Chapter Three
‘Would you like a cake?’ Max said, picking up a plate and offering Christina one of the dainty confections Lorenzo had purchased at the village bakery earlier.
Christina took one and put it on her plate. She smiled, diverted by his ever-present courteous formality, even when she wasn’t being particularly nice to him. A lazy somnolence had descended on the garden and the perfume of roses—red, white, pink and yellow—was heavy and sweet.
‘Why do you stare at me?’ she asked, settling back in her seat and taking a bite out of her cake, finding it virtually impossible to ignore the tug of his eyes and voice.
‘Because I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’
‘Are you always so…?’
One black arched brow lifted in mild enquiry. ‘What?’
‘Forthright? Why do you always seem to be on the verge of laughing at me?’
‘Not at you, Miss Thornton. For some unfathomable reason you amuse me—and because I happen to like you.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there have been times when I have been less than polite to you. In fact, I’ve been positively beastly.’
‘I agree, but you’re forgiven.’
‘That’s gracious of you to say so, but I really was quite horrid to you when we first met.’ Christina glanced at him and smiled, shaking her shining head as the memory of how she had looked and what he must have thought assailed her, and when she met his eyes she saw that he remembered it too.
‘You mean when you were cavorting semi-naked in the lake.’
‘Yes. I was quite shameless,’ she murmured, finishing off her cake and licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers, unwittingly unaware of how this simple childish gesture warmed Max’s blood.
‘I agree, you were. You see, life in Italy has the Italian woman living under close scrutiny of family members. Her acquaintances with the opposite sex are selected and chaperoned, and if she were to be seen swimming almost naked with two young men, her reputation would be ruined and she would in all probability see out the rest of her life in a convent.’
A note of reproach hardened his voice and Christina wondered why, but quickly dismissed it as of no importance. ‘Dear me! I find that a bit extreme, but then—I’m not Italian,’ she remarked airily. ‘You seem very at home here, Mr Lloyd.’
‘Max—please call me Max.’
‘Very well. Mister Lloyd does seem rather formal, and I positively refuse to call you Count. You must call me Christina. Tell me what it’s like where you come from?’
‘In Tuscany?’
She nodded.
‘It’s very beautiful. Enchanting. Timeless. It is a different way of life altogether. You have to see it to appreciate it.’
‘What is it you do there?’
‘Why should I do anything? Being a count, I might be extremely rich and not have to work.’
‘You don’t strike me as a gentleman of leisure—no matter how rich you are.’
‘You’re right. I’m not. I like to be busy.’
‘So, what do you do?’
‘I grow grapes—as my family has done for centuries.’ He went on to talk about his vineyards, of which he was inordinately proud. He was full of enthusiasm and talked vividly about the Tuscan climate and the effect it had on the grapes, and how the weather could be one’s best friend or a grape grower’s worst enemy, and how they prayed for warm, dry summers before the vendemmie, the grape harvest, in the autumn. Christina proved to be an avid listener.
‘So you are very rich,’ she remarked when he fell silent.
‘My prosperity is largely due to my ancestors and in particular to my grandfather. He was a superb businessman.’
‘I suspect you take after him.’
‘I’d like to think so.’
‘How interesting you make it sound.’
‘It is. I—would like for you to see it,’ he said, watching her expression carefully. ‘Would you like to?’
She nodded emphatically. ‘But it’s just not possible.’
‘It might be. You would be made most welcome, Christina,’ he said, using her name for the first time and sending an unexplainable thrill of pleasure through her.
‘Are you married?’ she asked impulsively, wanting to know all there was to know about this strange foreign man who had unexpectedly appeared in their midst.
‘No.’
‘Are you likely to be?’
‘Why?’ he asked, his dark eyebrows drawing together over his incredulous blue eyes. ‘Would you like to marry me?’
His question spoken in jest caused her to laugh out loud and brought a sparkle to her eyes, yet somewhere deep inside her she could feel the first stirrings of discomfort. ‘Of course not. What I mean is,’ she said when he shot her a thoroughly amused look, ‘is there a woman in your life—someone special?’
‘You’re very inquisitive, Miss Thornton.’
Her eyes glowed mischievously. ‘It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.’
‘Then the answer to your question is that there are many women in my life.’
‘Any one in particular?’ she persisted, letting her eyes drift over his thick, smoothed-back black hair to his face, noting the Italian nobility and pride stamped on his bronzed features.
He met her eyes and the line of his mobile mouth quirked in a half-smile. ‘There might be.’
