by Mary Lyons
Looking more closely at the long, tanned fingers of the hand into which she was just placing a receipt, whose wrist was clasped by a distinctly familiar, wafer-thin gold watch, she suddenly felt faint. All the breath seemed to have been driven from her body, as though she’d been hit by a swift, violent blow to the solair plus. Feeling quite sick, her eyes ’slowly travelled up the dark sleeve of the immaculately cut suit towards the broad shoulders and…
This couldn’t be happening to her! Angelica clamped her eyelids tightly shut for a moment, fervently praying that she was mistaken. Could she be suffering from a very brief, temporary hallucination? But when she opened her dazed blue eyes again she realised that she was way out of luck. Because standing there and regarding her with a mocking, sardonic smile was the man who’d caused her such distress and emotional trauma only a few days ago.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped breathlessly.
‘I thought it might be interesting to learn something about the history of Chelsea,’ he drawled coolly, his lips twitching with amusement at her expression of consternation and horror. ‘I’m also looking forward to seeing if you are any better informed about this area of London than you were about the City.’
Ignoring the hateful man’s slur on her competence, Angelica quickly tried to pull herself together. ‘Go away!’ she spat through clenched teeth. ‘I don’t want to have anything to do with you!’
‘Well, I’m afraid that you don’t have any choice in the matter,’ he murmured sardonically, holding up the yellow receipt. ‘You have taken my money— which means that we now have a contract between us.’
What was it about this terrible man which could send her into a blind fury in just five seconds flat? Angelica asked herself wrathfully. And did paying his money really give him a lawful right to join
the tour?
‘So, OK—go ahead and sue me!’ she ground out defiantly. ‘Because you are definitely, absolutely not accompanying me on this tour today.’
The man raised a dark eyebrow, staring down at her blandly for a moment, before reaching Inside his expensive dark suit. Producing an equally expensive-looking leather wallet, he extracted a small white business card.
‘My dear girl, I have no intention of suing you,’ he informed her coolly. ‘However, if you continue to refuse to allow me to join this tour, I suggest that you give my card to your employer. You can tell him that he’ll be hearing from my lawyers— about a possible action for damages.’
‘A what…?’ Angelica stared up at him in dawning horror. ‘You’ve got to be kidding?’
The man shook his dark head. ‘By using totally incompetent guides such as yourself, your employer is clearly responsible for taking money under false pretences,’ he drawled silkily. Placing his business card in her nervously shaking hand, he added, ‘I can assure you that it will give me great pleasure—plus the considerable satisfaction of performing a public duty, of course—to put both him and his ramshackle firm out of business.’
‘You…you can’t possibly do that!’ she protested angrily.
‘Would you like to place a bet on it?’ he drawled, the hard, confident note in his voice sending shivers of fright scudding up and down her spine.
He gazed past her, to where the other members of the group were clearly becoming restless.
“It would seem that you have only a few seconds to come to a decision, Angelica. If you delay any longer, it looks as though I’m not going to be the only client to complain about the way your employer runs his business!’
CHAPTER THREE
THIS was definitely not one of her better tours, Angelica told herself glumly, staring blindly at an oil painting on the wall, while the other members of her group inspected the ancient hammer-beam roof and oriel windows of Crosby Hall.
She’d had no choice but to give in, of course. Despite practically dancing with rage in the middle of Sloane Square, Angelica had quickly realised that the awful man’s dire threats to sue her employer, David Webster, had virtually settled the argument. She wouldn’t have minded standing up in the High Court and telling the whole world just how objectionable the man really was. In fact, she’d have relished the chance to do so! But she really couldn’t expose poor David to the possibility of legal proceedings. Especially when the conflict had absolutely nothing to do with the conduct of his business, and far more—if she was to be entirely honest— with an overwhelming personality clash between herself and the man, whose name appeared to be Luke Cunningham.
‘This doesn’t mean a thing!’ she’d snorted, grimacing at the small white business card which he’d placed in her hand. ‘It wouldn’t take you more than five minutes to have one of these printed—with any name you chose to put on it. For all I know, you could be Jack the Ripper!’ she’d added belligerently, squinting down in the sunshine at the small print, which merely stated in capital letters ‘LUKE CUNNINGHAM’, and in the bottom left-hand corner the words ‘Cornhill Bank, Bishopsgate’.
‘Don’t be so stupid—of course that’s my real name!’ he snapped, clearly annoyed and put out by her temerity in suggesting otherwise.
‘Oh, yes?’ she queried sarcastically, before giving a bark of jeering, scornful laughter which she hoped he would find profoundly irritating. Although Angelica was well aware, from the sounds of general unrest in the group behind her, that she couldn’t afford to stand here arguing with this man for much longer, she was quite determined to fight Mr Luke Cunningham every inch of the way.
‘If you think that I’m likely to be impressed by the fact that you work in a bank, you couldn’t be more wrong!’ she added scathingly. ‘Bank managers, are definitely not my favourite people at the moment.’
‘Well, in that case you will be relieved to hear that I most certainly am not a bank manager!’ he told her grimly, a stormy glint of anger in his hooded grey eyes.
