It Started With a Kiss Read online

  After apologising for the delay, and realising that, however much she might dislike Luke Cunningham, he’d been quite right about her running out of time, Angelica quickly shepherded her companions along to Chelsea Old Church. Fortunately, they were so interested in seeing the ancient bibles, with their original chains to prevent theft—the only ones still remaining in a London church—that they seemed prepared to forgive her bad timekeeping as she led them along Cheyne Walk, past the row of large, early-eighteenth-century houses overlooking the Thames, which had been lived in by so many famous people.

  Since Lonsdale House was situated in the middle of the row, Angelica had her own very good reasons—mostly concerned with Luke Cunningham—for not wishing to linger any longer than necessary in Cheyne Walk. She was therefore horrified, when standing outside the house once lived in by the artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti, to see Betty Roberts’ plump figure walking along the road towards them. Feeling quite faint with apprehension, Angelica quickly turned her back on the elderly woman, swiftly bringing her informative talk to a close, and briskly leading the group on to view the other houses once lived in by the prime minister David Lloyd George, and the Victorian authoress George Eliot.

  Practically holding her breath, she peered anxiously back to see if Betty, who’d seemed to be carrying some bags of shopping, was intending to enter Lonsdale House or—she paled at the thought—continuing on up the road to visit some of her friends. Because once Betty spotted her there would be nothing to prevent Luke from adding up two and two to make four, and discovering not only her surname, but exactly where she lived.

  Almost sagging with relief as she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Betty had stopped by the ornate wrought-iron gate leading to her home, Angelica suddenly realized that she’d been rejoicing too soon. Because Luke, who’d fallen slightly behind the group, was turning to stroll slowly back towards the elderly woman. Frozen with horror, Angelica could only stand helplessly by, holding her breath as she saw him begin to engage the housekeeper in conversation.

  Realising that there was nothing she could do about the situation, Angelica took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the job in hand, which was guiding her companions up Royal Hospital Road, before turning right into Swan Walk and the entrance to Chelsea Physic Garden.

  Little known to the general public, the Physic Garden’s three acres was one of Europe’s oldest gardens. Founded in 1673, and a Mecca for those interested in the history of rare and medicinal plants, it also contained many unusual trees and flowers from all quarters of the globe. Over the centuries, the garden had played an important part in spreading the cultivation of plants and seeds to other countries, even sending the very first cotton seeds to America, to found the staple crop of what had been, at the time, the new colony of Georgia.

  Relieved to have reached the end of a most exhausting walk, Angelica thankfully handed her group over to a member of the garden staff for the official tour, to be followed by tea in the lectureroom, and an opportunity to buy various plants and shrugs in the garden shop.

  Although she was hardly an expert on gardening, Angelica was frequently drawn to the quiet, peaceful serenity of this leafy enclave, where the faint hum of bees and the rich scent of flowers could make the harsh, noisy city seem light-years away. And so, after paying the collective entrance fee for the group, and bidding them farewell, she slowly made her way down a tree-lined path towards the exit, deciding on the spur of the moment to sink down on to a wooden bench in a shady corner at the far end of the garden.

  Just as she was beginning to relax, and congratulating herself on haveing both survived the trauma of a mentally exhausting tour, and also on managing to avoid any further contact with Luke Cunningham, hear period of quiet reflection was abruptly shattered by the sudden appearance of his tall figure.

  ‘Ah—so that’s where you’ve been hiding. I was wondering where you’d got to,’ he murmraed, ducking his dark head beneath the leafy overhead boughs as he made his way towards her.

  ‘Oh, no! ‘Angelica gave a heavy sigh. ‘Why aren’t you with the others, having a tour of the garden?’

  He shrugged. ‘I got delayed. By the time I arrived, the rest of the group seemed deeply involved in a discussion of various medicinal herbs—about which I know very little, and care even less!’