She glanced at him obliquely, a warmth beginning to suffuse her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. His voice was low pitched and though she wasn’t used to men like Max Lloyd—Marchesi, she knew it was sensual and was unsure how to respond to it. ‘You’re very secretive. In fact you’re as mysterious to me now as you were before I met you.’
‘Which adds to my appeal, I hope.’
‘Appeal? Now that’s a strange word to use. I don’t find you in the least appealing.’
‘You don’t?’ he asked with mock disappointment.
‘No, of course I don’t.’
His eyes narrowed and darkened, becoming warm and seductive. ‘And you are sure about that, are you, signorina?’
‘Yes.’ Christina was glad he had called her signorina. It sounded alien to her, emphasising the difference between them and reducing the effect his blatant masculinity was beginning to have on her, bringing her drifting spirit back to reality. Her dawning response to him was solid enough reason to end the visit immediately. ‘I think I’d better be going. I’ve been here long enough and there must be things you have to do.’
‘Why are you nervous all of a sudden?’
His penetrating blue eyes were searching her face. She was not imagining his interest in herself. She might have no experience of men, but she was perfectly able to recognise admiration in a man’s eyes. Suddenly it was like being on an obstacle course of emotions that left her confused. Without warning she had passed from the love she bore James to the more dangerous ground on to which this stranger sought to entice her.
She made absorbing work of putting on her bonnet. Until she’d come into the garden she had known exactly what she wanted, but now her dream was clouded with uncertainty. Now there was something else, something dark and secret stirring inside her that had nothing to do with James, and she didn’t like it, not one bit.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, avoiding his eyes.
‘That’s a pretty bonnet you are wearing. Would you like to know what I see when I look at you?’
‘Not if you’re going to sound like some amorous Latin lover I don’t.’
He laughed softly, noting the tremulous brightness in her eyes and the way her fingers trembled as she tied the bow beneath her chin. ‘We Italians are born with the ability to make love. Are you not curious to know more, Christina?’
She swallowed convulsively, her cheeks having turned a glorious shade of pink. ‘Yes,’ she whispered with all the honest innocence of youth. ‘Of course I want to know more, of course I want to know what it feels like to be kissed, but certainly not by some Latin Lothario.’
Inexplicably, Max threw back his head and shouted with laughter, the sound disturbing the quietness of the garden and causing startled birds to take flight. At one and the same time this delightful girl managed to be an intriguing, alluring young woman and an enchanting young girl. In the course of three days she had treated him with outright anger and rebellion, cold disdain, and now with a sprightly impertinence and lightheartedness that he found utterly exhilarating. Still chuckling, he shook his head slowly, his eyes sparkling with humour, his teeth gleaming white between his parted lips.
‘I am immensely flattered that you should liken me to Rowe’s libertine, but let me assure you, my dear Christina, that I am nothing like that reprobate. However, it is clear to me that I have made an impression on you and it warms my heart to know it.’
‘You have no heart,’ Christina quipped good naturedly, smiling radiantly, finding it impossible to be cross with him when he hadn’t done anything wrong or said anything to offend. ‘If you had, you would never have lured a helpless female out into the garden for tea and cakes.’
‘I did not lure you and you are anything but helpless,’ he told her, grinning broadly. ‘However, I won’t embarrass you or offend your tender ears by explaining to you what Lothario was really like, so here,’ he said, pushing the plate of cakes towards her, ‘have another cake.’
‘I should be leaving,’ she said, standing up. ‘I swear the sun is getting hotter.’
‘In Italy the people are content to take their ease when the sun is at its height. Won’t you stay a while longer until it cools down?’
‘I mustn’t. I’ve been here for ages and if I don’t show my face soon Molly—my extremely strict maid who has promised to keep a watch over me while Mama is away—will send out a search party.’
‘Then we mustn’t upset Molly. Come, I’ll walk back with you.’
‘No, you can’t possibly. It isn’t far.’
‘I insist.’
And so Max accompanied her back to Tanglewood, and not until he’d left her did she remember the reason for her visit to his house.
To Christina’s delight, James arrived at Tanglewood later in the day. Smiling in anticipation and hope, from the long window in the drawing room she watched him get off his horse. Handing it to a groom, he bounded up the steps to the house.
‘Don’t look like that, Christina,’ Peter remarked crossly, putting down his newspaper and standing up.
‘Like what?’ she retorted, pretending innocence.
‘Like the cat that got the cream. Since his house is full of guests for the weekend, James has come to stay the night. We’ve planned to do a spot of fishing in the morning. We’re taking the boat out on the lake at first light.’
Christina’s eyes lit up. There was nothing she loved more than fishing in the early morning when the fish were at their keenest. ‘That sounds like fun to me. I’ll be there.’
