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‘You’ll probably be married yourself by then.’
‘I doubt it since William is to marry very soon.’
‘I have noted that Oakbridge is somewhat isolated—though perfectly situated.’
Christina met his eyes. They were intent on her face and missed nothing. The warning there seemed to pierce her like a dagger’s thrust. He seemed to be consciously searching for an answer in her face, as if she held the key to what he wanted to know. She knew there was an unusual colour in her cheeks—she couldn’t help it, and she hoped she did not show how agitated she was. She tried to calm herself. Was she being unduly sensitive, or did his words hold a double meaning? Did he know? At that moment Lord Rockley’s mere presence reminded her of the dangers in which they all lay.
‘I—I think I should find my brother and ask him to introduce you to our guests. It’s most unseemly of him not to have done so.’
‘Do not put yourself out, Miss Atherton. I have already spoken to your brother and he has introduced me to several guests.’
‘Then you will have seen for yourself that they are all amenable and friendly enough.’ Lord Rockley’s face was inscrutable, but something flickered in those piercing, silver-grey eyes that seemed never to rest. Christina thought that even when his back was turned, one dared not slacken one’s effort, for, like the panther, he could turn and pounce in the blink of an eye.
‘Whatever people appear to be in public, their private lives are often very different.’
‘Yes—I—I suppose that is true.’
‘An event such as this is the best way for me to become acquainted with those who live in the neighbourhood. I am grateful for the opportunity.’
‘I suppose it is.’ Knowing of Lord Rockley’s reasons for wanting to familiarise himself with the local folk and reluctant to speak of it, Christina cast a sweeping glance over the chattering, happy throng. ‘You will see it is not a formal party and that comfort and pleasure are our guiding principles. You have taken a glass of wine, I hope, and eaten from the buffet table. I can recommend the strawberries—they are quite delicious, freshly picked from our own gardens this afternoon …’ She flushed, unable to still her tongue in her nervousness, but she could not seem to help it.
This was not lost on Simon and he smiled. ‘I have had some wine, but I have not yet eaten. Perhaps later—and when I do I shall be sure to have a dish of strawberries.’
‘H-Have you come alone, Lord Rockley?’ she asked hesitantly, sensing from the way he was looking at her that he was aware of the awkwardness in her manner and amused by it.
‘No. My valet is with me. One of the servants has taken him to the rooms you have so graciously prepared.’
‘I’m glad you are being looked after. I hope your stay at Oakbridge will be an enjoyable one.’
Looking at her lovely face and form, Simon could be forgiven any impure thoughts that crossed his mind. She really did have the deepest, loveliest blue eyes he had ever seen, and her lashes were long and dark and swept her cheeks when she lowered her eyes with a fresh naïvety, which he assumed stemmed from innocence. The bodice of her gown was scooped low—the white flesh lay like pearl against the ice blue of her dress. She looked away to acknowledge an elegantly attired woman, and his eye was drawn to the faint shadow beneath her jaw line, and the tendril of silken hair in her nape. He imagined that tiny curl around his finger, his hands at the back of her neck, just where the heavy mass of her hair lay above the lace of her gown.
Having to move to one side to allow a lady to pass, she brushed his arm. The action freed a delicate perfume, and Simon’s attention was immediately riveted upon her tip-tilted eyes, and the full pink lips. She touched the corner of her mouth with the point of her tongue, which was pink and moist, wetting her bottom lip, and she smiled a little, as if at some secret thought. Sharply, he recollected himself.
‘Unfortunately I am not here to enjoy myself, Miss Atherton,’ he said in answer to her remark.
‘No, of course you’re not. I—I understand you are not from these parts.’
‘No. My home is in Hertfordshire, so I imagine that I shall be regarded as a foreigner hereabouts, and be the object of suspicion.’
‘Suspicion of what?’
The question and the forthright way in which Christina expressed it caused Simon to raise his brows. ‘Of strange conduct—while I go about my business.’
‘My brother told me you are here to investigate the increase in highway robbery in these parts,’ she remarked, knowing the subject of his being in the area could no longer be avoided, no matter how she had tried to dance around it. She lifted one delicate brow and her lips curved in a smile, showing milk-white teeth, her eyes looking innocently into his. ‘A military man turned thief-taker. It is an interesting occupation.’