‘So, OK, you’re a lowly worm, slaving away behind the till. So who cares?’ she exclaimed, before deliberately tearing up his business card and tossing the bits high up into the air.
Almost laughing out loud at the expression of indignation and outrage on his handsome, tanned face as the little white pieces fluttered slowly down on to the pavement about his feet, Angelica nervously stood her ground as he took a threatening step forward.
‘It’s clearly time that someone gave you a good hiding!’ he growled. ‘And, believe me, I’d be happy to volunteer for the job!’
‘I just bet you would, you… you pervert!’
‘What did you say?’
‘I can see it all now,’ she ground out furiously, refusing to be intimidated by his tall, dominant figure, or the dark brows drawn together in a startled, angry frown. ‘That explains why you assaulted me the other day, right? I might have known that you’re the awful, disgusting sort of man who gets his kicks from attacking strange women. Well, you’d better not try it again, sunshine—not unless you want to be arrested and thrown into gaol! Because I must have at least twenty witnesses back there.’ She gestured behind her towards the group of walkers impatiently waiting for the tour to begin.
Angrily defiant, she was both astounded and totally confused when he suddenly threw back his head, and roared with laughter.
‘Oh, Angelica! What an amazingly funny girl you are!’ he declared, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. ‘However, just before you clap me in prison,’ he added with a mocking grin, ‘I’d be fascinated to hear your explanation of just why you responded so enthusiastically to my—er—assault the other day?’
‘I did no such thing!’ she gasped, her face flaming with embarrassment as he gave a low, taunting laugh.
‘Oh, yes, you most certainly did. And very enjoyable it was too!’
Speechless with indignation, she scowled up at him, frantically trying to think of a sufficiently deadly, devastating response which would put this poisonous man firmly in his place, once and for all.
Unfortunately, before Angelica managed to construct a suitably crushing
reply, she was distracted by the approach of an elderly American gentleman.
‘Excuse me, miss, but are we going on this walk or aren’t we?’ he enquired plaintively.
Not giving her time to say or do anything, Luke Cunningham—clearly an oily snake in the grassquickly seized control of the situation.
‘That is precisely what I’ve been trying to find out,’ he told the other man smoothly. ‘However, I believe that our charming young guide is now ready to lead us on our way. Right, Angelica…?’
Even now, almost an hour later, she was still steaming with anger at the way she’d been so cleverly out-manoeuvred. And how on earth had he managed to discover her name?
It was a deeply worrying question, which had buzzed away in her mind as she’d led the group past Sir Christopher Wren’s Royal Hospital. She was ashamed of barely giving them time to appreciate either the classical architecture, or the aged Chelsea pensioners in their long, cardinal-red coats and black hats as they strolled about the quadrangle, or sat on the benches enjoying the sun beating down on their old bones.
Despite being preoccupied with her own problems, and anxious to keep as far away from Luke Cunningham as possible, Angelica had been forced to keep a sharp eye on her group when they reached the King’s Road. The crowded street was always very popular with anyone under the age of forty, mainly for its renown as one of the places in the
Swinging Sixties, as well as its present-day reputation for smart shops and trendy boutiques. Luckily, today’s trip had been fairly uneventful, with her only once having forcibly to drag two young students from a crowded, noisy record shop.
However, the group had been genuinely interested in knowing that the King’s Road had been named after Charles II, who’d adopted the route as his private carriageway.
‘I know it isn’t easy, trying to imagine what it must once have been like,’ she said, when some members of the party were clearly finding it difficult to ignore the wide streets and pavements, which were now thronged with people enjoying the many shops, restaurants and antique markets.
‘It was originally just a very quiet country lane, which lay between the King’s main palaces of St James and Hampton Court,’ she continued. ‘And, in order to preserve his privacy, it was only open to courtiers and wealthy members of the public, on production of a copper pass.’
All that was in the past, of course, she’d explained, although subsequent kings had jealously preserved their private right of way, with George III being especially fond of travelling along this route to one of his favourite palaces, at Kew.
If she hadn’t appeared to have lost her normally good sense of humour, Angelica might have found some grim amusement when she and the group had eventually reached Crosby Hall, situated near the Thames Embankment, at the furthermost point of their circular tour.
The fifteenth century hall had once formed part of a very large city mansion, owned and lived in by many famous people, including Sir Thomas More, on whose rural country estate much of modern-day Chelsea had been built, and also Sir Walter Raleigh, who’d brought back from his voyages to America such items as the potato plant and tobacco.
When the Great Hall had survived a fire which completely destroyed the rest of the large building, it had been dismantled and moved to Chelsea from its original site in Bishopsgate.
She seemed doomed by that particular area of the City, Angelica told herself grimly, wondering if she would ever be able to forget the embarrassing tour—and trying very hard not to look in the direction of Luke’s tall, dark figure as she imparted the information to the rest of the group.
They were now still only three-quarters of the way through the walk, and she honestly wasn’t sure that she was going to be able to stay the course. Quite apart from the sheer nervous exhaustion of having to be desperately careful not to make any small, careless errors—and thus giving Luke Cunningham an opportunity once again to make her look an absolute idiot—it was also the dominant physical presence of the loathsome man which was causing her to feel so tense and jittery’.