‘No, you won’t. This time it’s to be just James and me. If Mama were here, she wouldn’t allow it.’
‘Well, Mama isn’t here.’
‘The answer is still no.’
‘But I always go with you.’
‘Not this time, so don’t come trailing after us. It’s becoming embarrassing, the lengths you go to to attract James’s attention, as if you consider him your personal property. He’s not interested, can’t you see that? Really, Christina, why can’t you be like other young ladies, who sew and read romantic novels that are all the rage?’
‘I hate romantic novels,’ she remarked, her lower lip drooping petulantly. ‘There are far more interesting things to do than read about heroines swooning over devastatingly handsome gentlemen all the time.’
‘Ha! And I don’t suppose you can see a similarity between that and your own silly behaviour with James. You never find his sisters hanging about like you do. Why can’t you be more like them and interest yourself in clothes and fashions—?’
‘For which I care even less.’
‘At least they are demure, delicate and refined—and quiet.’
‘And such dreadful bores.’
‘Where are you going?’ Peter demanded, throwing down his newspaper and striding after her.
Christina smiled back at him sublimely. ‘To welcome James.’
‘Christina! James is my friend and my guest. I would be obliged if you would remember that and not make a fool of yourself.’
‘Fiddlesticks! Calm down, Peter. Please don’t make a scene in front of James.’
‘Christina!’ Peter called her, but Christina was determined to be deaf. ‘You will behave yourself.’ She answered with a haughty shake of her head.
Christina went into the hall to greet James, an irate Peter coming after her, still ranting, but quieter now James was present. She was sorry really, for she loved her brother and hated being on the cross with him, but she found it irksome that he was for ever trying to tell her what to do, believing he knew what was best just because he was older than she was. At times he could be so tiresome, worse than Mama where convention was concerned. If only he had a more casual approach to things and didn’t take things so seriously.
The rest of the day passed in a pleasant haze for Christina. Peter and James retired to the billiard room and she followed. Ignoring Peter’s glower and his silent demand that she leave this male preserve so they could play the game and drink their port in peace, she took a seat in the window bay and settled down to watch. She would have loved to challenge them to a game, for she was rather good at it and often beat Peter when they were alone, but that would have been taking things too far and have Peter physically marching her out of the billiard room and packing her off to bed.
Sneaking a glass of port when they became absorbed in the game, she sipped it slowly, feeling her body relax as the alcohol warmed her stomach. She never drank anything stronger than wine weakened with water, which was all her mama would permit. She wasn’t sure she liked the taste of this rich, fortified wine, but if James liked it then she decided there could be nothing wrong with having a glass.
She sat and watched him lean over the table, the large gaslights above the table shining on his golden head. When Peter went out to get another bottle of port, she stood up and sidled over to where James was chalking his cue. Her face was flushed with the wine and her head felt woolly.
‘Peter tells me you’re taking the boat out on the lake in the morning, James.’
‘That’s right, Christina. First thing.’
‘You won’t object to me going with you, will you, James?’
He smiled, trying to hide his discomfort. Much as he liked Christina and always found her fun to be with, he wished she’d stop seeking his attention all the time. He wasn’t stupid or blind and knew in which direction her thoughts were leading her, but if she was waiting for him to declare himself, then she was in for a long wait. She might be the sister of his closest friend and very beautiful—anyone looking at her could not deny her that—but when he decided to settle down to wedded bliss, it would be with a woman with a far gentler and easier temperament than Christina Thornton.
‘I’m sorry. Better not, Christina. Not this time. Peter—’
Sudden anger flashed in her eyes. ‘Oh, bother Peter. You want me along, don’t you?’
‘Well—I—I…’
He looked beyond her and Christina saw relief flood his eyes when Peter came striding in carrying a bottle of port. Peter looked at his sister accusingly. She put her chin up defensively in the face of his scowl, and with a flare of temper and feeling more than a little sick from the port, she turned and flounced out of the room.
Christina slipped from her bed when dawn was breaking, the sky a faint and rosy pink on the horizon. Careful to avoid the domestic quarters, where sounds of industry coming from the kitchen could be heard already, she let herself out of the front door. Running through the woods to the lake beyond, she hoped to be there long before Peter and James and was prepared to wait. With a bull-headed stubbornness that afflicts those who love, she was convinced that when they saw her they would capitulate and let her go with them.
Disappointment swamped her when she saw that the boat was already bobbing gently in the middle of the lake, both Peter and James oblivious to her standing on the bank watching them cast their lines into water.
Anger hot and fierce consumed her. How could they? How could they be so cruel? Peter was the worst kind of beast and James didn’t care for her after all or he would have stood up to Peter and not done this.
