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Gerald smiled to himself. For one dreadful moment he thought he was going to have to intervene to defend his guest from his sharp-tongued daughter, but it seemed there was no need. He thought Mr Lloyd was quite capable of dealing with rude young women.
Failing to detect the teasing light in Mr Lloyd’s eyes, Christina’s eyes opened wide. ‘Who is he?’
Her sublime ignorance made Max want to laugh out loud, and it took a tremendous effort to keep his face straight. ‘When you have a few hours to spare, Miss Thornton, I will be happy to relate his exploits—but I will tell you he was a thousand times more formidable than your highwayman.’
‘And do you take after this ancestor of yours, Mr Lloyd?’ she asked in all innocence. ‘And why do you use your mother’s name and not your father’s? Is there something wrong with it?’
‘Christina,’ her father said testily, shooting a sharp look of reproach at her, a look telling her not to disgrace herself. Now she really had overstepped the mark. ‘Whatever name Mr Lloyd chooses to call himself by is his business, so please guard your tongue. Please forgive my daughter, Mr Lloyd. She is impulsive and far too outspoken for her own good. Those not familiar with her may take offence, but there’s none meant. Is that not so, Christina?’
Christina affected an expression of smooth innocence, but neither man was deceived by it. ‘Oh, absolutely.’
Quite undaunted, a dazzling smile broke the firm line of Mr Lloyd’s mouth. ‘I never pretend to be anything other than what I am, Miss Thornton. I do have my reasons for using my mother’s name, one of them being that when I use my Italian name in England, it draws unwelcome attention to me that I can do without.’
Sir Gerald sighed heavily when he looked fondly at his daughter. ‘Quite right, so no more questions, Christina. Unfortunately, I have fathered a rebellious, unbiddable child, Mr Lloyd. She was always difficult and of an unpredictable disposition. It grieves me to have to say that nothing has changed now she has reached maturity. All our attempts to discipline her have been unsuccessful, and now it’s too late.’
Max’s lazy smile hardened into a mask of ironic amusement as his gaze settled on Christina’s rosy face. ‘You have my sympathy, but it’s never too late to instil discipline.’
Christina was both appalled and amused. Her tenderhearted father, always good humoured, ready to laugh and generous to a fault, had never raised anything other than his voice to her in all the years she had been growing up, and the very idea that he would start now was downright laughable. ‘Yes, it is.’ She tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm when the butler announced dinner. ‘I’m too old to be spanked—and Papa wouldn’t do it anyway, would you, Papa?’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Sir Gerald replied with mock gravity while patting her hand affectionately.
‘Sir Gerald,’ Max said quietly, his expression suddenly serious. ‘I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you—you and Lady Thornton.’
Sir Gerald’s brows rose quizzically. ‘There is? I’m curious. Very well, although you’d better make it early—I have a cricket match to umpire, which I’m looking forwards to. In fact, I do believe they’re in need of an extra player, so, if you’re up for it, see Hal Jenkinson. He’s the captain. Do you play cricket?’
‘I most certainly do,’ Max replied. ‘I consider cricket as being a great part of human life and I cannot imagine what would become of the English without it.’
‘My thoughts absolutely. So, will nine o’clock suit for our meeting?’
‘Of course.’
Christina peered at him sharply, wondering why all the men she knew were so fanatical about knocking a ball about a field, and she was also curious as to what a perfect stranger could have to discuss with her father.
Chapter Two
Both Sir Gerald and Lady Audine Thornton, well mannered and well bred, were the ideal hosts. Whenever they entertained they liked to relax the rules. There was always plenty of amusement without any of the coarser element that vulgarises so many of the stately homes of England. They had sufficient force of character to steer clear of any such difficulties at their dinner and weekend parties.
Christina was most put out because James was seated on her side of the dining table and too far away for her to speak to him, but she was pleased Mr Lloyd had been seated further along, so she was saved the painful ordeal of having to converse with him. She did, however, study him surreptitiously throughout the meal. He seemed relaxed and comfortable as he ate sparingly and sipped his claret, completely at ease among the room full of strangers, and yet she had a feeling that beneath his relaxed exterior there was such a carefully restrained power, that a rash of gooseflesh raised itself on her forearms and a cold shiver raced along her spine.
Her parents kept up a flow of small talk. Fortunately the guests were all well acquainted and the conversation was animated and interesting, mostly about local matters. Mr Lloyd was a popular figure, everyone wanting to talk to him about Italy, and he spoke to them calmly and at length, explaining in detail what it was like.
