It Started With a Kiss

by Mary Lyons

  He stood staring down in silence at her for a moment. His granite-hard grey eyes regarded her from beneath their heavy eyelids with a deep, searching intensity which she found distinctly unnerving.

  It seemed almost unbelievable that only a few minutes ago she’d been sitting in the kitchen with this man and calmly discussing her financial problems. She hadn’t been frightened or worried then. Why should she now feel so nervous—almost threatened by the tall figure who was standing uncomfortably close beside her?

  The atmosphere in the still, quiet hall suddenly seemed to become thick and heavy. She could almost physically feel the increasing aura of menace, pressing hard down on her slim shoulders. surely he must be able to hear her loudly beating heart as it pounded heavily in her chest?

  ‘I wonder why you’re so frightened of me?’ he drawled softly, raising his hand and trailing a finger gently down her pale cheek.

  ‘Me—frightened?’ She gave a strangled, incredulous laugh, jerking her head away from his light touch as if she’d been stung by a bee. ‘Why on earth should I be frightened of you?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ he agreed smoothly.

  ‘You’re quite wrong,’ she told him as firmly as she could. Determinedly avoiding his eyes, she stared fixedly at a hunting print on the wall beside his broad shoulder.

  ‘Well, in that case, why don’t I come by later and take you out to dinner?’

  Her immediate, instinctive response to his smoothly drawled invitation should have been a definite ‘no’. So why on earth was she hesitating? she screamed silently to herself.

  she didn’t want to know this man. Ever since their very first, disastrous encounter, he’d succeeded in making her look a complete fool. And even in his absence he appeared to be having a thoroughly disconcerting and unsettling effect on her normally quiet, peaceful life. Moreover, she was—yes, she could at least admit it to herself— she definitely was frightened of him. Quite why he should be the cause of her feeling such anxiety and terror whenever she found herself alone with him she had absolutely no idea.

  ‘Well—have we got a date?’

  It might have seemed as though he was asking a question, but the cool, flat note of certainty and confidence in Luke’s voice made it sound like a firm statement of fact.

  ‘No!’ she gasped quickly, hunting desperately in her mind for a reasonable excuse. And then she suddenly realised there was no point in trying to be polite. Only the hard, unvarnished truth would persuade this man that he was wasting his time.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry that you’re forcing me to be so blunt, but the truth is that I… I really don’t want to have anything more to do with you. I realise that you may find it difficult to believe, but…’

  ‘Yes, I do find it a little strange,’ he agreed coolly. ‘Especially when I remember just how enthusiastically you melted into my arms the last time we met. In fact, I have no problem in recalling the softness of your lips, or the warmth of your—’

  ‘Please! I don’t want even to think about It!’ she wailed, frantically wishing that a large hole would appear in the floor and she could immediately disappear from sight.

  ‘How very unfortunate!’ He gave a low, mocking laugh. ‘Because I, on the other hand, have thought of little else. In fact, Angclica,’ he added wryly, ‘I very much fear that you are responsible for upsetting all my carefully laid plans, as well as having a thoroughly distracting effect on my normally wellorganised professional life!’

  ‘But can’t you see that I… I don’t want to be responsible for anything of the sort?’ she cried helplessly, a brilliant tide of colour staining her cheeks. ‘I mean, I don’t understand what keeps happening each time we meet…’

  ‘Have you thought that maybe it’s not me, but your own emotions of which you are clearly so afraid?’ he taunted softly, the now unmistakable gleam in his cyes causing her to take a quick nervous step backwards.

  ‘No!’ she gasped as he moved towards her, and she could read his intention as if he’d shouted the words out loud.

  Her husky denial merely caused him to raise one dark eyebrow in mocking amusement. A brief moment later, his hands were reaching out to clasp her Slim waist, pulling her reluctant figure slowly towards him.