What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t he attracted to her? Was she plain, was she ugly? What? Compounded out of vanity and complacent confidence that she could make him love her, she had wanted him to notice her so much.
Her heart and her quick, intelligent mind now realised that she had made herself look a fool, running after him the way she had, and her heart quailed contemptuously at her forward conduct. The enormity of it all hit her like a rock and stung her to new rage, rage at herself with all the fury of thwarted and humiliated first love.
Blinded by tears, she whirled about, knowing only that she must get away from the lake. So lost was she in her anger and self-chastisement that she didn’t see the horse and rider coming towards her. A voice calling her name startled her. She jumped, not expecting anyone to be in the woods at this hour. She stopped and stood very still as the powerful figure of Max Lloyd drew level and he dismounted.
‘Christina? I didn’t expect to see you at this hour. You’re out and about early.’
‘I can see I’m not the only one.’
‘I like to ride early.’ He looked concerned as he studied her tear-stained face and the droop of her slender shoulders, realising she was in the grip of some powerful emotion, for there were tears of rage and misery in her eyes. ‘Is something wrong? You look upset to me. You have been crying.’
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ she retorted, averting her eyes while realising she must look a mess. She took a deep breath, trying to stifle her rising embarrassment. Max Lloyd had caught her at her most vulnerable. Anger at being so surprised made her voice tremble and her eyes gleam like two hard green stones as she said coldly, ‘Please excuse me. I’m—in a hurry to get back to the house.’
‘Then I’ll walk with you.’ Taking the reins of his horse, he walked beside the irate young woman, matching her quick strides with his own. Turning his head, he looked at her for a moment, touched by her obvious youth and perhaps also by some private scruples. As she moved she had the animal grace of a young thoroughbred, yet at the same time a warm, vibrant femininity that touched a deep chord in him.
‘You’ll probably resent me saying this, but you look more than a little out of sorts. What, I ask myself, is so important as to drag you from your bed at this hour and make you cry?’
‘Fishing,’ she snapped. ‘And I’m not crying.’
He arched a brow. ‘Fishing? You like fishing?’
‘I do.’
‘Alone?’
‘No. Peter and James have taken the boat out on to the lake.’
Max was beginning to understand. Concealing the irritation he always felt when James Embleton’s name was mentioned, he said, ‘And you wanted to go with them.’
‘Yes. They refused to take me.’ She sighed, her face crestfallen. ‘I was too late anyway.’ Turning to look at him, she saw the blue eyes laughing in the tanned face and amusement tugging at the corners of his firm lips, which quickly rekindled her ire. ‘Don’t you dare laugh. It’s in very poor taste.’
‘Why should I laugh?’
‘Because there is no more foolish sight than a woman who makes a fool of herself over a man who does not want her—the way I have done over James Embleton.’
‘So the unimaginable has happened.’
She nodded. ‘It looks like it.’
‘I think you are more upset with your own behaviour than James Embleton’s rejection of you. So he isn’t as susceptible to your charms as you would like him to be.’
‘You don’t understand. You’ll never understand,’ she blurted out before she could stop herself.
‘I can understand only too well. You seem to have got yourself into quite a pickle, as you English say, over this young man. You are very young, Christina, and have much to learn.’
Christina stiffened with childish fury. How dare this impudent foreigner say these things to her? ‘I’m not obliged to discuss my feelings with you. It’s always the same assumption. Can no one think of me in any light but as a silly naïve girl?’
A slow, lazy smile swept across Max’s face, and Christina braced herself for him to say something mocking, but his deep voice was filled with admiration and teasing. ‘You are a delightful girl, Christina, who has a habit of doing without thinking first. Like I said, you have much to learn about life—and men.’
She stopped abruptly and glowered up at him. Not for one second was she deceived by his tender concern. ‘And who will teach me these things? You?’
He smiled and his eyes shone with a roguish gleam. ‘I would like to.’
‘Is there something wrong with me? Am I not attractive to look at?’
‘You worry too much,’ Max said, his eyes held by the pale, graceful figure. The lights in her glorious hair changed colour rapidly in the light that filtered through the upper branches of the trees, from the deepest brown to a rich mahogany. A kind of anger welled up inside him against James Embleton for causing her distress. ‘Take it from me, there is nothing wrong with the way you look. James Embleton must be blind. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.’
‘He doesn’t?’
‘No.’
‘Then—would you like to kiss me?’
Max frowned and looked away. She didn’t know what she was asking.
Christina misinterpreted his response and continued to walk on in a huff, her hands clenched and her chin thrust out. ‘There, I knew it. There is something wrong with me.’
