It Started With A Kiss

Proceeding to tell her audience of young backpacking Australians, some bored housewifes, two inscrutable Japanese businessmen and several elderly American tourists all about the Great Fire which had destroyed over eighty per cent of London, Angelica found that even she herself was becoming caught up in the drama of the story.

‘The fire raged through the city for four days and nights, devastating over thirteen thousand houses and businesses, before it was finally put out. This column is known as the Monument.’ She turned to put her hand on the tall stone edifice behind her. ‘It was erected to commemorate the Great Fire, and—’

‘No, I’m afraid that’s not right.’

The sound of the deep voice, cutting across her flow of words, threw her into momentary confusion.

‘Um—-er—’ She blinked, her wide blue eyes

quickly scanning the group. However, since no one seemed disposed to say anything further, she decided to press on. ‘As I was saying, this column was built to commemorate the Great Fire of 1666, and—’

‘No! That piece of information is definitely not correct.’

The disembodied voice sounded much louder this time, causing her audience to swivel around to face a tall man standing at the back of the group.

‘Now, just a minute!’ she said sharply. It wasn’t the first time some clever Dick had tried to disrupt a tour, and she knew that it was fatal to allow them to get away with it.

‘I can assure you that the information I’ve just given you is quite correct,’ she informed the group firmly. ‘There was a Great Fire. It did destroy much of London. And this column commemorates that fact.’

‘I hope our charming guide will forgive me for correcting her…?’ the man drawled, raising a quizzical dark eyebrow as he walked slowly through the group towards her. ‘However, I’ve always understood that the Monument was erected to commemorate the rebuilding of the city—not the fire itself.’

‘That is nothing but a mere technicality,’ Angelica muttered, her face flaming with embarrassment as she realised that the irritating man was quite right.

All the same…she was sure that this man, whose deep voice was tinged with a faint American accent, hadn’t been with them from the start of the tour. Surely she wouldn’t have overlooked such a tall and obviously commanding figure? And what was he doing on a tour like this, anyway? Now that he was standing only a few feet away, it was obvious that from the top of his handsome dark head, right down to those expensive, hand-made shoes, he clearly belonged to a world of wealth and privilege. In fact, clothed in that deathly smart, dark city suit, he stood out from the other members of the tour like a sleek raven amid a crowd of dusty sparrows.

It was, of course, an occupational hazard of the business that the tours, passing through crowded streets, were apt to attract the attention of passersby. And if the guides didn’t keep their wits about them, people would often take part without paying a fee.

Unfortunately she’d been so tired from having been up all night—and so nervous about following an unfamiliar route—that Angelica couldn’t remember whether or not this man had been on their tour from the beginning.

Just as she was about to challenge his right to join them, Angelica was diverted by one of the Australian students. Noticing a door at the base of the Monument, he wondered if it were possible to climb up to the top.

‘Yes, it is,’ she told him. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t spare the time to do so today,’ she added quickly.

‘Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to come back some other time and have a go. By the way, how many steps are there?’

Angelica stared at him, her mind a complete blank. The only thing was to make a guess at the number and hope for the best. ‘Well—um—’

‘There are three hundred and eleven steps,’ a deep voice replied from just behind her shoulder, causing her to spin around to discover that the tall man was now standing just beside her.

‘But it’s a very tight spiral staircase—with definitely no room for a backpack!’ he told the young Aussie with a grin. ‘So if you want a good bird’seye view of London, I’d recommend the Stone Gallery in St Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘Thanks, mate.’

‘Do you mind?’ she snapped at the tall stranger. ‘I’m the one who is supposed to be leading the tour!’

‘Oh, really?’ he drawled sardonically, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Then why haven’t you mentioned the name of the architect who designed this column?’

‘I was just getting around to that!’ She scowled up at him. ‘It was Sir Christopher Wren, of course.’

‘Well done!’ he murmured sarcastically. ‘And now maybe you can tell us the height of the Monument?’

Angelica gritted her teeth. Why on earth would anyone want to know that piece of completely useless information?

‘No, as it happens, I’m afraid that I can’t quite— um—can’t quite recall the exact figure…’ she muttered, her face flaming as he gave a low, cynical laugh.

‘Oh, dear!’ he drawled, before turning towards the other members of the group. ‘It would seem that our guide is suffering from temporary amnesia. She appears to have forgotten that the column is two hundred and two feet high.’

‘Goodness me—isn’t that interesting?’ she exclaimed, determined to stop this man in his tracks, before he became any more of a flaming nuisance than he was already. ‘I’m sure that we’re all very grateful for that really fascinating piece of information,’ she added grimly. ‘And now I think we’d better get on with our tour, so…’

‘But you haven’t yet told us exactly why the column was built to that precise measurement.’

Simmering with fury, Angelica was swept by an almost overwhelming urge to slap that patronising, supercilious smile off the rotten man’s handsome face. In fact, it was only the group of people—all clearly waiting for an answer—which prevented her from doing so.

‘OK—you win. I’ll admit that I don’t know the answer,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘But, since you obviously think you’re so smart, why don’t you tell everyone? In fact,’ she yelled, suddenly losing her temper as his grin widened, ‘why don’t you take over this entire tour? I’m sure that you think you can do a better job than I can. Right?’