  ‘Stop fighting me, Angelica,’ he breathed huskily, drawing her closer to the hard warmth of his body. Trembling like a leaf as she attempted to control a mad, crazy urge to melt up against his strong, masculine figure, she faised her hands to try and push him away. But, as she already knew, he posscssed a strength she simply wasn’t able to combat She could feel his hard, muscular thighs pressing against her own, and was conscious of a fierce knot of excitement in the pit of her stomach. Quivering, she stared helplessly up at his mouth as the dark head moved slowly down towards her, And then, from the moment his lips touched hers, it felt as though she was in the grip of a whirlwind of overwhelming emotion, responding blindly to the enticing magic of his deepening kiss.

  It seemed as if she was totally bewitched. Unable to prevent herself from pressing her slim form even closer to him, her arms wound themselves about his neck; wild tremors of sensual excitement and pleasure flared through her trembling figure at the sound of his deep, muffled groan, provoked by the yielding softness of the body clasped so tightly in his arms.

  She had no idea of how long they stood there in the hall. But slowly and reluctantly he eventually lifted his head, gazing down at her swollen lips and the confused, fluttering eyelashes over her dazed blue eyes.

  He brushed his warm lips over her hotly flushed cheek. ‘I find you very, very desirable,’ he whispered huskily. ‘In fact, it must be obvious by now that I’m crazy about you!’ Wry humour gleamed in his eyes, his mouth curving into a sardonic smile. ‘Isn’t it about time, Angelica, that you faced the fact that you’re crazy about me, too…?’

  It was a moment or two before his words managed to break through the mist in her confused mind. And then, almost before she knew what she was doing, Angelica had pushed him away and was quickly pulling open the front door.

  ‘No! No, I’m not crazy about you!’ she panted breathlessly. ‘I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me—maybe I’m sickening for something?—but I do know that this has got to stop. Now please go away and leave me alone!’ she cried, clinging helplessly to the heavy oak door for support, her trembling legs threatening to give way beneath her any moment.

  Luke appeared to be completely unperturbed by her outburst, merely giving an amused, cynical shrug of his broad shoulders as he moved past her through the open doorway.

  ‘I don’t mind you trying to fool me—even if it is a complete waste of time. But if you’re trying to fool yourself, Angelica, I can’t help feeling that you are making a great mistake,’ he drawled sardonically. The sound of his mocking laughter as he ran down the steps echoed harshly in her cars long after she’d slammed the door behind his.

  The string quartet playing in a smal room off the main hall could hardly be heard above the general babble of conversation, laughter and the loud clink of glasses.

  Moving slowly up the staircase and admiring the vivid dark blue tiles on the wall, Angelica had no doubt that the party to launch this exhibition— ‘Three Eminent Victorian Artists-Landseer, Leighton and Lonsdale’—was proving to be a great

  She knew very little of the work of Sir Edwin Landseer—although, of course, she’d seen the four bronze lions which he’d designed for the base of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square. Nor had she known very much about the Victorian painter, Lord Frederick Leighton. But now, standing in his remarkable hoouse in Holland Park—the plain exterior giving no clue to the rich, highly ornate decoration inside—Angelica could see how the two artists and their paintings, together with those by Sir Tristram Lonsdale, could form the basis for this exhibition.

  While the style and subject matter of their paintings had been very different, they’d all been favourite artists of Queen Victoria, who had purchased many of their paintings. They had also been knighted
by the Queen—although Frederick Leighton had gone one better by being raised to the peerage—unfortunately only one day before he died! And this party, to launch an exhibition of the three men’s work arranged upstairs in the large art gallery off Lord Leighton’s enormous studio, had attracted a great number of people, with many of the guests spilling out into the wide green lawns of the large garden.

  Not that she knew anyone here, of course. But since the organisers had borrowed some of Sir Tristram’s paintings from Lonsdale House, they had been anxious that she should attend the party. And she was glad to have done so, since she wouldn’t otherwise have had an opportunity to view what must surely be one of the most exotic rooms in London.

  Accepting another glass of wine from a passing waiter as she made her way through the crowd of people, Angelica entered a tiny gallery off the upper landing. Sinking down on to the jewelled silk cushions which lined the small space, and opening one of the delicate lattice screens, she peered down at the room far below.