  ‘You’re really missing something, because it’s a very interesting place,’ she told him, trying to sound wildly enthusiastic in the hope that he’d leave her alone. But when he continued to stand looking down at her, and clearly had no intention of taking the broad hint, she asked him as casually as possible why he’d fallen behind the other walkers.

  ‘I was having a rather interesting talk with an elderly lady, who told me that she lived in one off the houses in Cheyne Walk. Apparently it also functions as a somewhat unusual museum. Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘Me? Why on earth should I?’ Angelica retorted quickly, trying hard to quell her nerves as she slhirugged, and pretended that she hadn’t any idea of what he was talking about.

  ‘You seem to know the area pretty well,’ he pointed out. ‘So I naturally assumed that you would know something about this small, local museumeven if it is only open one day a week.’

  ‘Oh, well—it just goes to show that I’ve still got a lot to learn, doesn’t it?’ she replied carelessly, hoping against hope that Betty had, for once in her life, firmly kept her mouth shut about exactly which day they were open to the public. And then, as she noticed him staring down at her with an oddly intense, sceptical expression on his face, she quickly realised that she might have overdone her apparent casual lack of concern. This man was clearly no fool, and the sooner she changed the subject the better.

  ‘Since you’re clearly not interested in gardens or gardening, I can’t think why you ever bothered to come on this walk in the first place. If you work in the City, what on earth are you doing in Chelsea?’

  He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I decided to take some time off work. Also, as I’m sure you must have realised by now,’ he added, coming over to sit down on the bench beside her, ‘I’m obviously interested in furthering our—er—acquaintance.’

  ‘I can’t think why,’ she muttered, nervously inching away from him. ‘We’ve only met on two occasions. As far as I can see, that’s clearly twice too many. In any case,’ she added, hurriedly jumping to her feet, ‘it really is time that I went home.’

  ‘I have a car parked near by. I’d be happy to give you a lift.’

  ‘No!’ she gasped, before quickly trying to mask her horrified reaction with a hasty cough. ‘I mean— um—I’m sure it’s very kind of you, but there’s seally no need to bother.’

  ‘It will be no bother at all,’ he informed her firmly as he too rose slowly to his feet.

  Feelings sick as she realised that she was well and truly steck—and in a hold which she’d so stupidly dug for herself—Angelica couldn’t seem to prevent all her deep, simmering resentments against this man from rising to the surface. Thanks to his baleful presence, it had been a long, mentally exhausting afternoon. And just when she’d thought that she had got rid of him, and was beginning to relax from all the stress and strain, he’d suddenly appeared—like the wicked ogre in a fairy-storyto pester and annoy her once again. It was just all too much!

  ‘Look—why don’t you go away and leave me alone?’ she demanded angrily. ‘You may be taking time off from your job, but the rest of us are still trying to earn a living as best we can. I’m not blind,’ she added grimly. ‘It’s obvious that you’re a wealthy man, and probably hold a senior position in. your bank. Just as It’s clearly obvious that you seem to be getting some kind of kick out of teasing me. And maybe it’s partly my fault, because I very stupidly keep rising to the bait. But there are millions

  of other people living in Britain—’ she waved her

  hands distractedly in the air ‘—so why don’t you go off and plague the life out of one of them Instead?’
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  ‘Yes, it would seem that I do owe you an apology.’ The normally wry, sardonic note in his voice seemed curiously absent as he placed a warm hand beneath her chin, tilting her face up towards his.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure what is happening between us,’ he admitted slowly. ‘Possibly it is just that I find your unusual personality very intriguing. After all, I cannot recollect ever being hailed as “sunshine” before. Nor am I used to having my shins kicked by a raging virago!’ He smiled down at her. ‘So you see, I’m almost as much out of my depth as you seem to be.’

  He was barely touching her, but the light, soft feel of the fingers beneath her chin and the unusually warm, almost seductive tone in his deep voice seemed to be affecting her in an alarming manner. Her legs began to feel pathetically weak, and Angelica found that, quite inexplicably, she was suddenly feeling extraordinarily faint and breathless.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she muttered helplessly, dimly realising that she ought to escape from this potentially fraught situation as quickly as possible. But it seemed as though she was temporarily paralysed by a strangely compelling, glittering light in the hooded grey eyes regarding her so intently. ‘I… I’m not out of my depth.’

