Captive Bride (2 page)

Christina was no longer the tomboy she once was. She wore dresses now instead of the breeches Johnsy had made for her because she was always getting dirty and tearing her clothes. She was a lady now, and she enjoyed being one.

Christina finished bathing and dressed in a cool cotton dress with a floral pattern. She realized it wasn't in fashion, but she wanted to be comfortable as she did her shopping. She combed out her long golden hair and then pinned it up into a mass of curls and ringlets. Picking up the bonnet she would wear, she went downstairs to breakfast.

She found the dining room through one of the doors off the hall. John was sitting at the huge table with Howard and Kathren Yeats. She could smell the sweet aroma of ham and apple turnovers, for the table was laden with them and with eggs and muffins.

"Christina, my dear. I can't tell you how pleased we are to have you here." Kathren Yeats smiled at her with soft gray eyes. "We've just been telling John of the parties that we've been invited to, and there will be a grand ball for you to attend before your stay is over."

Howard Yeats chimed in. "To start you off, there's a formal dinner tonight at a friend's house. But don't worry— the younger crowd will be there," he laughed.

Howard and Kathren Yeats were in their late forties, a cheerful and robust couple always on the go and loving every minute of it. Christina and John had known them always, for they were old friends of the family.

"I can't wait to get out and see the city!" Christina said enthusiastically, putting something from each dish on her plate. "I want to get my shopping done today. Will you join me, Kathren?"

"Of course, my dear. We'll go to Bond Street. It's just around the corner and simply packed with shops."

"I thought I would join you myself, since I couldn't get back to sleep. There are a few things I have to pick up anyway," John remarked. He wasn't about to let Crissy go out into the dangerous city without him, even if Kathren Yeats was along.

John still looked tired, but perhaps he was as excited as she was, Christina thought. A maid filled her cup with steaming hot tea as she gulped down mouthfuls of savory ham and eggs.

"I'll be just a minute," Christina said, noticing they were all finished eating.

"Take your time, child," Howard Yeats said, an amused expression on his ruddy face. "You have all the time in the world."

"Howard's right, Crissy. Don't eat so fast," John scolded her. "You will have to delay your shopping for a stomachache."

They all laughed, but Christina didn't slow down. She wanted to be on her way. She hadn't expected to have to dress formally their first night here. She had only one evening gown, which she had made for Lord Huntington's last ball.

They spent the whole morning and part of the afternoon going from one shop to another. There were a couple of shops that featured ready-made clothes, but Christina could find only three street dresses that suited her fancy, with slippers and bonnets to match. She could find no evening gowns, however, so they spent the rest of the time having her measurements taken and choosing materials and trims. She ordered three gowns and two more street dresses, all with matching accessories.

The seamstress said it would take at least four days to complete the outfits, but that she would start on the gowns first so Christina might have them earlier. They finally returned home and had a light lunch, then napped.

That evening all tongues were set to wagging when Christina and John Wakefield made their entrance at the dinner party. They were a striking pair with their blond hair and extreme good looks. Christina felt out of place with her deep-violet evening gown, because all the other young women were wearing light pastels. But she was reassured when John whispered, "You outshine them all, Crissy."

Their hosts took them around to meet the other guests, and Christina enjoyed every minute of it. The women flirted boldly with John, and this shocked her a bit. But she was even more shocked by the way the men looked at her, as if undressing her with their eyes. She supposed she had a lot to learn about city people.

The dinner was served in a large dining room, with two huge chandeliers hanging above the table. Christina was seated between two young gentlemen who lavished far too many compliments on her. The man on her left, Mr. Peter Browne, had an annoying habit of taking hold of her hand while talking to her. Sir Charles Buttler, on her right, had limpid blue eyes that wouldn't leave her for a minute. Both men vied for her attentions, each boasting and trying to outdo the other.