‘Not so interesting as necessary.’
‘Then I wish you good fortune, sir. It is a great undertaking you have been set.’
‘So it is, but it will have its rewards in the end. I am confident of that. Five years ago two highwaymen operating in this area were hanged at the Assizes. For a while there was relative peace on the roads.’ He smiled wryly. ‘There is nothing like a hanging to put the fear of God into folk and to make them take stock of things, but then it started up again. Perhaps you can be of help.’
Christina stepped back and looked at him. His heavy-lidded gaze was speculative. She had expected arrogant self-assurance from a man with such handsome looks and military bearing. Instead, what she saw was wariness and an icy control. ‘I’m afraid not, Lord Rockley. You see, I make a point of never travelling anywhere after dark.’
‘No traveller is safe anywhere or at any time. It is as dangerous in busy towns as on deserted country roads, and noblemen or women with an escort are as susceptible to attack and robbery as a person journeying alone. But certain areas attract special reputation, and because robbers are on the lookout for wealthy men and members of the court driving down to Bath and to Bristol, this happens to be one of them.’
‘Then I can see that when I visit my friends I shall have to go well guarded,’ she uttered on a light note.
‘Very wise, Miss Atherton.’
‘Although some say that highwaymen, at least those of the gentlemanly sort, are popularly regarded as heroes.’
Simon’s eyes hardened. ‘That does not lessen their crimes, and I find it hard to grasp why they seem to have endeared themselves in that way. They are still criminals and must be caught. In reality, most highway robbers are unlikeable characters, violent, brutal bandits and sometimes murderers, all out for quick gain. Their purpose in life is to acquire enough money to enjoy the good life, and to do so at the expense of others who may have worked hard for what little they have.’
Apart from a slight fading of the flush from her cheeks, Christina’s expression did not alter. Of course she had heard of people who had been harmed by robbers when they refused to hand over valuables, though these were only stories, but she had heard them and her heart beat faster as she remembered them now.
‘Is there not forty pounds’ blood-money paid for the capture and successful prosecution of a highway robber? Which must surely mean that the highwayman’s greatest danger lay with bounty hunters and informers.’
‘It is true that highwaymen are more at risk from betrayal by an accomplice or someone after the reward money than from retaliation by one of their victims. You are well informed, Miss Atherton.’
‘Only in so far as what I hear, sir.’
‘Forgive me if you think me impertinent, but I would be interested to hear more. Your co-operation would be appreciated.’ He began to smile. His mouth curled at each corner and his charm, that which he used to capture the pretty ladies with whom he sometimes dallied, was brought into full play. ‘You would not go unrewarded.’
The lovely sparkle in Christina’s eyes was gone, leaving only frosted blue. ‘I don’t think so, Lord Rockley. If I knew anything at all that might help you with your enquiries, I would be reluctant to divulge it, for if the highwaymen you speak of are as dangerous as you say, then they would not take kindly to my turning informer. Are—are you looking for anyone in particular?’ she ventured to ask.
‘Oh, yes, Miss Atherton. I am looking for the leader of a gang who has so far managed to evade the authorities, a man who has acquired a well-deserved reputation for exceptional viciousness. His robberies are carried out with a stamp of professionalism, I will grant him that, but he will not evade the law for ever. I have a way of discovering what I want to know. I have my instincts and they work well for me.’
‘And the name of this individual, sir?’
‘I prefer to keep that piece of information to myself for the present.’
‘Then I wish you every success in your search for this man, Lord Rockley. The sooner he is apprehended and under lock and key, the more easily we shall all sleep in our beds.’
‘I know what I’m up against. This particular band of thieves are no amateurs at the game—a highly lucrative game, I might add.’
‘Yes, I imagine it must be,’ Christina said.
‘So long as it lasts,’ Simon replied.
Christina felt that Lord Rockley was conveying a warning to her in what he said. She averted her face to where William was helping himself to a glass of wine. What could she do? she thought desperately. How she would like to tell this man everything, to have him go down the tunnel and arrest Mark Bucklow so they could be free of his terrifying intimidation, but she dare not. He would find some way of carrying out his threat.
