Helen Dickson - Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride

‘I know, but Peter’s always around.’ Christina smiled confidently, trusting and full of hope. ‘I’m certain he is only waiting for the right moment to declare himself.’

‘Then we shall have to wait and see.’ On impulse Audine put her arms around her daughter and hugged her warmly. ‘For now you need guidance and advice.’

‘And you will always be on hand to give it to me, won’t you, Mama? You and Papa.’ She felt the arms about her tighten slightly, but she didn’t see the bright tears that sprang to her mother’s eyes.

‘Yes—always,’ Audine whispered, her throat constricting with painful emotion. ‘But all this is still just a dream, my darling.’

‘A dream not beyond my grasping,’ Christina said, freeing herself from the embrace. ‘I will show James how much I care for him—and before long he will be hopelessly head over heels in love with me. You see if he won’t.’

Audine looked hard at her daughter’s beautiful, rapt face. She would be perfectly happy for Christina to realise her dream, but with the arrival of Mr Lloyd she very much doubted it. Audine knew how stubborn she could be, how single-minded, and that she would have her way at any cost. But love? What did Christina know of love? As yet she had no real inkling of the intensity, the sheer driving force of passionate love, but when it touched her she would not deny herself the having of it.

Yet she wasn’t sure that James Embleton was the right man for her headstrong, rebellious child. She needed a man with drive and a fire in his veins to match her own. A man who would curb her conceits and that wild streak in her—a man like Mr Lloyd, perhaps? Or perhaps she should call him by his Italian name and title, Count Maxwell Marchesi, who had every right to take away their precious girl.

Christina had an underlying fear that something was very wrong and her concern that something had happened to upset her parents deepened throughout dinner. Celebrating the match result with his friends at the public house in the village, Peter was absent. Her father was quiet, distracted, asking few questions about the cricket match that had always been so dear to his heart. Her mother tried very hard to act as if everything was normal, but Christina wasn’t fooled.

The following day after her parents had left with Mr and Mrs Embleton, and convinced Mr Lloyd’s meeting with them before the match had something to do with their dejection, she walked the short distance to the house where he was staying. The day was hot and sultry, and, glancing up at the sky, she suspected a thunderstorm threatened for later.

Of modest proportions, the old, ivy-clad house nestling in a wooded hollow, with gardens packed with an abundance of flowers and climbing plants, was a picture. Having been here many times to visit Major Illingworth when he had been home from India, Christina was familiar with the house. Inside it was beautifully decorated in peach and palest green with heavy damask hangings and tasteful furniture.

Opening the gate, she walked up the path to the door, knocking forcefully. It was opened by a man of medium height. Of slender build, with Roman features and sleek black hair, he was dressed with impeccable neatness in a black suit.

‘Hello! I’m Miss Thornton. Is Mr Lloyd at home? He isn’t expecting me, but I would like to see him.’

‘ Si , si . Please, step inside. If the signorina will be kind enough to wait a moment, I will tell him you are here,’ he said, his voice heavily accented.

‘There’s no need, Lorenzo. I saw Miss Thornton coming down the path.’ Casually attired in a lightweight jacket and trousers, his white shirt open at the neck, Max Lloyd came striding into the hall. ‘Miss Thornton! Good morning,’ he greeted breezily, giving her a debonair bow. His gaze briefly appraised her pale yellow gown before raising his eyes to her glare.

‘Mr Lloyd!’

He frowned. ‘Dear me! With a look like that, I gather you’re displeased about something.’

‘How very perceptive of you, Mr Lloyd,’ she answered. Tossing him a cool glance, she swept past him into the drawing room, removing her bonnet as she went.

‘Come in, why don’t you?’ he said, chuckling softly, amazed by her daring, not to mention her cheek. Looking at her retreating figure appreciatively, the small train of her dress rustling softly over the carpet, after speaking quietly to Lorenzo in Italian, he followed her and closed the door. ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said, his mouth quirked in a half-smile.

Christina stopped in the centre of the room and turned to face him. ‘There’s nothing humble about your dwelling that I can see, Mr Lloyd—unless, of course, you’re used to something on a far grander scale.’

‘Tell me, Miss Thornton,’ he said, moving to stand in front of her, ‘do you make a habit of calling on gentlemen alone?’

‘Of course not, but I had to come—and with good reason.’

Max’s eyebrows lifted in mute enquiry.

Christina locked her gaze on his. ‘Who are you really? You told me that Lloyd was your mother’s maiden name and that you prefer to use it to avoid complications and to be inconspicuous when you are in this country. So, how are you known in Italy, I would like to know?’

He answered her with slow deliberation. ‘Max—which is short for Maxwell.’

‘I know that. And?’

‘Count—Count Marchesi.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Count? I am impressed.’

His smile widened. ‘I thought you might be.’

‘And why would Count Maxwell Marchesi want to rent a cottage in this out-of-the-way little village in Cambridgeshire masquerading as Mr Lloyd?’

‘I am not masquerading, and I told you I am here to reacquaint myself with old friends and to spend some time in Cambridge.’

‘That may be so, but why go to all the trouble of renting a house? You could have stayed in a hotel in Cambridge.’

‘I prefer the country.’

‘You prevaricate, Mr Lloyd.’

‘I am entitled to. It is, after all, my business where I stay. Had I wanted to stay in Cambridge then I would have done so.’

‘I am convinced there is more to it than that. What is your real reason for coming to Leyton?’

‘There has to be another reason?’

‘Yes, I’m certain of it. What did you want to speak to my parents about yesterday? You don’t know them and, as far as I am aware, you have never met them before. Whatever passed between the three of you upset them terribly. In fact, I’ve never seen my father so upset, or my mother for that matter.’

‘Then I am sorry about that. It was not my intention to cause them distress,’ he said with such sincerity that Christina found herself believing him and wondering if she was barking up the wrong tree. However, she went on regardless.

‘So? Will you tell me?’

‘Have you asked your parents?’

‘Yes. They were non-committal.’

‘So am I.’

‘They dance around the issue—just like you’re doing now.’

‘I cannot tell you.’

‘You mean you won’t.’

‘Both.’

‘Does it concern Peter—or me?’

‘I’ve told you, you must ask your parents. And now no more questions—and it’s too nice a day to be sitting inside. Let me offer you refreshment. You are my first visitor and I would like to welcome you to my home—temporary though it is.’

Christina shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I have to get back.’ She was thinking that James might call and she didn’t want to miss seeing him, yet she was curious to know more about Mr Lloyd—Count Marchesi.

‘Nonsense. I refuse to take no for an answer. Come,’ he said, striding to the door. ‘Lorenzo has prepared tea and cakes for us in the garden.’