Striding after her, Max took her arm and spun her round to face him. ‘Have you never been kissed?’
She shook her head sullenly.
Cupping her chin in his hand, Max looked deep into her eyes, his own intense and gentle at the same time. ‘One day I will kiss you, Christina. That I promise you, and when I do you will want me to go on kissing you. But not now, not when you’re all fired up and thinking of someone else. When I kiss you it will be because it is me you want. Do you understand?’
Max was attired in snug-fitting calf-coloured breeches and tan riding boots, bottle-green jacket and a rakish cream silk cravat around his neck and she looked at him hard, as if for the first time. His magnificent physique was displayed in a way that made her throat go dry. With a thick lock of black hair drooping across his brow and his incredible blue eyes, she thought how terribly attractive he was, the most attractive man she had ever met, and there was no point in denying it.
With the quietness of the woods all about them, for a moment she was held by his gaze, unable to drag her eyes from the ones that commanded her attention. It was as if he searched out her very soul, and he had a way of making her feel consumed by that heated regard. His fingers still cupped her chin and his touch excited her, warmed her, but her mind shied away from going any deeper than that, for it seemed obscene to even consider she might have feelings for any other man but James. He seemed to sense her discomfort; his smile became positively wolfish.
‘You must think me stupid,’ she retorted, taking a step back so that he had to release her chin. She looked away and stiffened her spine. Max’s dark brows drew together over incredulous blue eyes.
‘No, I don’t. You decided that.’ For a moment he studied her with heavy-lidded, speculative eyes. ‘Perhaps I will kiss you after all.’
Christina found she was unable to move when his hand suddenly cupped her cheek. ‘Look at me,’ he said in a low, velvety, unfamiliar voice that sent apprehensive and exciting tingles darting up her spine. She raised her eyes to his tanned face. Although no one had ever attempted to kiss her before, she took one look at the slumberous expression in his eyes and was instantly wary.
‘Are you really going to kiss me?’
A slow, lazy smile that made her heart leap worked its way across his face and Christina was unable to drag her eyes from his hypnotic gaze. ‘Yes, I am.’
Terrified of what would happen next and that she would make a complete idiot of herself, she whispered, ‘I—don’t think you should. It doesn’t matter—really…’
Ignoring her protests, Max tilted her face for a kiss. Lowering his head, he touched her lips with his. Then he looked at her to assess her reaction. ‘Well?’
Christina’s eyes were wide with bewilderment—and disappointment. ‘Was that it? Is that all there is to kissing?’
Max looked down at her, gazing into the wide, luminous eyes of this unpredictable girl, and tenderness began to unfold within him. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘There’s much more.’ Placing his hands on her shoulders, he puller her towards him, so close that her breasts pressed against his chest and the rest of her body fitted perfectly into his. Her question, spoken in complete innocence, caught Max completely off guard. Every feminine ploy in existence had been used on him in the past, but without success—and yet this artless child-woman, her candour combined with her upturned, beautiful face and alluring body pressing against him, acted like a powerful aphrodisiac.
Lost in a confusion of apprehension and yearning, suddenly Christina saw something primitive and alarming kindle in his eyes, and so lost was she in her own thoughts that it took a moment before she realised that his gaze had dropped to her lips and that he meant to kiss her again.
‘You don’t have to—’
Without hesitating for a moment, with desire surging through him, heating his blood and sending it singing through his veins, Christina Thornton became an alluring and incredibly enticing woman. Ignoring his conscience, which suddenly reared up with acid disgust to remind him that he was deliberately seducing a gullible child, Max thrust it away and smothered her objections with another kiss, completely different to the one before. It was long, tender and devouring, and at first Christina didn’t know what to think of it, and then as his lips began to move over hers, coaxing, fiercely tender, determined, her body jerked and she tore her lips from his, struggling like a young animal caught in a trap, until she felt his large masculine hand curve round her nape, his long fingers sliding into her hair, and his breath warm on her parted lips.
His mouth claimed hers once more, his lips insistent and moving with inflaming expertise over hers. Dizzily, Christina slid her hands up his chest, feeling the power of him, the sheer strength packed into the hard muscles beneath her fingers as she yielded her lips to his, parting them beneath the sensual pressure, and the moment his tongue slid between them, invading her mouth and taking possession of her, she became lost in a sea of pure sensation.
Melting against him and moulding her body to his length, she clung to him for support, unaware of how this innocent action triggered an instant reaction from Max. His arms tightened around her, his hand caressing her spine as he deepened his kiss, his parted lips moving over hers and crushing them with hungry ardour.