Like the tolling of the funeral bell, she heard Lord Rockley say, ‘It will not be long. Sooner or later even the most cunning, clever criminal makes a mistake.’
‘Yes, I am sure you are right—and I wish you every success. Now, please excuse me. Duty dictates that I have to speak to our other guests.’ She smiled. ‘You are welcome here, Lord Rockley,’ she said graciously. ‘My brother is honoured by your attendance. But as to your purpose here, I am afraid he cannot be of help. Please enjoy the festivities and help yourself to refreshments. We have an exceptional cook, so the food promises to be simply delectable. There is also to be a firework display shortly, which promises to be quite spectacular. I hope you enjoy it.’
He inclined his head. ‘Thank you for making a complete stranger feel at home, Miss Atherton,’ Simon replied. ‘You are very kind.’
‘It is my pleasure to be of service.’
Quite unexpectedly, he laughed. ‘As it was mine yesterday,’ he said quietly.
She flushed hotly on being reminded of the kiss they had shared. ‘Please forget what happened, sir, I beg you,’ she implored. ‘You made me lose my head …’
His laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun, as he stared at Christina with a gravity in which there was a challenging note. ‘Forget that I kissed you? Forget that I looked into your eyes and saw them change colour? Forget the sweet taste of your lips? That is asking too much of me.’
Torn between a desire to hear more and fear of the feelings he would invoke, with her thoughts in turmoil she left him, not wanting one more word from him or glimpse of his handsome face or his overwhelming male presence to complicate her already muddled feelings. She realised she was trembling. She must not forget that Lord Rockley was their enemy and all the more dangerous because he was handsome and charming and because she felt that it was going to be impossible to hate him as she had been able to before she had known who he was.
Chapter Two
Christina paused to speak to Sir John Cruckshank, a short, stout gentleman, always amiable and with a warm sense of humour. He was also the local magistrate.
‘I see you’ve met Lord Rockley, my dear,’ Sir John said, his face overly flushed beneath his elaborately curled black wig.
‘Yes,’ she replied flatly, having already met the man with the rapier gaze, who possessed the instincts of a magician, the intellect of a genius, and the persistence of a blood hound. She pinned a smile to her face, giving Sir John no indication that this illustrious gentleman he spoke of had not impressed her in the least. ‘He … is to be our guest for the night, his home being too far away for him to travel late at night. I understand he was a military man.’
Sir John nodded. ‘He has seen much service with Marlborough in the Netherlands. He is highly talented in his field and politically astute,’ he said, dabbing at the light perspiration on his forehead, the light powder of snuff stirring gently upon his person as he spoke.
And with arrogance by the bucket load, Christina thought unkindly, yet unable to quell the emotional detachment she felt for their unwelcome guest. ‘You know him well, Sir John?’
‘We are acquainted. Like his uncles and his grandfather, he made soldiering his career, but unlike your ordinary soldier he has plenty of money behind him. At thirty-one years old, he has an outstanding record and is highly thought of by Marlborough himself, who has expressed his regret at his leaving.’
‘I have heard that he’s acquired a fearful reputation—that there are those who liken him to the Devil himself.’
Sir John nodded. ‘That is true. But in battle it is no bad thing for his enemies to fear him. The man’s a legend.’
‘Why?’
‘A lot of reasons—his courage and exploits, some of which no one knows—to do with espionage and being able to flush out the enemy.’
‘That’s informative,’ Christina said with a smile.
‘You would have to be in the military to understand. Everybody expected he’d be made colonel in time, but that’s not going to happen.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘Nothing. Six months ago he decided to retire and live a life of ease.’
‘I would hardly call taking on an assignment to track down a gang of highway robbers a life of ease, Sir John.’
‘Of course, you are right. Let us hope he can sort out this unsavoury business with these damned highwaymen—and then we might all travel in safety. Rockley isn’t noted for his sweet nature, and I can’t think of anybody who would understand the assignment better.’
Christina studied the little magistrate curiously. ‘What is your assessment of Lord Rockley as a man, Sir John?’