Actually, to be fair, Luke hadn’t pointed out any mistakes, or generally made a nuisance of himself, as he’d done during that disastrous walk around the City a few days ago. Which brought her strait back to square one, she told herself gloomily. Because the only thing which had made her recollection of that horrendous episode at all bearable had been the realisation that not only would she never see him again, but also the comforting thought that he had no way of being able to trace her. However, the discovery that she’d apparently been living in a fool’s paradise was now causing a host of awkward questions to flood her tired mind.
If Luke had, somehow, discovered her name, it was just possible that he might—God forbid?—turn up at Lonsdale House. The cringing embarrassment which would result from her having to explain, to either Betty or her friends, just how she’d met the awful man—and exactly what had happened—was almost more than she could bear.
She didn’t, of course, really believe that Luke was some kind of pervert—an insult which she’d only thrown at him in the heat of their furious argument. But she had no doubt that he was quite capable of causing her the maximum amount of trouble and embarrassment. Especially if he decided to retaliate by explaining—in graphic detail— how she’d lost her temper, and the measures he’d taken to prevent her from crying out for help. Even just thinking about it was enough to cause cold beads of perspiration to break out on her forehead.
‘I’m sure that’s an interesting picture, but I think the other members of our group would like to get on with this tour.’
Startled by the dreaded sound of his deep voice breaking into her distracted thoughts, Angelica spun around to find Luke standing close beside her.
‘Go away…get lost!’ she snapped nervously, trying to edge away from his tall, broad-shouldered figure. Although she’d managed, so far, to keep well out of his way during the walk, she might have known that her luck had been too good to last.
‘My dear girl—surely your job is to make sure that we don’t get lost?’ he queried smoothly, his lips twitching with amusement at the smouldering fury in her wide blue eyes.
‘Ha, ha, very funny!’ she ground out, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve being plagued and hounded by this awful man. ‘So, what do you want?’ she added belligerently.
He shrugged. ‘I merely wanted to tell you that I’m finding this a very interesting tour.’
‘Hey—wow! Be still, my beating heart!’ she gasped, dramatically clasping her hands to her chest and rolling her eyes up at the ceiling for a moment, before lowering her head to throw him a glance of acute dislike.
‘Actually, Mr Cunningham,’ she continued as he grinned down at her, ‘I was just wondering why you’ve been so silent. Especially since you’re obviously a walking encyclopaedia on the history of London. Surely there must have been something I’ve missed? One or two interesting and little-known facts with which you can bore us all to tears?’ she ground out acidly.
If she’d hoped to annoy this man seriously—and, of course, she had—Angelica found that she was doomed to disappointment as he gave an amused shake of his head.
‘Oh, dear, I do seem to have got under your skin, don’t I?’ He smiled down at her, before glancing at his wristwatch. ‘However, despite the fact that we seem to be running a bit late, I would say that you appear to have been doing really very well.’
‘Don’t you dare patronise me!’ she hissed, resolutely steeling herself to ignore the powerful effect of his warm simile. He might not be a thief, like Nigel Browning, but Luke clearly seemed to believe that he, too, could charm the birds from the trees.
It had been obvious from the start of this afternoon’s walk that for some quite inexplicable reason most of the female members of the group had clearly been drawn to the odious man’s handsome face and figure. Despite keeping well out of his way, Angelica still had two perfectly good eyes in her head—and it was quite disgusting, the way that flashy re
dhead, for instance, had been openly flirting with him! Serve the brazen hussy right when she finds out just how awful he can be, Angelica told herself grimly, her palms itching to slap the oh-so-charming smile off his handsome face.
He gave a heavily dramatic sigh. ‘OK, I give up!’
‘What?’ She frowned up at him in puzzlement.
‘I’ve been trying to figure out why such a beautiful girl should, on the two brief occasions on which I’ve seen her, prove to be so thoroughly bad-tempered.’
‘I can easily solve that little problem,’ she flashed back quickly. ‘Just as soon as I find out how you discovered my name?’
‘Ah.’ He grinned infuriatingly down at her. ‘We—er—”lowly worms” in the banking world have ways and means of ferreting out such information.’
‘I’m sure you have!’ Angelica ground out in a low voice as some members of the group passed them on their way out of the hall. ‘And if that expensive suit of yours is anything to go by, I expect you’ve also had your sticky fingers in the bank’s till!’ she added spitefully, enraged by his refusal to answer her question.
But it seemed that he was impervious to provocation, as he merely responded with a deep rumble of laughter.
‘Come on, you maddening girl,’ he said, putting an arm about her waist as he led her towards the door, blandly ignoring the way she jumped like a nervous, startled cat at the touch of his hand on her body.
‘If you don’t get a move on, you’ll be in danger of losing all the other members of the group,’ he told her in a mocking drawl. ‘And, although I can’t imagine why, I have the distinct impression that you really wouldn’t like to be left alone here with me!’
How right he was! Angelica told herself grimly, hurrying along the road to catch up with the other members of the group, who were standing bewildered and unsure of themselves on the pavement overlooking the Thames Embankment.
