by Mary Lyons
‘Me? Pay you…?’ She gave a strangled, incredulous laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘It’s no more ridiculous than taking money under false pretences—which is exactly what you’ve been doing,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘If I hadn’t come along to rescue you, this tour would have been a complete shambles.’
‘Rubbish’ Angelica retorted defiantly, raising her chin and refusing to be intimidated by the tall, handsome figure looming over her in the dark corner of the church. ‘I may not be a walking encyclopaedia, but I was getting along fine until you turned up.’
‘Now who’s talking rubbish?’ He gave a low, mocking laugh. ‘In fact, I’m not sure it isn’t my duty—as a moral and upright citizen—to report you to the authorities.’
‘I don’t care what you do!’ she stormed. ‘Just as long as you get out of my hair, out of this church, and that I never, ever have to see you again!’
Quite why she thought that she was strong enough to push the handsome, dark stranger away from her, and out of the church, Angelica had no idea. But of course there was no rational thought process behind her total loss of temper.
It was only when the fiery red mist in front of her eyes had begun to clear that she realised her hands were being gripped by firm, hard fingers, tightening about her wrists like bands of steel. Prevented from hitting the awful man, she instinctively resorted to the use of her feet. But, although he gave a slight grunt of pain when her shoe connected with his shin, he didn’t allow her to inflict any more damage. A brief moment or two later, Angelica found herself being pushed roughly backwards; the man’s angry, determined momentum only halted as she felt her spine jar against cold stone, with his tall figure pinning her to a buttress in a dark corner of the church.
Shocked and severely shaken by the speed with which he’d reacted to her assault, she gazed fearfully up at the man glaring down at her, his face only inches away from her own. Despite the dim light, she was able to see a pulse beating furiously at his temple, the tightly clenched jaw and glittering, cold gleam in his deeply hooded grey eyes.
‘Let me go!’ she gasped helplessly. ‘You can’t do this to me.’
‘No? Well, it seems that I can—and I have!’ he growled savagely.
Badly frightened by the situation in which she now found herself—which was solely due, she realised with a sinking heart, to her own totally foolish loss of temper—Angelica desperately tried to free herself from the man’s fierce grip.
‘Let—me—go!’ she panted, frantically redoubling her efforts to escape, and wincing with pain as his iron-like fingers tightened about her wrists.
‘I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense,’ he told her softly, the silky ruthlessness in his voice sending a shudder of fright through her trembling figure. ‘I have every intention of letting you go. But not until you’ve calmed down,’ he added, the dark anger in his face slowly subsiding as he gazed down at the struggling girl with an expression of guarded amusement.
‘You…you can’t keep me here!’ she lashed back angrily, almost weeping with frustration, and an overpowering sense of her own folly in attempting to confront this apparently invincible man. ‘If you don’t let me go, I’ll call the police! I’ll scream and—’
‘Oh, no, you won’t!’ he retorted, responding to her wild threats by swiftly raising his arm, whose wrist bore a wafer-thin gold watch, and placing a large, tanned hand over her mouth.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing,’ he added grimly over her muffled protests, ‘but I’m not prepared to have my picture on the front page of the gutter press. Nor to have my career in the City ruined by some crazy, hysterical girl!’
Totally confused by the swift turn of events, Angelica glared up at the man looming over her. Effectively prevented from saying anything by the large, warm hand firmly clamped over her trembling lips, she could do nothing to combat his height and superior strength, which was keeping her immobile and silent until he chose to let her go. And where were the rest of the group? Why hadn’t someone come to her rescue? she wondered, her eyes desperately probing the darkness behind the man’s tall, menacing figure.
‘Are you going to be sensible?’ he drawled quietly, gazing down at the girl’s flushed cheeks, her wide blue eyes brimming with unshed tears of acute frustration. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t discuss any problems you might have like two perfectly calm, responsible adults. So, if I take my hand away, will you promise not to scream the place down?’ he added, waiting until she gave a reluctant nod before slowly lowering his arm.
With hindsight, Angelica might have been prepared to admit that maybe the man wasn’t entirely to blame for what happened next. It was, after all, just possible that he misunderstood the loud gasp of relief which she gave on the removal of his hand. But as she opened her mouth to take a deep gulp of air, he appeared to assume that she was about to break her promise.
As he ground out, ‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ she found herself crushed tightly to his chest, the fingers of one hand burying themselves in her blonde hair, holding her head firmly against him. She barely had time to register the grim warning in his glittering grey eyes before he swiftly lowered his dark head towards her, preventing her from saying or doing anything as his mouth closed firmly over her lips.
It was a savage, ruthless kiss, clearly intended to stifle any sound or cry for help. Attempting to move her head or to escape proved useless. Becoming almost faint beneath the force of his lips and her own exertion, she drummed her fists against his broad shoulders in a vain and hopeless attempt to free herself from his tight embrace.
The next few minutes seemed somehow blurred in her mind. Shocked and totally disoriented by the speed with which she’d been assaulted, Angelica only dimly realised that the mouth which had so firmly possessed her own was no longer burning like a firebrand on her lips. Dazed and confused, she fluttered her eyelids open, to see him gazing down at her with a tense, strained expression on his hard features. The hands which had been gripping her so fiercely were now gently holding her face as his fingers moving softly over the contours of her pale cheeks.
‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I must be out of my mind!’ he breathed huskily as she continued to stare blindly up at him, her dazed brain unable to comprehend what was happening to her.
It seemed as though she was viewing the scene from afar—almost as if it was happening to someone else—her senses beguiled by the musky scent of his cologne, and the hard strength of the body pressed closely to her own. Her whole world seemed encompassed by the darkening glitter in the grey eyes, now staring down at her so intently.
Since she was mentally paralysed, there seemed nothing she could do as he lowered his head to brush his lips softly over her mouth. By the time she had begun to comprehend the almost impossible fact that he was intending to kiss her—yet again!—it was far too late for any effective protest.
As if in a dream, she became slowly aware of an insidious rising tide of sensual excitement, which flowed like molten lava through every part of her body, the wild beating of her heart echoing like a drum in her ears, her lips parting helplessly beneath the deepening force of his kiss. And then she was lost, responding blindly and with an increasing urgency to the taut, male body pressed so firmly to her softly yielding breasts and thighs.
Suddenly it was all over as she found herself abruptly released. Swiftly pushing her away, he took a step backwards, cursing harshly beneath his breath and brushing a hand roughly through his thick, dark hair.
Dazed and trembling, Angelica stared at him in complete confusion, her gaze only slowly following his as he turned to look behind him. What she saw then was enough to make her almost faint with embarrassment and deep mortification. Because not only had the tour group finally tracked her down, but, from the look of astonishment on some faces and the wide grins on others, it was obvious that they had been interested observers of all that had
just taken place!
Many hours af
ter, as she lay In the comforting darkness of her own bedroom at Lonsdale House, Angelica could still feel herself going hot and cold with shame at the recollection of the humiliating scene. At the time, she simply hadn’t been able to cope with the acutely distressing episode, firmly closing her eyes for some moments and desperately trying to think what she could possibly say or do next. The realisation that she had no option but to continue with the tour had been almost more than she could bear. And yet, when she’d finally forced herself to open her eyes, she’d discovered that the group—possibly to save her any further embarrassment and chagrin—had melted away. And so, too, had the tall stranger.
In fact, although she’d somehow managed to reassemble her group of walkers, giving no one the chance of discussing what they’d seen as she led them swiftly through the remainder of the tour, she luckily hadn’t set eyes on the awful man again. It was almost as though he’d vanished into thin air. He’d certainly left the church before she did. And although Angelica had thrown cautious glances up and down the street, before turning right to cross the piazza towards the church of St Andrew Undershaft and on down Leadenhall Street, he’d been nowhere to be seen.
It would have been a comfort if she could have dismissed the scene from her mind, as if it had all been a bad dream or nightmare. Unfortunately, it was impossible to pretend that it had been a figment of her overheated imagination. Especially when she could all too easily recall the effect of his kiss on her emotions, the tide of sick excitement flooding through her body as she once more relived the feel of the hard, firm lips and body pressed so closely to her own.
With a groan, she turned over to bury her face in the pillow. She must… she simply must try and forget the whole hideous incident. It was stupid to be reacting in such a childish way to a confrontation which, if she was to be truly honest, had been partly her own fault. If she hadn’t so spectacularly lost her temper, the shameful episode would never have happened. Her only sensible course of action, therefore, must now be to try and dismiss the whole affair from her mind.
After all, she knew nothing about the man or where he came from—not even his name. Fortunately, there was no possibility of his knowing anything about her either. Since she’d never guided a walking tour of the City before—and she certainly wouldn’t ever attempt to do so again!—the odds on their ever meeting in the future must be about a million to one. It was a comforting thought that brought a measure of peace to her troubled mind, and one which enabled her at last to drift slowly off into a dreamless sleep.
The next few days seemed to pass by in a whirl. Angelica was kept so busy trying to sort out the deeply depressing problems concerning the roof timbers, and worrying about how to find the money to pay for the essential repairs, that she barely had time to think about her disastrous encounter with the strange man.
She wasn’t just concerned with problems about the roof, of course. Not only had it been a mammoth exercise to take most of her clothes to the dry-cleaners, but she’d also been forced to call in professional firms both to dry the large Persian carpets and to inspect the valuable paintings—all yet more unavoidable expense.
It didn’t seem to matter how many times she did her sums, the figures obstinately refused to add up. From the way the money was flowing out of her account, it wouldn’t be long before she found herself in serious financial trouble. In fact, after receiving two tough warning letters from her bank manager, it looked as if she was going to have to take some drastic action very soon.
Luckily there had been no fall-out from her tour of the City. Not wishing to look for trouble, she’d been very careful and guarded when talking on the phone to her boss, David Webster. Knowing just how pessimistic he could be, she was certain that he’d have informed her immediately of any complaints or comments about her proficiency as a guide. So it seemed as though the tall, unknown man. was every bit as anxious as she was to forget the whole distasteful incident.
It was, therefore, with a reasonably light heart that she prepared to set out, a few afternoons later, on her next tour of London.