‘Well, he’s a formidable opponent, for one thing, with a high-functioning intellect. If Rockley decides a man’s guilty, he’ll lock on to him and he will stay with him and nothing his prey can do will shake him off or sidetrack him. He will get him—and bring him down. And that,’ he finished with a chuckle, ‘is why he was given the assignment. Although he does have his own reasons for tracking down these criminals.’
‘Oh?’
‘About a year ago, the coach his brother and his wife were travelling in was apprehended by Bucklow—they had been visiting friends in Newbury and the hour was late. Their young daughter was with them. That was probably one of the worst crimes the highwaymen have committed. His niece and his brother were shot—the girl died outright, his brother was badly wounded.’ He shook his head. ‘Dreadful business.’
Christina stared at him in disbelief. It was such a tragic story. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Lord Rockley must have been badly affected by it.’ She could imagine his grief, followed by the anger he must have felt at this direct attack on his family, and could well understand his determination to track down his niece’s murderer.
‘Absolutely, my dear.’ Sir John looked towards the doors as people began drifting outside. ‘Ah, I see the firework display is about to begin. Excuse me, my dear. I must find my lady wife. I promised to find her a prominent place where she can see them at their best.’
As Sir John bustled away, a beleaguered-looking William appeared by Christina’s side. He was trying to put on a brave face, but she knew he was as afraid inside himself as she was and trying hard not to let the presence of Lord Rockley get the better of him.
‘Go now, Christina. Go and see Mark. Tell him we have an unwelcome guest and to be careful. And don’t be long. Rockley’s eyes are all over the place. I doubt he will be enticed by the fireworks for long.’
Christina’s heart sank when she looked at William, for his flushed face and the brightness of his eyes were evidence that already he was showing signs of intoxication. It was as if he could forget his fears and repression when under the influence of liquor.
‘Does he suspect anything, do you think, William?’
‘I don’t know, so best be careful and keep our heads. Act guilty and we’ll all be caught. I saw you talking to him. Keep your wits about you and say nothing to incriminate any one of us,’ he warned. ‘Rockley’s a wily fellow—and clever. If he does suspect anything, he’ll be like a dog with a bone until he gets to the bottom of it and has us all arrested. Now go, and hurry back.’
‘I will try—and, William, please don’t drink so much. I hate it when you do.’
She missed the glower he threw her when she turned to acknowledge a close neighbour, a young man who came to speak to them. Smiling and excusing herself, with no time to lose and with gathering apprehension, she slipped away, unaware as she did so of the man in the shadows, watching.
Simon had observed Miss Atherton’s altercation with her brother in perplexed fascination. She looked agitated and her expression was, strangely, one of intense fear. She stopped speaking when a young blood on his way to the firework display approached to pay his respects. All signs of Miss Atherton’s distress had vanished behind a flawless smile. Why, she was a consummate actress, he thought. Either that or she was a desperately frightened young woman.
His instinct told him that she knew something, something she was desperately trying to keep hidden. There was a certain naivety about her that he couldn’t quite reconcile to her being a conspirator in all of this. He could be wrong, but, having learnt to be an excellent judge of character through his work, he didn’t think so.
Having heard of the magnificence of Oakbridge Hall and its fine estate, on his arrival he had been surprised by its run-down state. Either William Atherton had not been gifted with the same talent for management or astuteness as his father and his grandfather before him, or something had happened.
He frowned, unable to stem the feeling that there was something dangerous simmering in this house. It was tangible. He could feel it. While unable to say quite why he was troubled, the very quietness of the place now everyone had left to watch the firework display made him feel that an ill-defined something might happen.
Seeing Henry, his valet, hovering at the bottom of the stairs, Simon’s eyes locked on to his, before quickly flitting to Miss Atherton, who was walking in the direction of the domestic quarters. Expressionless, again he looked at his valet. It was as if a silent language passed between them, for seeming to understand fully what his master asked of him, Henry nodded his head slightly and followed in Miss Atherton’s wake.
Christina made her way to the domestic quarters where the entrance to the cellars was located. Servants hurrying about their duties found nothing unusual on seeing the mistress in the kitchens, although they might have raised a curious brow on seeing her don a shawl and slip through the door to the cellars. Here, casks and racks of wine were stored. Candles flared in lanterns fastened to the walls, should more wine be needed for the festivities. Lifting her skirts, she hurried on her way, wishing she didn’t have to face Mark.
