wide, luminous eyes of this unpredictable girl, and tenderness began to unfold within him. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘There’s much more.’ Placing his hands on her shoulders, he puller her towards him, so close that her breasts pressed against his chest and the rest of her body fitted perfectly into his. Her question, spoken in complete innocence, caught Max completely off guard. Every feminine ploy in existence had been used on him in the past, but without success—and yet this artless child-woman, her candour combined with her upturned, beautiful face and alluring body pressing against him, acted like a powerful aphrodisiac.
Lost in a confusion of apprehension and yearning, suddenly Christina saw something primitive and alarming kindle in his eyes, and so lost was she in her own thoughts that it took a moment before she realised that his gaze had dropped to her lips and that he meant to kiss her again.
‘You don’t have to—’
Without hesitating for a moment, with desire surging through him, heating his blood and sending it singing through his veins, Christina Thornton became an alluring and incredibly enticing woman. Ignoring his conscience, which suddenly reared up with acid disgust to remind him that he was deliberately seducing a gullible child, Max thrust it away and smothered her objections with another kiss, completely different to the one before. It was long, tender and devouring, and at first Christina didn’t know what to think of it, and then as his lips began to move over hers, coaxing, fiercely tender, determined, her body jerked and she tore her lips from his, struggling like a young animal caught in a trap, until she felt his large masculine hand curve round her nape, his long fingers sliding into her hair, and his breath warm on her parted lips.
His mouth claimed hers once more, his lips insistent and moving with inflaming expertise over hers. Dizzily, Christina slid her hands up his chest, feeling the power of him, the sheer strength packed into the hard muscles beneath her fingers as she yielded her lips to his, parting them beneath the sensual pressure, and the moment his tongue slid between them, invading her mouth and taking possession of her, she became lost in a sea of pure sensation.
Melting against him and moulding her body to his length, she clung to him for support, unaware of how this innocent action triggered an instant reaction from Max. His arms tightened around her, his hand caressing her spine as he deepened his kiss, his parted lips moving over hers and crushing them with hungry ardour.
In his arms Christina moaned softly, and the sound somehow penetrated his aroused senses. Releasing her lips and raising his head, he gazed down into the intoxicating, slumberous green eyes, unable to believe the passion she had unexpectedly evoked in him. Her cheeks were soft and flushed a delightful shade of pink, and her lips were swollen from his kiss and trembling. His arms slackened, but he did not release her, and when Christina saw his firm, sensual mouth twist in a grim smile, she had the impression that he was struggling for composure.
‘Well, Christina? Was that kiss more like the one you were expecting?’
‘No—I wasn’t expecting anything quite like that.’
‘And? What was your opinion?’
Disentangling herself from his arms, she stepped back, her emotions roiling from his kiss and implacable attitude and trying desperately to match his casual mood. ‘I—I can’t say because I have nothing to compare it with. I confess that I am confused, but what I will say is that I know better than to let you kiss me again.’
A smile touched the corner of his sensual lips. ‘Very wise. Who knows where the next kiss might lead? Although I assure you, I am not in the habit of seducing innocents.’
‘But I was not in danger of being seduced,’ Christina stated proudly.
Lazy mockery gleamed in his narrowed eyes. ‘And you are sure about that?’
‘Absolutely. At least now I will know what to expect when anyone kisses me in the future.’
‘James?’
She looked perplexed as she considered his question. If she were honest, she would have to admit that at the moment, with the taste of Max’s kiss still on her lips, it wasn’t James she was thinking of. She just happened to want Max to kiss her again, more than anyone—even James. That thought sent her mind into chaos. How could she have responded so wantonly to Max’s kiss when she had only ever yearned for James?
‘I’ve only ever thought of James,’ she told him honestly.
Max’s expression hardened when she spoke the name of the youth who held her heart—and Christina’s female intuition told her that she had touched him.
