Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride. Helen Dickson

      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,