Entitled The Village of Chelsea, it explored the highways and byways of what had once been a small village, surrounded by country estates and summer palaces belonging to royalty, and some of the most interesting men and women in the history of British art and literature.
It was a tour which she had personally designed and put together, taking place on the same day every week as laid down in the small printed brochures produced by David. With Lonsdale House situated in Cheyne Walk, overlooking the River Thames, the tour also had the great merit of taking place virtually outside her own front door. Besides which, guiding people around her favourite area of London for a leisurely, two-hour stroll in the warm sunshine, was nothing but a pleasure and a delight. And, since there was no possibility of being faced by the nervous apprehension which had overtaken her in the City a few days ago, Angelica was feeling happily confident as she ran downstairs into the large hall.
‘That’s a definite improvement,’ Betty said, eyeing the girl’s fresh summer dress, whose plain fitted bodice and softly gathered skirt emphasised her slim waist. Angelica had pinned her long, pale gold hair into a loose knot on top of her head, small tendrils of hair escaping to frame her face with soft curls, her wide blue eyes reflecting the colour of her blue cotton dress.
‘I don’t know what you think you looked like ‘the other day. It was a disgraceful sight, and I can only hope that you didn’t meet anyone we know,’ the older woman added grimly, before continuing her job of dusting the marble busts of long-dead Reman emperors, set on plinths in the hall.
‘Don’t be such an old fuss-pot!’ Angelica grinned. ‘You know very well that, with everything sopping wet, the only thing I could do was to raid Granny’s boxes of theatrical costumes.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Betty gave a heavy sigh. ‘I still miss your grandma so much, you know. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of all the fun times we used to have together in the theatre.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Angelica murmured sympathetically.
She, too, deeply regretted the loss of her grandmother. Even in her old age and during her last, long illness, the elderly woman had possessed a bright, sparkling mind and a vibrant personality. Angelica knew, from the trunks of old costumes, photographs and posters, that her grandmother had once been outstandingly beautiful, and a star on the musical comedy stage, before leaving the bright lights behind her to marry old Sir Tristram’s grandson. Betty, who’d been her dresser in the theatre for many years, had insisted on accompanying her to Lonsdale House where, as her old nanny had so often pointed out, they’d all lived happily every after.
‘Ooo… the parties we used to have!’ Betty murmured, pausing in her dusting to stare into space for a moment. “There always seemed to be so much life and laughter in this house. But nowadays it’s more like a morgue,’ she added with a heavy sigh.
Angelica had to admit that Betty was right. She herself could just remember the glittering dinner parties and crowded, exciting receptions which had taken place when she’d been a small girl. However, as her grandmother had grown older and more infirm, fewer and fewer people had come to the house. Following her grandmother’s death two years ago, the large building now seemed to have become nothing but a dusty museum. Although Angelica made sure that Lonsdale House was open to the public once a week—as she was obliged to do by the terms of the trust—they very seldom had more than one or two visitors.
She really couldn’t blame people for not coming to the house in droves, she told herself glumly. Sir Tristram’s collection might be an interesting and fascinating one, but even she could see that the whole place required a completely radical overhaul. But, in order to put a fresh approach into action, she knew that she would need both expert advice and a great deal of money.
‘You’d better hurry up. If you don’t get a move on, you’ll be late!’ Betty’s warning voice broke into her dismal thoughts.
‘Yes—you’re
right,’ Angelica muttered with a quick glance at one of the many large clocks scattered about the hall. Swiftly gathering up her handbag, she ran towards the front door. ‘Oh, by the way, I won’t be back until quite late this afternoon,’ she added. ‘I’ve promised to go and have tea with old Lady Marshall.’
‘Rather you than me, any day. That old hag is a right battleaxe!’ the older woman called out, her scornful peal of laughter echoing in Angelica’s ears as she hurried down the street.
There was clearly no love lost between her old nanny and Lady Marshall. Unfortunately, Betty had known the imperious old lady when she’d been plain Doreen Summers, kicking up her legs in the back row of the chorus. ‘A very flighty piece she was, too,’ Betty had said. ‘If Doreen hadn’t caught old Sir Edward Marshall’s eye, and frogmarched him to the altar, goodness knows where she might have ended up!’
However, as Angelica got off the bus at Sloane Square, she was far less interested in Lady Marshal’s past than in her present position as chairman of the board of trustees responsible for the maintenance and upkep of Lonsdale House… Of course, Betty was quite right. There was no doubt that the elderly lady was an extremely tiresome and difficult womam. Unfortunately, with her very strong, forcful personality, she had become the dominant voice among the other trusts, who all weakly bowed to her will.
Having greeted the group of people gathered together for her tour, with some latecomers still arriving, Angelica was still preocaupied with wondering exactly how to dealt with Lady Marshall. It was vitally important that the elderly woman should fully understand the immediate, desperate problems she was now facing with Lonsdale House.
Collecting the small fee for the tour, and automatically handing back the small yellow receipts, plus any necessary change, Angelica was just wondering if she could put forward the idea of obtaining advice from the Victoria and Albert Museum, when a deeply voiced ‘thank you’ caught her attention.