Few people ventured beyond the wine cellars, where a small, narrow door was located in the roughly hewn wall, unnoticeable to the eye unless it was known to be there. With every nerve in her body vibrating, Christina raised the iron catch and it opened without a sound on its well-oiled hinges. The ancient tunnels, unused for many years, were narrow, dark and dank. They had a tomblike atmosphere and a deathly chill, as if a frigid breath of winter moved like an invisible spirit along the passageways. Having set a flame to the wick of a lantern, she held it high to light her way, the tiny flame dipping and dancing in its glass chamber against the draught that flowed towards her. She drew the shawl up close about her neck as her gaze tried to penetrate the total blackness beyond the meagre glow of the lantern.
Her nerves were stretched taut as she hurried along the twisting tunnel, stumbling frequently on the uneven ground. She hated being so confined, feeling as if the walls were closing in on her. She was relieved when she saw a vague, dim illumination some distance away and the muffled sound of men’s voices. The chill of a draught invaded her clothing, the airy rush touching her limbs beneath her skirts, but she was scarcely aware of it as the light ahead of her became bigger and brighter.
Shaking with cold and her own apprehensions, she eventually stepped into the light, then halted, holding her breath. The tunnel opened into a large room with a vaulted ceiling. It was accessed on a low hillside in a thickly wooded area away from the house. It was secluded, the trees providing cover for horses and men. The room was stacked with boxes and chests of every description, full of coins, jewels and household treasures—for Mark did not confine his thievery to robbing vulnerable travellers, and house-breaking was a lucrative occupation.
He ran an effective intelligence system, and the time spent watching and listening in parlours and wayside inns and employing reliable spies was the best way to acquire information about which travellers to target and which to leave alone. All the spoils were to be taken to London and sold.
The son of a lawyer, it was Mark who had found out about the tunnels in some old deeds of Oakbridge kept in his father’s office in Reading. Knowing they were the perfect place for him to expand his illegal operation and hide his ill-gotten gains, he had targeted the vulnerable and gullible young owner of Oakbridge, bringing about his downfall and honing in for the kill when he was ruined with an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Christina focused her eyes on the scene before her, barely conscious of the flickering light of the lanterns or the pervasive chill of the tunnel. The air was thick with the fug of tobacco smoke and the unpleasant stench of unwashed bodies. About a dozen of Mark’s loyal vassals were present, accomplished thieves each and every one. All except the leader were black-clad and each equipped with a brace of pistols. Some were seated on upturned barrels and boxes, while others squatted on the floor, idling the time away with a throw of dice.
Her sudden appearance surprised them and had them springing to their feet, their hands automatically going to their pistols. Their leader turned and looked directly at her and said with a note of mockery in his harsh, baritone voice, ‘Easy, men. Calm yourselves. ‘Tis Miss Atherton herself come to call. Although as to the reason … I can only surmise it is my own charming self she has come to see.’
Her look was one of intense dislike, but Mark Bucklow appeared not to notice. There was something about him that physically revolted her. She hated it every time she had to speak to him, to see the lust in his eyes and to hear the lechery in his sneer when he addressed her. As he threw off his cloak and swaggered towards where she stood with her legs trembling, she clamped her jaw, shrinking inside, realising it would gratify him too much if she showed her fear. Better to hold her ground, unpleasant as the next few minutes would be. He seemed to have the power to get right under her skin, and she hated herself for letting him.
A man who enjoyed the robust, earthy pleasures of life, he liked to cut a dash, did Mark Bucklow, and dressed in outrageously extroverted fashion. Tonight he was flamboyantly dressed in scarlet velvet and gold braid to draw attention to himself, a froth of lace at his throat and wrists. Two pistols were thrust into a gold sash about his thickening waist, and a dagger showed above the deep cuff of his boot. He was tall and stout with long and curling sandy hair. Some would call him quite handsome—not in a gentlemanly way, with fine chiselled features, but with broad, strong cheekbones and a wide mouth. Grinning his wolfish smile, he was the very picture of what her mother had taught her to fear.
Taking the lantern from her, he set it down, placing his hand on her elbow and drawing her away from the others, who had resumed their seats and once again began to throw the dice.