After the meal was finished, the women retired to the drawing room and left the men to their brandy and cigars. Christina would have preferred to remain with the men and discuss politics or world affairs. Instead, she was forced to listen to all the latest gossip about people she didn't know. "You know, my dear, that man has insulted every pretty young girl that his brother, Paul Caxton, has introduced to him. It's not human the way he shuns them," Christina overheard a dowager say to her friend.

"It's true that he doesn't seem interested in women. He will not even dance. You don't think he is ah—odd, do you? You know—the kind of man who doesn't care for women?" the other replied.

"How can you say that when he looks so virile? Every eligible young woman in town would love to land him—no matter how badly he treats them."

Christina wondered slightly who the dowagers were talking about, but she didn't really care. She was immensely relieved when she and John were finally able to leave. In the coach on the way home, John smiled mischievously.

"You know, Crissy, three young admirers of yours cornered me separately in the den to ask if they could call on you."

"Really, John?" she replied, yawning. "What did you tell them?"

"I said that you were very discriminating in your tastes, and that you wouldn't give tuppence for the lot of them."

Christina's eyes flew open, "John, you didn't!" she gasped. "I'll never be able to show my face again!"

Howard Yeats burst out laughing. "You're very gullible tonight, Christina. Where has your sense of humor gone?"

"I actually told them that I didn't dictate to you whom you could or could not see—that the choice was entirely up to you whether you wished to receive callers or not," John said sedately as they pulled up in front of the Yeats home.

"You know—I didn't even think of that. I wouldn't know what to do or say if I had a gentleman caller. I've never entertained anybody except Tommy, and he's like a brother to me," Christina said seriously.

"It will come naturally to you, my dear," Kathren said knowingly. "So don't you worry yourself about it."

The days flew by quickly for Christina, with parties, social gatherings, and dinners to attend. Peter Browne, her dinner partner of her first evening in London, declared himself instantly smitten, and exasperated her with constant declarations of his love. He even asked her brother for her hand in marriage.

"Peter Browne asked you for my hand yesterday, and Sir Charles Buttler asked me today while riding in the park. These London men are quite impulsive, aren't they? Well, I won't see any more of them! It's ridiculous how they think every girl who comes to London is looking for a husband. And to declare they're in love, when they hardly know me—it's absurd!" Christina stormed at her brother, who was more than amused at her outburst.

Tonight was Christina's first ball. She had been looking forward to dancing ever since last month, when she had coaxed Johnsy's husband to teach her how. She had saved her prettiest new gown for this night and was as excited as a small child with a new toy. So far, her London season had not been what she had dreamed it would be. But tonight would be different! And she hoped Peter and Sir Charles would be at the ball, for she was determined to ignore them.

Chapter 3

PAUL Caxton sat staring moodily out the window of his study. He was brooding about his older brother, Philip, for Paul had never understood him. Philip had been a silent, withdrawn child, and living with their father these past years had not improved his disposition.

Philip had been discontent since returning to London a year ago for Paul's wedding. Paul talked him into staying in England, hoping Philip would find a wife for himself, settle down, and start a family. But Philip had become a barbarian after living with their father in the desert for so long. Paul and his wife, Mary, introduced many young ladies to Philip, but he showed contempt for them all.

Paul couldn't understand Philip's attitude. He knew Philip could be charming and polite if he chose, for he treated Mary with the greatest respect. But Philip just didn't give a damn what society thought of him. He refused to play the gentleman, no matter how it embarrassed Paul.

Philip had arrived last night from a month's stay at their estate in the country. He had uncommon control of his temper, but went into a rage when Paul told him of this night's ball.

"If you are planning on foisting some more of your pert little society misses on me, I swear I'll leave this town for good!" Philip had stormed. "How many times must I tell you, Paul, that I don't want a wife! I have no desire to have a frilly-skirted, obnoxious woman underfoot and making demands on my time. I have better things to do than contend with a woman." Philip paced back and forth vigorously. "If I want a woman, then I'll take her, but only for a night of pleasure with no strings attached. I don't want to be tied down. Damn it all, when will you get that through your head?"