Christina was to recall later how, on observing her parents, they exchanged worried glances and seemed unusually quiet as Mr Lloyd spoke, but she thought nothing of it just then. She realised their new neighbour was clever and keen minded as the conversation progressed, and he was evidently no stranger to the world at large. To her surprise she was anything but bored as she listened. He was so worldly and so well informed that she was fascinated and a little awed, and when he described the cities Sienna and Florence, and areas that were most dear to his heart, he seemed to sweep away the four walls and let sunshine and blue skies into the room.
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 na?ve 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, have you, Mr Lloyd?’
‘On the contrary. I would be the first to admit that I have many. I am far from perfect, Miss Thornton.’ His lips smiled, his teeth flashing white. ‘Now, have you finished being rude to me, or are you to continue giving me a dressing down?’
Christina stared at him. He was incredulous! One minute he was reproaching her most severely for what he called her unacceptable and offensive behaviour, and the next he was treating their altercation lightly, as though it was of no consequence whatsoever. Continuing to smile, he perched his hips against the back of a bench and continued watching her intently. She did not know this man. She had never seen him before today, and yet he was watching her with a look that was much too personal—and possessive.
She became uncertain, and was beginning to feel very foolish, bad tempered and childish. In truth, he had done nothing wrong, whereas she had been ill mannered and should know better. A rueful smile lit her eyes and her lips curved softly as she responded with a spontaneity which, when she was to think of it later, would astound her.
‘You are quite right. I have been rude to you—and I beg your pardon,’ she uttered lightly, ‘but I am the one who has had a dressing down—which is a first for me—apart from Mama, of course, but she does it on such a regular basis that it doesn’t make any difference.’
Max’s eyes smiled his approval at her sudden change of attitude. ‘I’m glad to see you’re not angry any more,’ he said quietly. ‘Shall we call a truce and agree that we are even?’
A mischievous smile curved her soft lips. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
Her brows lifted in mocking challenge. ‘On whether or not you can get enough runs tomorrow to save Leyton from total humiliation.’
‘You are asking me to play in the match?’
‘Absolutely. Since you are to reside in Leyton indefinitely, you might as well make yourself useful.’
He smiled. ‘Done.’
It was a brilliant day, the summer air clear and sparkling. Christina and Molly arrived at the cricket field in a little pony carriage stacked with a heavy picnic hamper Mrs Barnaby had packed with freshly baked, mouth-watering pastries, tarts, sandwiches and delicious tit-bits. Without the slightest interest in the game, but in a love-struck state, Christina was keen to see the recipient of her unrequited devotion in action on the cricket pitch.
Enthusiastic young men in traditional white were milling about the field, waiting to start the serious business of the game in an effort to win the special trophy—a silver cup, to be presented by Christina’s father. He didn’t consider his participation an obligation, playing in a spirit of social duty and finding it a satisfactory bond of union with rustics and dependents. He was a true, passionate devotee of the game.
A large crowd had gathered—an amazing pleasure excursion from both villages and nearby hamlets—the women in every kind of dress and fancy hat and colourful parasols, the lads strutting about like peacocks while the young single women preened before them. Almost every patch of grass had been claimed. People lolled about or sat in deck chairs, some of the men drinking foaming mugs of ale that were being sold at one of the stalls.
There were entertainments for the children, who were playing noisily and romping about with reckless abandon. Colourful tents and booths had been erected, and even a coconut shy and archery range, and a band played a lively tune—in fact, it was more like a feast day than a cricket match.
Leaving the carriage and carrying the picnic hamper between them, Christina and Molly strode into the thick of it. Choosing a position of vantage and commanding a good view of the cricket pitch, with Tanglewood looming out of the trees behind them, to tower in magnificence over the village of Leyton and surrounding countryside, they settled themselves on the warm grass, but it wasn’t long before they strolled over to the coconut shy to try their hand with the villagers.
Later, when Molly had gone to gossip with some of the employees from the house, leaning her back against a tree, Christina felt her eyes drawn to the players assembling on the pitch. One figure in particular coming through a gate at the side of the field caught her attention. He was a tall man, lithe and broad shouldered and with an easy way of walking. As he drew closer to her brother on the pitch, Christina recognised the strong dark features and proud, confident manner. It was Max Lloyd. She smiled smugly to herself, happy that he had taken up her challenge to join the team. Whether or not he could save Leyton from being beaten was another matter entirely.
Despite herself she stared at him. As if he sensed her gaze, he turned and looked at her, half-raising his hand to acknowledge her, his eyes locking on hers. The effect of that lingering gaze on her was startling. Somewhere deep inside her a tremor was awakened beneath the intensity of his gaze and she suddenly felt afraid and insecure. Quickly she looked away, searching for her father. The cricketers and the crowd were becoming restless, impatient for the game to start, but they could not begin without the umpire.