  He gave a husky bark of laughter. ‘Oh, yes, my dear Angelica, you most certainly are. Why else should you be so on the defensive, so aggressively determined to fight me every inch of the way?’ he murmured, his strong arms closing firmly about her quivering figure.

  ‘You’re quite…quite wrong! And this really isn’t a good idea…’ she whispered helplessly, her mind in total confusion as he lowered his dark head to within inches of her own.

  ‘Whether it’s good or bad, I can promise you that it’s just about the only idea I’ve had all afternoon,’ he breathed thickly.

  The hard strength of the arms about her body, and the faintly elusive perfume of his cologne mingling with his own musky, masculine scent, seemed to pervade and overwhelm her senses. There was no sound other than the rustling leaves above her head, and she quite suddenly became shockingly aware of his vibrant, sexual attraction.

  ‘You see what I mean…?’ he whispered softly, glimpsing the sudden flicker of comprehension in her wide blue eyes. ‘And, if it’s any consolation to you, I appear to be infected by the same virus!’

  The husky note of wry self-mockery in his voice seemed to linger in the air, echoing in her ears as his mouth possessed her trembling lips, teasing them apart with soft, gentle kisses. And then his arms tightened about her, moulding her body firmly to the hard length of his muscular figure, his kiss deepening as he sensually explored the inner softness of her mouth.

  Almost faint with dizziness, her heart beating in a crazy, uneven rhythm as his seductive lips seemed to compel her to respond ardently and passionately to his lovemaking, Angelica found herself helplessly enmeshed by a force beyond her control. Winding her slim arms up about his neck, her fingers buried themselves convulsively in his thick, dark hair as she instinctively pressed herself closer to his powerful frame. Her action provoked a low groan from deep in his throat, his hands sweeping over the soft curves of her body, before lingering on the warm swell of her firm breasts.

  Luke’s lips seemed to linger reluctantly as they left her mouth, trailing down to the wildly beating pulse at the base of her throat. Slowly lifting his head, he gazed down at her with gleaming, enigmatic grey eyes, before raising a hand to remove the combs holding her hair in place on top of her head.

  ‘It was the first thing that I noticed about you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such glorious hair!’ he breathed, gently running his fingers through the long, pale, shimmering strands now tumbling down about her shoulders.

  The husky, thickly muttered words seemed to come from a long way off as she found herself slowly surfacing from the deep mist of desire.

  A moment later, her cheeks covered with a hot, fiery blush, Angelica realised that she’d just been kissing—with considerable enthusiasm and passion—a man who she was quite certain that she actively disliked. How could she? Was she entirely out of her mind? But maybe she was, because her body seemed to be shaking as if in the grip of a raging fever, while the seemingly unanswerable questions echoed in her head like the knell of doom.

  Gazing down at the girl, whose bewilderment and confusion were clearly reflected in her distraught expression, Luke’s firm lips twisted into a rueful smile.

  ‘Maybe you were right to warn me? Maybe that kiss may prove to have been fatal, for us both…?’ he said slowly, bending down to brush his mouth gently once more over her trembling lips, before turning abruptly and striding swiftly away, his tall figure soon completely disappearing from sight.

  Left standing alone in the quiet garden, Angelica staggered over to the bench on legs which felt as though they were made of cotton wool. Sinking slowly down on to the hard wooden seat, she stared blindly into space for a long, long time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALTHOUGH Angelica liked to think that she was reasonably fit, the long climb up rickety stairs to David Webster’s office always seemed to leave her with aching legs, and feeling considerably out of breath. Today was no exception, she thought wryly, rubbing her aching calf muscles as she waited for David to finish a conversation on the phone.