‘I know,’ he said, his voice harsh.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time they reached the house, with her sharp mind and clever brain, Christina was in control and her powers of reason had returned. James might have broken her heart, but not her. Where Max was concerned, that was another matter entirely. His kiss had stirred her body to such heights that it had refused to listen to reason, and in no time at all he’d had her melting and pliant. There was no doubt at all that it had left her disturbed and strangely excited. In his arms she had been swept away to the edge of an abyss, beyond which her instinct told her her life would change, and she was too afraid to find out more.
Aware that it was not as bright as when she had set out for the lake, she looked up at the sky. It was the colour of a mussel shell, the lowering clouds snuffing out the sun, and in the far-off distance she could hear the rumble of thunder.
‘There’s a storm in the air,’ she said. ‘I can hear the thunder. Perhaps it’s as well. This heat of late has made us somewhat complacent. I only hope Peter doesn’t stay out on the lake too long.’
‘I’m sure your brother is old enough to take care of himself.’
‘I know he is, but if the trout are biting he’ll stay out there until the bitter end.’
‘Will you be all right?’
She smiled up at him. ‘Yes. I’m fine now. Truly. In fact, suddenly I’m ravenous. Would you care to share breakfast with me? Mrs Barnaby, our very efficient cook, always provides enough eggs and bacon to feed a regiment of soldiers.’
Max would have, but, his bland expression fading to one of grim displeasure as he forced himself for the first time to face what had happened to him when he had taken her in his arms, and deciding it would be inappropriate under the circumstances, he declined.
‘Thank you, but perhaps some other time, Christina. I have to get back. Do you ride, by the way?’
‘Yes, often.’
‘Then perhaps you would care to accompany me some time—with your parents’ permission, of course.’
‘Yes, I’d like that.’
‘When do you expect them back?’
‘Some time later this morning.’ She gave him a questioning look. ‘Why, do you want to see them?’
He nodded. ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’
Christina watched him mount his horse and ride away before going into the house. Unable to put his earth-shattering kiss from her mind, she felt a lightness of heart and found it strange that she was no longer angry that Peter and James had gone fishing without her. Remembering his easy, smiling attitude when he had released her, her stomach wrenched as she compared her own gullibility and innocence and stupidity to his sophistication and worldliness.
Having no intention of waiting for Peter and James to appear for breakfast, Christina ordered hers to be sent to her room. Washing and tidying herself up, after eating her breakfast she curled up in a chair and tried to read. The heavy thunder in the distance was moving closer.
Continuing on his ride, Max thought of Christina with fascinated interest, amazed by the ease with which she had insinuated herself into his heart for the second time in her seventeen years. He had thought of her often, knowing that one day he would come looking for her. Having grown up in total ignorance of who she really was, she was fresh and alive—and totally spoiled.
He thought of her bold request for him to kiss her, and the incredible surge of hot desire she had ignited in his body. He smiled. Christina Thornton was full of surprises, full of promise, and her allure was deep and abiding. Her finely sculpted features were flawless, like a jewel that, against the proper background, would outshine all the rest.
As he followed the path that would take him to Cranworth House, he remembered the moment when he was ten years old and his step-grandmother had told him that before Christina had been taken to England, the Thorntons had consented to the betrothal between the two of them. He had never abandoned the dream that he would meet her again, and now he had he was not disappointed.
The air was oppressive and there were flashes of lightning like violent silver demons hurtling across the sky, and then there would be a pause before it flashed again. Tired of trying to read, feeling restless and vaguely disturbed and apprehensive—although she couldn’t think why because storms had never bothered her before—she got up and went to the window. Great drops of rain were beginning to fall out of a sky that had grown much darker, with flashes of lightning ripping through, and for an instant the earth was a blinding silver blue. The wind had risen and was whipping the trees into a frenzy. It was so strong that an old oak on the edge of the wood came crashing down, its roots exposed in a tangled mass. She thought it fortuitous in that it would provide them with plenty of good logs to feed the house fires, but then another thought struck her—that it was an omen of something worse to come.
The heavens opened and rain began to come down in sheets, lashing the window panes. Her concern that Peter and James might be caught up in it out on the lake was alleviated when she saw two figures emerge from the trees that bordered the gardens, and make a dash for the back of the house, carrying their catch in a wicker basket, which they would present to a delighted Mrs Barnaby, who would no doubt serve it up later.