Christina got to her feet and went to ask Peter what could be keeping Papa. Mr Embleton, James’s father, stepped forwards and informed everyone that unfortunately Sir Gerald was unable to take part and had asked him to stand in. After conversing with the players and a great deal of shaking of heads, they began moving into position to begin the match.
‘Where’s Papa?’ Christina asked her brother, deeply concerned. ‘He’s always umpired the game. Has something happened?’
‘Calm yourself, Christina. He wasn’t feeling himself, so he prevailed on Mr Embleton.’
‘Is Papa ill?’
‘No,’ he replied, beginning to move away, as impatient as everyone else to start playing. ‘He’s just not up to umpiring today.’ Looking towards the picnic hamper, he grinned. ‘I’m glad you’ve come prepared. No doubt Mrs Barnaby has packed enough food for the entire cricket team. Look, I’ll see you for lunch. We lost the toss, so Farnley are to bat first.’
Peter left her just as James stepped up to bowl. Christina’s eyes devoured him, thinking how wonderful he looked with the sun shining on his fair head and forming a halo of bright light that almost took her breath away. Seeing her standing on boundary, he waved to her, and in that moment Christina’s heart soared.
And so the match progressed. Christina settled herself beneath the tree beside the hamper to await lunch. The heat and the crack of ball against bat lulled her into a sleepy state and she closed her eyes, totally uninterested now James was no longer bowling. There was a great deal of clapping and shouting as the atmosphere became loud and tribal.
Suddenly there was a stirring among the crowd and Christina was aware that there was a subtle change in the atmosphere. Opening her eyes, she saw Max Lloyd striding out to bowl. She sat up straight. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism dominated the scene. There was a vigorous purposefulness in his long, quick strides that bespoke an active, athletic life. He caused an amazing buzz of anticipation around the field when he grasped the ball, and when the umpire called ‘play’ and he started his run in, every spectator seemed to catch their breath.
It became evident almost immediately that he had an awesome power and could dominate any kind of bowling, the very essence of a natural cricketer. His commanding presence caught the spectators’ imaginations. He seemed to have a boundless energy and an all-consuming enthusiasm. His forearms were of an unusual strength and he had an impressively muscular upper body. Taking four wickets within an hour, it was clear to all that he didn’t do things by halves and this was one of his attractions—it made him so compelling and irresistible to watch.
Max Lloyd was determined and clear sighted about his objectives and Christina couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
During the break for lunch, as they all gathered round and munched their way through the hamper, Christina couldn’t resist sneaking a look at an extremely popular Max Lloyd, and she noticed again how incredibly blue his eyes were and how attractive he was with his finely marked brows slightly raised and his hair all tousled. He was studying her closely and she was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. A curious sharp thrill ran through her as the force between them seemed to explode wordlessly.
‘Are you enjoying the match?’ he asked, strolling towards her and dropping down on to the grass beside her, where she lolled against a tree sipping lemonade.
‘Certainly not. I hate the game. Grown men knocking a ball into the air with a bat? What’s interesting in that?’ she declared scathingly. Putting her empty glass down, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms round her legs.
‘It’s clear you know nothing about the finer points of cricket,’ he laughed, leaning back on his elbow and stretching his long, lean body out on the grass.
‘How can I? I’m merely a woman.’ Christina uttered with sarcasm.
Max grinned. ‘I’d have you in my team any day,’ he said softly.
She looked at him with a stirring of respect. ‘Why, thank you for that—but if my tennis is anything to go by, I wouldn’t be any good. I rarely hit the ball and when I do it never goes where it should.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘You bowled well. You must have played a great deal.’
‘I have, but not for a long time—not since my university days, in fact. I’m a bit rusty.’
‘Then you must be quite formidable when you’re on form. There’s nothing wrong with your bowling arm. So far you’ve proved an asset to the team.’
‘Enough to save Leyton from humiliation?’ he enquired, the question reminding her of what she had said last night.
She laughed lightly, her small teeth shining like pearls in the brightness. ‘It might very well be, if your batting is equally as good. We shall have to wait and see.’
‘I will be the last to bat.’
‘Then I wish you luck,’ she said, suddenly becoming aware of his closeness. He looked terribly attractive in his whites, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off the sunburned strength of his forearms, the neck of his shirt open to display the equally sun-browned column of his throat. ‘The village plays Farnley twice a year and they’re tough opposition.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘How did your meeting with my parents go?’
A shadow crossed his face and he looked away. ‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m curious as to why Papa isn’t umpiring. As a rule neither fire, famine nor flood would keep him from the village cricket match. I saw him at breakfast and he was as excited and enthusiastic as he always is before the match.’ She frowned and gave him an enquiring look as a sudden disconcerting thought occurred to her. ‘You must have been one of the last people to see him. You didn’t say anything that might have upset him, did you?’