"But what if you should someday fall in love—as I have? Then will you marry?" Paul had ventured, knowing his brother's bark was worse than his bite.

"If that day ever comes, then of course I'll marry. But don't get your hopes up, little brother, for I've seen what this town has to offer. The day will never come."

Well, Philip might be surprised at the ball tonight, Paul thought, smiling to himself. He jumped out of his chair and ran up the stairs three at a time. He was in a jubilant mood as he knocked loudly on his brother's door and stuck his head inside. Philip was just sitting up on the bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"It's time to get dressed, old man," Paul said mischievously. "And wear your best regalia. You want to charm all the ladies, don't you?" Paul closed the door swiftly as a pillow slammed against it. He laughed boisterously as he went down the hall to his room.

"What's so amusing, Paul?" Mary asked as he came into their room still laughing.

"I think Philip will meet his downfall this night, and he won't even know it," Paul answered.

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Nothing, my sweet—nothing at all!" he exclaimed. He picked her up and swung her round and round.

Philip Caxton was annoyed. He had had an argument with his brother only yesterday about women and marriage, and now Paul was at it again.

"Look at all the beauties you can choose from in this ballroom," his brother was saying with a twinkle in his green eyes. "It's about time you settled down and gave the Caxtons an heir."

Paul was going too far. Philip wondered at the game he was playing. "Do you expect me to pick a wife from one of these simpleminded young ladies of society?" he said sarcastically. "There's not one here I would care to invite into my bedroom."

"Why aren't you dancing, Philip?" Mary said, coming up to them. "Shame on you, Paul, for keeping your brother from all these pretty young things." She put her arm on Paul's.

It always amused Philip when Mary referred to girls her own age as young things. Mary was only eighteen years old herself, and very lovely, with big cat-like eyes and light brown hair. Paul had married her only last year.

Philip replied teasingly, "When I find a maiden as beautiful as you are, my dear, I will be more than happy to waltz the night away."

Just then Philip saw Christina standing only three feet away. She was a vision! He didn't know a woman could be that beautiful!

She glanced at him before turning away, but in that moment her image was etched in his mind forever. Her eyes fascinated him—dark rings of sea-blue surrounding light-blue-green centers. Her hair was a shimmering golden mass of curls, with a few loose curls dangling softly against her neck and temples. Her nose was straight and narrow—her lips, soft and alluring and made to be kissed.

She wore a dark-sapphire-blue-satin ballgown. Her soft rounded breasts swelled above the de'colletage, and light-blue ribbons emphasized her slim waist. She was perfection.

Philip's gaze was interrupted by Paul's hand waving back and forth before bis eyes. He finally looked at his grinning brother.

"Have you gone daft?" Paul laughed. "Or is it Miss Wakefield who has caught your eye? Why do you think I insisted you come tonight? She lives with her brother in Halstead and is here for the season. Would you like to meet her?"

Philip smiled. "Do you have to ask?"

Christina noticed a man staring rudely at her. She had overheard him earlier insulting all the ladies in the room. Perhaps he was the same man whose bad manners were the talk of London.

She turned away when she saw him coming toward her. She had to admit he was the handsomest man she had ever seen, but reminded herself that she had lived a secluded life and had met very few.

"Excuse me, John," she said to her brother, "but it is extremely warm in here. Could we take a turn in the garden?" She took a step, but was stopped by a voice behind her.

"Miss Wakefield."

Christina had no choice but to turn around. She looked into a pair of forest-green eyes with hundreds of yellow flecks in them. They held her spellbound. It seemed an eternity before she heard voices again.

"Miss Wakefield, we met in the park yesterday—you mentioned you would be attending this ball. You do remember, don't you?"

Christina finally turned to the tall young man and his wife. "Yes, I remember. It was Paul and Mary Caxton, was it not?"

"That's right," Paul said. "I would like to introduce you to my brother, who is also visiting the city. Miss Christina and Mr. John Wakefield—my brother, Philip Caxton."