  The Arab Hall had been designed as a showcase for Lord Leighton’s collection of antique, richly glowing blue and green tiles, collected during his travels in the Far East in the mid-1850s. Lining the walls, they were topped by a wide, gilt mosaic frieze, glittering and sparkling in the lamplight, which cast mysterious shadows on the mosaic floor surrounding a black marble fountain, the cool, tinkling flow of water now hardly able to be heard above the buzz of conversation and laughter.

  It was an amazing sight, evoking an extraordinarily Oriental ‘Arabian Nights’ atmosphere of mystery and romance, especially when viewed from above in this small gallery, through the delicate lattice screens which had come from some ancient Arabian harem.

  Open daily to the public, this amazingly flamboyant house was still redolent of its original owner’s taste and personality, and Angelica was so thankful that she had decided to come here tonight, after all.

  For the past two weeks, she’d been very reluctant to go anywhere, or to do anything. Following Luke’s departure, when she’d virtually thrown him out of Lonsdale House following that last, passionate encounter in the hall, she had seen nothing of the disturbing man. And, although it had been several days before she’d managed to stop jumping nervously whenever she glimpsed a tall and dark-haired man, Angelica was now beginning to feel able to relax. It looked as though her blunt, almost cruel words of dismissal had finally made it absolutely clear that she wished to have no more to do with him.

  Leaning back against the plump silk cushions, she sipped her glass of wine and tried to sort out the emotional muddle in which she now found herself. It sometimes felt as if she was trapped on a perpetual see-saw of indecision, her thoughts and desires fluctuating up and down until she was almost dizzy. For instance, she wondered with a heavy sigh, why, when she really had done the right thing, should her life now seem so incredibly dark and empty without Luke’s strong, forceful presence?

  Being sensible was all very well, but it didn’t seem to be any help in the small hours of the night, when she longed desperately to have his strong arms about her once more. And continually reminding herself that Luke might be handsome, rich, attractive and God’s gift to women, but as far as she was concerned he embodied nothing but trouble and aggravation, didn’t seem to help at all.

  On the other hand…how could she possibly trust a man who possessed such overwhelming charm? He’d had Betty eating out of his hand almost at the speed of light. And even she herself had repeatedly fallen a willing victim to his overwhelming sensual appeal.

  He was just a tougher version of that charming rogue Nigel Browning, she told herself fiercely. She mustn’t forget what a long time it had taken for that grievous wound to heal. In fact, she wasn’t even sure that she had totally recovered either confidence in herself as a woman, or in her judgement of other people.

  So, she had made the right decision—hadn’t she? What else could she have done but to take rapid evasive action as far as Luke was concerned? Despite the fact that she still had great difficulty in sleeping at night, and, if she was to be honest, longed for him with every fibre of her being, Angelica knew that she wouldn’t be able to survive another romantic catastrophe such as she’d suffered over her betrayal at Nigel’s hands.

  The arrival of a laughing, noisy group of people crowding into the small gallery interrupted her troubled thoughts. Realising that it was about time she left, Angelica rose to her feet, crossing the upper hall and descending the main staircase. Just as she was deciding to take one last look at the amazing tiles and decoration in the Arab Hall, she’d barely taken one step forward—before she suddenly froze in fright.

  It couldn’t possibly be…? Could it…? And then, as she blinked, she had no doubt that it really was Luke Cunningham’s tall, commanding figure making his way through the crowd of people towards her.

  With, a gasp of horror, she hurriedly ducked back behind an enormous copper urn filled with a shimmering display of brilliant peacock feathers. Closing her eyes and clutching her glass tightly to her chest, she prayed with every fibre of her being that she had moved swiftly enough to avoid detection. Hidden here, within a dark enclave beneath the stairs, and shielded by the giant urn, she might just be safe. She had no idea why Luke was at this party to launch the exhibition, but he surely wouldn’t have expected to find her here, would he?

  A moment later, she realised that her fervent prayers and hopes had all been in vain.

  ‘There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ the deep voice drawled, and she cautiously and warily opened her eyes to see his tall, dark figure looming over her.

