The Bride Wore Scandal. Helen Dickson

ire flared. ‘A kick on the shin would have supplied that evidence just as well.’

      He chuckled softly. ‘Had I but known such beauty was so close at hand—a beauty who shares the same enthusiasm for water as myself—I would have invited you to share my dip in the river just now, which I found most gratifying and refreshing on such a hot afternoon as this.’

      Christina’s slightly sunburned nose snubbed him. ‘You are shameless. You, a stranger, can hardly expect me to welcome your advances,’ she retorted angrily.

      His grin was wicked. ‘You had no objections a moment ago.’

      ‘You may be accustomed to easy conquests, but being a lady, I find the thought of sharing anything else with you utterly distasteful. Who are you, anyway?’

      ‘My name is Simon. Until recently I was a soldier.’

      ‘And now?’

      He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I haven’t decided—besides, you do not want to hear about what I do.’

      Christina lifted a sleek brow. ‘Why would I not want to hear? I am curious about all manner of creatures, including soldiers and men who haven’t decided what they want to be,’ she said coolly, hoping to sting him into a retort.

      The stranger’s eyes narrowed, but he was only considering whether or not to answer her question. She could see the moment when he decided not to. She found she was disappointed, which was foolish. Why should he tell her anything about himself, and why should she care?

      ‘What I do—or what I might do—cannot possibly be of interest to such a gracious young woman as yourself.’ Suddenly the stranger’s eyes gleamed with devilish humour, and his lips drew slowly into a gentle smile. ‘I ask you to forgive my boldness. You are a delight to my eye. Have mercy on me.’

      His eyes slid over her like a touch, making Christina shiver despite the heat of the day. She lifted her chin with a show of bravado. There was arrogance in the tilt of his head and a single-minded determination in the set of his firm jaw that was not to her liking. She had an uncomfortable feeling that her angry words, far from discouraging him, had acted as bait to this handsome stranger called Simon. ‘It passes through my mind that you are too much of a rake for me to do that.’

      ‘There are many who would agree with you—but believe me when I say that never have I met so lovely or charming a woman as you.’

      Confused by the gentle warmth of his gaze and the directness of his words, Christina could find no words to reply. In her innocence, it was impossible for her to determine whether he mocked her or told the truth. He was not like any man she had ever met. Suddenly aware of the confines of the trees, which seemed to be closing in on them, the closeness of this stranger and the danger he might pose—why, he might be a thief, a molester of women or even a murderer for all she knew—sanity heavily mixed with panic had her turning from him and striding to her horse.

      In amused silence the stranger watched her, admiration in his eyes as he watched the sway of her hips and the arrogant toss of her head. So, the young woman was a lady—or at least she thought she was. She was also a lady who needed a lesson in manners. And the stranger knew he was just the man to give it to her.

      With a quick movement he was behind her. Clamping his hands tightly about her narrow waist, she was seized and lifted and settled into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. A gasp caught in her throat when he very boldly led her knee around the horn.

      Snatching the reins and controlling her restless horse, after calling to Toby she looked down at the man with cool disdain. ‘May I ask what you are doing here? The woods are out of bounds.’

      He grinned, a wicked pirate’s grin. ‘I’m a stranger to these parts. I am merely finding my way about.’

      ‘Then might I suggest that you find your way about somewhere else. You are not welcome here.’ With that and setting her heel to the mare’s side, she rode off, Toby following dutifully in her wake.

      ‘Considering the pleasant interlude we have shared,’ the stranger called after her, admiration and merriment lighting his eyes, ‘I think I should at least know the name of such a captivating companion.’

      Christina ignored him, riding on, his mocking laughter still ringing in her ears long after she reached the house.

      Tom Bradshaw rushed to assist her when she rode into the stable yard, casting a disapproving glance at the dog close on her heels.

      Tom was a middle-aged groom who had worked for the Atherton family since he was a lad. He was a man of few words, a decent, discreet man, whom Christina could rely on. He also had a remarkable way with the horses and had taught both Christina and her older brother William to ride as soon as they could sit a horse. He was also the only person at Oakbridge who knew what went on and that the young master had got himself into something that wouldn’t be easy to get out of.

      ‘See to the dog, please, Tom,’ Christina instructed as she slid from the saddle and handed him the reins. ‘I found him in the woods caught in brambles. He isn’t badly hurt, but perhaps you could clean him up a bit before you return him to his owner.’ She gave him a meaningful look, sarcasm curling her lip. ‘I’m sure you know where he can be found—although at this hour it’s highly likely he’ll still be abed.’

      With that she strode into the house, determined to forget her meeting with the stranger, a thoroughly obnoxious man she hoped never to have the misfortune of setting eyes on again. And yet, she thought on a softer note when she remembered the tenderness of his kiss and the gentleness that had warmed his eyes to soft grey velvet, this was not exactly true. Her meeting with the stranger had been her first encounter with the intimacy and power of strong attraction between a man and a woman, of desire that melted the bones and inflamed the flesh and caused all coherent thoughts to flee.

       Chapter One

      It was 1708 in the reign of Queen Anne. Plots and rumours kept up the intensity of political strife. There was activity in all the underworld of Jacobite agents, who were working against the vested interests of the nation to remove the Queen and place the Catholic King James III on the throne. An association was formed. They collected arms and enrolled troops, and money had to be raised to pay for it. Some Catholics in England were generous and sent money to France, to the young James Edward Stuart; others, the not-so-principled and scrupulous Catholics, used more devious and often murderous means, and thought nothing of turning to crime to fund the Jacobite cause.

      To Christina Atherton, who had planned the evening’s gathering and entertainment with cards, supper and dancing and a stand of fireworks in the extensive grounds of Oakbridge Hall, thoughts of Jacobites and rebellion could not be further from her mind. The guests were due to arrive in half an hour, and she was checking the preparations when a man’s voice echoed round the hall. She turned from the huge urn of fresh flowers she had been rearranging to face her brother.

      ‘Christina! Where the devil are you?’

      ‘I am here, William, ready to receive our guests.’

      The young man looked and saw her standing before the urn of flowers. Her heart-shaped face surrounded by a halo of golden curls seemed to have a delicate, ethereal quality, and her light blue gown gave her a look of fragility.

      ‘Dear Lord, Christina, you are never there when I want you,’ he complained irritably, fumbling with his cravat.

      ‘I am never far away, as well you know. Is there something wrong?’

      He stared at her, as if her words surprised him, then he answered crossly. ‘Of course there is. Everything is wrong.’

      Christina knew by the tone of his voice that something was amiss. The deep frown that creased his brow attested to this. She sighed, walking towards him, then calmly straightened his cravat for him. ‘What can be wrong? Everything is prepared. The musicians have arrived, the food tables set up, the fireworks—’

      ‘Damn