‘I certainly couldn’t do any worse!’ he agreed with a bark of cynical laughter. ‘However, the answer is that it’s exactly two hundred and two feet from this spot to where the fire originally started, in the baker’s shop in Pudding Lane.’

‘Oh, wow—big deal!’ she ground out. ‘So—who cares, anyway?’

‘Aw, come on, honey…!’ An elderly American woman patted the girl’s arm. ‘We all reckon you’re doing a good job. But you’ve got to admit that those sort of facts are kinda interesting.’

‘Yes, well, I suppose so…’ Angelica sighed before taking a deep breath and trying to simmer down.

Determinedly ignoring the tall, dark stranger, she gathered the other members of the party together, warning them that they must hurry since the tour was now running behind schedule. However, as she led the group down Lower Thames Street towards the Tower of London, she couldn’t help wishing that they could be transported back to Tudor times.

What wouldn’t she give to see that truly awful man kneeling at the block on Tower Green—and an executioner with a deadly sharp axe standing by, ready to chop off his handsome head!

CHAPTER TWO

BY the time she was nearing the end of the walk, and approaching St Helen’s Church in Bishopsgate, Angelica was almost foaming at the mouth with overwhelming rage and fury.

There was absolutely no doubt in her mind. She knew—with total certainty—that she’d never hated anyone as much as she did this truly awful man, who’d somehow managed to hijack her tour.

Every time she’d pointed out some interesting facts about the streets and buildings they’d passed, he had either flatly contradicted her small store of knowledge, or he’d produced some far more entertaining or unusual information. When she, for instance, had taken them into Trinity Square Gardens, to view the Merchant Navy memorial to the ships and men lost in the two World Wars, the group had barely listened to what she had to say. They’d been far more interested in hearing from Mr Know-it-all that they were standing on the official site of bloody public executions, which had been carried out there until the seventeenth century.

Nor had the group cared a jot about Seething Lane, which had once held the Navy Office in which the famous diarist Samuel Pepys had worked, not when the dreadful man had loudly complained that the tour was boring, before leading everyone across the road to St Olave’s church. And then, adding insult to injury, the group had completely ignored her as he’d not only showed them around the churchyard where Pepys and his wife were buried!, but also told them that the gateway of this church— with its macabre decoration of skulls—had featured in one of Charles Dickens’s famous novels.

And so it had gone on. At practically every step along their route, the tall stranger had succeeded in making her look like a complete idiot. Goodness knew, that was bad enough—but what made it ten times worse was that he’d clearly been enjoying every minute of heir discomfiture! He also seemed to have taken a delight in asking her questions which he knew that she couldn’t answer. Quite honestly, she could quite cheerfully have throttled the man!

As she waited for the stragglers of the group to join the others inside St Helen’s church, which dated back to at least the twelfth century, Angelica knew that she must try to do something about the situation. But what?

Cudgelling her brains to try and think of some way in which to regain control of the final part of the tour, Angelica noticed that the loathsome man had moved away from the group, and was apparently absorbed in studying a beautifully carved Jacobean pulpit. Quickly realising that she might not have another opportunity to catch him on his own, she moved swiftly down one of the two wide aisles towards his tall figure.

‘Hey—I want a word with you, sunshine!’ she hissed, tapping him sharply on the shoulder, before leading the way around the side of the pulpit to a dark corner well out of sight of the group. Spinning around, she waited impatiently as he hesitated for a moment before moving slowly towards her.

‘I don’t know what you think you’ve been doing, you damned man!’ she ground out through clenched teeth. ‘But it’s going to stop—right now!’

For a moment he stared at her in complete astonishment, as if stunned that anyone could have the sheer effrontery to swear at him in public. Well, if so, that was just his tough luck! Because, by the time she’d finished with this man, Angelica promised herself grimly, he was going to be well and truly cut down to size!

‘Well, Miss…?’ He paused, but when she kept her mouth firmly closed he gave a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, yes, you are! As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been nothing but a rotten pain in the neck ever since you joined this group.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes—really!’ she snapped, infuriated by the note of sardonic amusement in his deep voice.

Despite the lack of clear daylight within the large old church, Angelica had no trouble in seeing that, having swiftly recovered from her first attack, the man’s grey eyes were now gleaming with ironic laughter beneath their heavy lids. A fact which only served to increase her rage and fury.

‘Don’t you dare laugh at me!’ she spat through gritted teeth. ‘Because, to start with, I know that you didn’t pay to join this walking tour.’

‘Didn’t I?’ he murmured, leaning casually against the wooden pulpit, his lips twitching with amusement as he surveyed the furiously angry, trembling figure of the girl before him.

‘No, you damn well didn’t!’

“Tut, tut!’ He shook his dark head in mock-sorrow. ‘I’m shocked to hear a young girl swearing like this—and in church, too.’

For the first and only time in her life, Angelica had an almost overpowering urge to resort to real physical violence, a deep longing to vigorously slap that cynical, amused expression off the man’s handsome face. However, after a fierce internal struggle, she took a deep breath and managed to pull herself together.

‘OK… let me explain the situation in words of one syllable,’ she ground out. “If you haven’t paid to join this tour, you’ve got no right to be here with us.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that…’ he drawled slowly. ‘You clearly have very little knowledge about the City of London. In fact, since I’ve been doing your job for the past half-hour, maybe you should pay me, hmm?’ he murmured, moving closer to the rigidly angry figure.

‘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 after, 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.