The Bride Wore Scandal. Helen Dickson

believing he was on his way to Eldorado, he had fallen for every word that dripped from the villain’s silken tongue. It certainly meant a new and profitable beginning for him, and further confirmed the steadfast belief that he was in full control of his own destiny and would now have whatever he desired. How wrong he had been.

      ‘Mark cannot go on doing what he does for ever,’ Christina said. ‘He likes the idea of easy money and associating with wealthy people. Little good it will do him when he is caught.’

      ‘I don’t think it’s like that. In fact, it’s rather difficult to decide what he does with the money he gets from the robberies—none of it has come my way, that’s for sure,’ William complained bitterly. ‘In fact, Christina, I don’t know anything about Mark at all. When he’s not in London, his business dealing seems to radiate from a room in an inn somewhere.’

      ‘How do you know this?’

      ‘I keep my ears open. He meets with other men there—at the Black Swan Inn over at Wakeham. It’s all very secretive. The lot of them usually scatter after the meetings, going in different directions.’

      Christina frowned, curious as to what else other than highway robbery Mark was mixed up in. ‘Whatever else he’s involved in, I hope you keep out of it. You’re in deep enough as it is. How I wish you’d never met him, but we both know why he approached you. Mark is clever, scheming and cunning—and he has murdered more people than I care to know about. He had his eyes set on Oakbridge—a house in a splendid isolated location and full of secret places. What better place for him to operate his network from—and you, with your pocket to let, provided him with the perfect opportunity.’

      Embarrassment tinted William’s handsome face with a ruddy hue. ‘I know and I’m fed up with saying I’m sorry.’

      ‘And I’m sorry. So very sorry.’ Christina’s heart went out to him. He was not bad, she thought, merely weak. ‘But it is better to live in poverty than this.’

      ‘What can I do? I am involved up to my neck—even though I haven’t received a penny piece from him in all these months.’

      ‘I’m glad, because that would make you as big a criminal as he is. It has all worked out to his advantage—just as he planned it. It pains me to think I have to take part in it. I hate it, William. I hate what we do—the anxieties and the misery of it all. And tonight, being forced to hold this party, I shall die a thousand deaths should the crimes he and his cohorts carry out on the guests returning to their homes be traced back here.’

      ‘As long as we keep our mouths shut we’ll be all right. At Oakbridge we have comfort. Would you prefer the squalor of prison while you await the hangman’s pleasure or transportation?’

      The cruelty of his words lashed into her, and with tears burning the backs of her eyes, she turned her head away. ‘Please don’t say that. I am frightened. I hate the hold Mark has over us and I fear greatly what will become of us. If you should put one foot wrong, William—or me—he will not hesitate to kill us.’

      Aware of the intensity of her feelings and her fear, William softened. ‘I know, which is why we must do as he says. Here you are safe, Christina.’

      ‘What I want is peace of mind and security, and a life without Mark Bucklow. When you took up with him, I recall warning you to be careful what you wished for—that you may get it, but at a cost. And your association with him may cost us dear.’ She gave him a meaningful look. ‘I don’t think Squire Kershaw would be quite so eager to allow your marriage to Miranda to go ahead should he find out about your association with Mark.’

      William blanched visibly. Becoming betrothed to Miranda was the one good thing that had happened to him in recent months, and he dearly wanted to make her his wife. She was sweet and gentle and he loved her dearly. Her father was in favour of a match between them, but William knew Squire Kershaw would pull back if it became known that thieves were using Oakbridge as their base with his permission. He had taken Miranda to London to visit relatives. They were expected to leave for their home in Cirencester very soon, and were to call at Oakbridge on the way.

      ‘I know the situation, Christina,’ William replied crossly, her persistence to continue harping on about it hardening his mood. ‘Must you turn everything into a high tragedy? I can only hope to God Squire Kershaw doesn’t find out about what goes on here.’

      ‘For your sake, so do I. If Mark chooses to make his living from outwitting the gullible, then that is his affair. But if things go wrong, then it will be you who will pay the price, not Mark. They say the devil looks after his own, and they don’t come much uglier than Mark Bucklow. I know him well enough to despise him—as much as I do this Lord Rockley for inviting himself to Oakbridge and making me afraid and uncertain,’ she uttered crossly and meant every word.

      She imagined him to have an ugly face with a bent nose, close-set eyes and yellow teeth, a man who would hardly care about the havoc he had brought upon his enemies and her nerves. How dare he have the effrontery to invite himself to Oakbridge? She would dearly like to shatter his composure to her satisfaction and give him a tongue-lashing that would lay him low for a week and make him think twice before coming again.

      ‘Whatever happens, we must be clever and see that he has not the least suspicion about what goes on here at Oakbridge. I doubt Mark will forgo the opportunity of obtaining thousands of pounds’ worth of goods, but we must make him aware of the danger. When the guests have arrived, you must slip away and warn him. You’ll find him in the usual place, organising the night’s work. After that it’s up to him.’

      Christina paled. ‘But—you know how much I hate that tunnel, William. I cannot …’

      ‘Yes, you can,’ William said roughly. ‘You must. If you leave during the firework display, your absence will be least noticed.’

      Christina hesitated for a moment, then, determination in the set of her small jaw, the expression in her eyes almost truculent, she said, ‘Very well, but you know how I feel about facing Mark and his band of ruffians.’

      ‘You’d best have a room made ready for our unwelcome guest—and his valet, I suppose—the blue room in the West Wing, which is far enough away from the entrance Mark will use, should he have need to come back here later. With any luck, Rockley will leave after breakfast without suspecting a thing. If he is suspicious, we must make sure he knows nothing definite. Hopefully he will go away and we’ll see neither hide nor hair of him again.’

      When William had left her, Christina thought of the evening that stretched before her, shrouded with gloom and foreboding. She tried to prepare herself for her meeting with Lord Rockley, her stomach twisting into sick knots of fear. William had told her he was clever. How clever? she wondered. Under close inspection she studied her image in her dressing-table mirror, considering her features only for what hazard they might pose. Was there something in her eyes and her expression that might prove to be a liability, something that would betray them all?

      The face that stared back at her was an attractive face, the features soft, the eyes appealing. She quickly pulled herself up sharp. This was a time for survival, not for girlish fancies and longings. With a hardness of purpose born of necessity, Christina gave her mind over to how best she might carry out her deception, entertaining no concept of a day when these self-same features might cause a man to forget what other goals he had in mind.

      One after another, the carriages came slowly up the short avenue of poplars leading to the entrance to Oakbridge, lit up from the basement to the roof for the occasion by lights flaring cheerfully in the darkness. Built in Tudor times of warm red brick, it was large and rambling. Sadly, its tasteful furnishings and exquisite decorations were showing signs of neglect. Fabrics had become faded and frayed, carpets worn, and there were pale rectangles on the walls where paintings used to hang; although it was months since they had been taken down and sold, their absence never failed to remind Christina of William’s debt to Mark Bucklow, or the vicious threat he posed to their lives.

      Only the most eminent of the local gentry had been invited to tonight’s party, so that the guests felt themselves