  Situated up under the eaves of a tall City building, which must have been in existence well before Charles Dickens’s day, the office of Footsteps in Time looked as if it, too, belonged to the early ‘Victorian era. Piles of thick, dusty ledgers were stacked up against the walls, with David’s desk an island encircled by open boxes of brochures, wastepaper baskets overflowing with rubbish, and chipped mugs still containing the stale dregs of tea and coffee which he’d consumed over the past week.

  ‘Honestly, David—this place is absolutely disgusting!’ she told him when he put down the receiver, wrinkling her nose at the cloud of dust filling the air as he dropped a set of large, heavy files on to the grubby carpet. ‘Isn’t it about time you found someone to give this place a good clean?’

  He shrugged. ‘I can’t seem to find anyone who’s prepared to climb up all these stairs. Besides, we can’t all live in splendour in Cheyne Walk.’ He raised his head to give her a brief grin, before continuing to hunt for a letter among the confusion of files and papers on his desk.

  ‘Ha, ha!’ She grimaced, well aware of his forthright views on her home, which he’d frequently referred to in the past as ‘an obsolete mausoleum’. ‘I only wish it were splendid, because then we might at least have some visitors to pay for the cost of its upkeep. Do you know, we had a total of four people last week—and three of them were only taking shelter from a sudden rain shower?’

  Angelica sighed, brushing a distracted hand through her long hair. ‘I hope you’ve got a lot of work for me,’ she continued, ‘because the bills seem to be mounting up so thick and fast that I’ll have to earn a fortune just to keep up with the payments.’

  ‘Well…keep this under your hat, but things could be looking up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t go into details just at the moment, of course. But it looks as if I may be gaining a new partner, and that means we could be doing a lot more business in the near future.’

  ‘Hey—that’s great!’ She grinned. ‘I should have realised, from the vague suggestion of a smile on your normally miserable face, that something must be up.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he muttered drily. ‘Now, did you just come here to trade insults, or do you have a problem?’

  ‘Well, it isn’t exactly a problem,’ she said slowly, the smile dying on her face as she wondered how to frame the question without going into a long, involved explanation of why she needed the information.

  ‘The thing is, I’m not sure of our legal position—as far as the public is concerned, that is. It’s all right, there’s no need to panic,’ she added quickly as he gazed at her in alarm, all trace of his previous good humour vanishing like snow in sunshine.

  ‘Oh
, Angelica!’ he groaned. ‘What on earth have you done now?’

  ‘I haven’t done anything!’ she retorted indignantly. ‘It’s just that… well, someone on a walk I was leading the other day sort of—er—intimated that by taking their money, and issuing a receipt, we had come to some kind of deal, or contract. I just wondered if they were right—that’s all.’

  David relaxed slightly and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m no lawyer, of course, but I suppose it could possibly be regarded as a contract. However, it doesn’t sound as if it’s likely to be of any great importance.’

  ‘But what happens if…well, let’s say one of the group becomes extremely stroppy? I’m only talking hypothetically, of course,’ she added hurriedly. ‘But it does sometimes happen that a client turns out to be a real pain in the neck, right? So, could they sue me—or you, as my employer—because of a contract between us and them… if you see what I mean?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Angelica—why should anyone want to sue us?’

  ‘Well—um—’ She gave a helpless shrug, gazing fixedly down at the desk as she desperately tried to think of a valid reason why any normal, rational person would bother to go to such lengths.

  ‘With the walks only costing under five pounds a head, we’re hardly talking about a fortune,’ he pointed out, accurately echoing her own thoughts. ‘However, I can see that it wouldn’t do our business any good. What’s brought this on, anyway? I don’t like the sound of this “hypothetical” case. Are you quite sure that your last walk went smoothly? It was around Chelsea, wasn’t it?’ he added, flicking back through the pages of his diary.

  ‘Why should there have been any problems?’ she countered swiftly. Almost holding her breath, she added, ‘You haven’t had any complaints, have you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Although I will confess I was seriously worried about that trip around the City which you led last week. However, some woman rang up, wanting to know the date and place of your next tour—so you must have done a good job.’