Another fusillade of thunder shook the earth. The storm was right overhead. It was late morning when it finally abated and the sun came out with a brilliance and warmth that made the land steam beneath its heat. James left to ride home. Christina joined Peter in the drawing room, retiring quietly to a corner of the room to read. He gave her a queer look, for this was most unlike her. No doubt he thought she was sulking because he’d refused to let her accompany them on their fishing trip, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Hearing carriage wheels grind sharply to a halt in the drive, Christina hurried into the hall to welcome her parents home. They came in together, the soft murmur of her mother’s voice as she spoke to her husband drifting to Christina and lifting her heart. There came with her the faint scent of roses, which seemed to emanate from her body and the folds of her clothes, a fragrance that Christina would always link to her mother. Having worried about them travelling back in the storm, she was glad they were home.
There was something about their manner and the way they kept looking at each other that gave her a feeling of unease. When her mother had removed her hat and handed it to a servant, she turned to her daughter, and Christina thought she looked tired and anxious.
‘Is something wrong, Mama?’ Christina asked. She got the impression her parents were avoiding her eyes. ‘I’m surprised you made the journey in the storm.’
‘Your father and I wanted to get back. We’ll go and change and have some tea, and then we would like to talk to you, Christina—you and Peter.’
‘What can be of such importance that made you brave the storm?’ she asked.
‘We’ll tell you shortly,’ she said, smiling softly and patting her cheek in passing to the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later the four of them were in the drawing room, Christina and Peter seated together on the sofa facing their parents. Christina looked at her mother with concern. Her eyes were red, and Christina was sure she had been crying. But why? She had never seen her mother give vent to tears in her life. Suddenly both her parents looked old, frail and vulnerable, with no trace of their cheerful happy selves. It was plain that something was terribly wrong, but although her mother dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, she had a steadfast look about her. Christina was afraid—she had never felt so afraid in her whole life. Never had such feelings of dread swept through her as they did now.
‘Mama, will you please tell us what is wrong?’ Peter prompted.
‘It—it concerns Christina. We—have things to tell you, things you have a right to know,’ she said, fumbling on the seat beside her for the support of her husband’s hand as she prepared to divulge the truth to her beloved daughter about her birth.
And she did just that. As tenderly and as carefully as she could she told her, and so acute was Audine’s guilt that she could not lift her eyes and look into those trusting green eyes.
Christina stared from her mother to her father’s bowed, grey head. ‘Adopted?’ she echoed in bewilderment.
Raising his head he looked at her directly. ‘Yes, Christina. You are our adopted daughter.’
She stared at him for a long time through eyes huge with horror and disbelief. ‘But—I can’t be. There has to be some mistake.’ She looked at her mother, willing her to tell her it was not true. ‘Mama?’
Her mother nodded. ‘What your father says is true, Christina. I’m so sorry. All your life we have kept it from you, but circumstances have changed and we have decided you must be told the truth.’
Christina swallowed the tears that had risen in her throat and threatened to choke her. She glanced at Peter. She couldn’t see him properly, but his mouth was tight and she knew he was struggling to come to terms with the shattering revelation that she was not his sister.
‘But—I don’t understand—any of it.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ her mother soothed, ‘in time you will, and come to terms with it. Everything is going to be all right. It is going to be difficult, I know, but hopefully you will come to realise that it changes nothing. You have a great deal to live for and you are still our beloved daughter, Christina.’
‘But I’m not,’ she cried, feeling as if her heart were breaking. ‘I never have been. Oh, Mama, Papa—how could you keep such a terrible secret as this from me all these years?’
‘Because we have always looked on you as our true daughter, but we knew we would have to tell you some time. Your—your real father’s family imposed—’
‘Don’t,’ Christina interrupted fiercely, springing to her feet, her eyes blazing with the belief that the less she knew about the people on that other side of her, they would not become real. ‘Don’t tell me about him. I don’t want to know. It—it’s all too much to take in.’