  ‘Come on—the party’s breaking up now,’ he added, removing the glass from her trembling fingers as she continued to stare silently up at him with confused, dazed eyes. ‘It’s time for us to go.’

  ‘Go? Go where…?’ she gasped, her brain in a whirl as he quickly grasped hold of her arm, whisking her through a small door hidden behind the staircase, and down a long, dark passage. ‘What do you think you’re doing? You can’t k-kidnap me like this!’

  Luke laughed. ‘As I think I’ve said to you before now, it seems that I can—and I have!’ he drawled, still keeping a firm grip on her dazed figure as he opened a large door, pulling her after him into a quiet, tree-lined road running alongside Leighton House.

  With hardly time to catch her breath, Angelica found herself being swiftly towed across the pavement, to where a chauffeur was holding open the door of a long black limousine. And then she was being bundled into the back seat, before being joined by Luke.

  ‘OK, Colin. You know where to go,’ Luke told the chauffeur, before firmly closing the glass screen between the driver and the large passenger compartment, and settling himself back down on the soft leather seat beside her.

  ‘You can’t do this! I demand to know—’

  ‘Why don’t you shut up, Angelica?’ Luke’s hard, firm voice cut briskly across her breathless protest. ‘First of all, you must know that I am very far from being a kidnapper!’ He gave a snort of wry, sardonic laughter. ‘I am, in fact, merely intending to take you out to dinner. However, if it makes you feel any better, I will happily give you my word of honour that you are quite safe, that I have absolutely no intention of laying a finger on you. So why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the ride?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  HER mind in a whirl, Angelica allowed herself to be led across the thick carpeting towards a table in a quiet corner of the vast dining-room.

  ‘I’ll never forgive you for this!’ she hissed at Luke, through teeth clenched in a false, stiff smile. ‘On top of everything else, I’m not even wearing the right clothes, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he murmured, glancing down at her slender, supple body in the straight aquamarine chiffon dress, a pale green and aquamarine sequinned scarf clasped around her slim hips. ‘You look wonderful—like a beautiful sea nymph or mermaid.’

  If it hadn’t been such a public place, and if she hadn’t been
surrounded by so many witnesses, Angelica would cheerfully have kicked the awful man in the shins.

  It had seemed such an amusing idea, earlier this evening, to attend the art exhibition in a 1920s costume taken from her grandmother’s hamper of theatrical clothes. But it was definitely not funny to find herself now wearing such a ridiculous dress—to dine at the Ritz, of all places!

  ‘Why did you have to drag me here?’ she muttered angrily as a waiter held out a chair for her.

  Luke didn’t immediately reply, waiting while large linen napkins were placed on their laps with a flourish, and their glasses filled from a large bottle of champagne already cooling in its silver ice bucket beside the table.

  ‘I can think of some worse fates in life than dining here,’ he said at last with a sardonic grin. ‘Besides, there are several reasons why I decided that this was the perfect venue. In the first place, it’s generally agreed that the Ritz hotel has one of the prettiest dining-rooms in London. Secondly, as you can see, this is a very well-lit public place, where I knew that you would feel entirely safe.’ He shrugged. ‘But there is nothing to stop you getting up and walking out of here, if you wish to do so. Although, of course, I very much hope that you won’t.’

  Angelica glared at him for a moment, before staring down at the snowy white linen tablecloth.

  Who was he kidding? Luke must know that she wasn’t the sort of person who enjoyed making scenes in public. So it looked as though he’d got her over a barrel for the moment, she thought with glum resignation, before slowly raising her head to gaze at her surroundings.

  Angelica had to agree that he was right about one thing, at least. The large dining-room was certainly quite one of the most beautifully decorated rooms that she’d ever seen. Designed in a French rococo style, the walls and ornate plasterwork covered in soft tones of apricot, blue, pink and gold, it really was an enchanting sight. And, since she was hungry, and seldom, if ever had the opportunity to dine in such wildly expensive, luxurious surroundings, maybe she might as well make the most of it? Or just for a little while, anyway, she quickly assured herself.